The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

15. Stacey

CHAPTER 15

STACEY

I ’m standing in the entryway of my apartment building waiting for Mitch to pick me up. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I texted him about what to wear. I’ve never once seen him dress inappropriately for something. And either the dude knows what works for him, or everything works for him, because every single time I’ve seen him he looks good. Even when I’ve seen him in sweats, they somehow work. It’s mind boggling. So my telling him to dress nicely was probably a dig. Why does he bring out the bitch in me like this?

I hear a honk come from outside the front doors of my building and see Mitch’s SUV pulled up to the curb. I take a deep breath, push open the door, and brace for impact. I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I’ve been dreading it all morning. I barely got any work done despite having several deadlines hanging over my head.

I open the passenger door to Mitch’s car and my eyes promptly start to appraise his outfit, because I am who I am, and that happens to be a bit of an asshole when it comes to Mitch, I guess. My eyes glide up from his boots, to his snug-fitting chinos, to his button up under a sweater. Then they land on his face. His beard is neatly trimmed and his hair is perfectly imperfect. His entire existence is so perfect for the occasion, and I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe I’m not so much surprised as I am just taken aback by how much I want to crawl across the center console and kiss his face. It’s alarming as fuck.

Before I can realize I’ve been blatantly staring, there’s a crinkle on the edge of each of his eyes as a smile starts to spread across his face.

“I see I passed the outfit test,” he says.

Oh boy, did he ever.

“I didn’t say anything,” I say as I crawl up into the car and pull the door shut behind me, avoiding eye contact.

“You didn’t have to,” he says with a grin. “Your face said it all.”

Shit.

Is he always going to have this effect on me now? Don’t lie , I find myself thinking. He always has.

Great.

Once my seatbelt is on, he pulls out into traffic and starts on the path to the mountains.

“I got you a coffee,” he says, motioning to the cupholder nearest me. “I stopped at your favorite place on my way from the practice rink.”

My ... favorite place? He can’t actually know what my favorite coffee shop is. I’m insanely particular about coffee, it’s one of my few vices.

I pull the cup out to examine the label and ... well, I’ll be damned. It’s from the far-too-expensive shop in the far-too-expensive neighborhood of Cherry Creek. It’s fancy as hell so the baristas are always a little mean. I love it .

I’m sure he doesn’t know my favorite order, though. He probably just got me a black coffee.

“It’s an oat milk flat white, extra hot,” he says as he turns onto the interstate that will lead us to the mountains. “And yes, I made sure it has the right amount of foam.”

I turn to him and try to keep my mouth from falling open.

“I ... how ...” I stutter for a moment before I regain my composure enough to just shut up and drink my coffee. It’s so heavenly when it hits my lips that I accidentally let out a little sigh.

Mitch lets out a little chuckle as he merges lanes. Thank God he can’t look at me while driving, or his smile combined with this news would be very disarming. I can’t afford to be disarmed with him, not after last night.

“We’ve had meetings there like twenty times together, he says. “I might be a dumb jock, but I’m not that dumb.”

Mitch is objectively highly intelligent. Loud? Yes. Infuriating? Sometimes. Goofy? For sure. But not dumb. Never that.

“I don’t think you’re dumb,” I say.

“Good,” he says. “Because I have some thoughts on greenery for the ceremony arch and I need you to hear me out.”

I let out a little laugh—no, it’s a giggle—and reach for my phone. “Did you have time to add them to the Pinterest board?”

“Of course,” he says. “I did it while I waited for your bougie-ass coffee.”

I pull up Pinterest on my phone and scroll to our shared board for Caleb and Cassie’s wedding. The photos Mitch added to the board show simple-but-beautiful greenery draped over natural-looking arches. They’re totally timeless, which is exactly the look I’ve been thinking we want for this. They’re perfect.

Ugh.

Why does he have to be so good at this ?

“I like these a lot,” I admit.

“Really?” he asks, quickly glances over at me before returning his attention to the road.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess you don’t totally suck at this.”

He shifts in his seat like he’s a bit uncomfortable and clears his throat.

“You good?” I ask.

“Yep. Totally,” he says. “And I’m totally not trying to keep from making a joke about sucking right now.” Then he sneaks a look over at me and he has that same sparkle in his eyes as he did last night. An ungodly sound escapes me and my body starts shaking.

I’m laughing.

I’m laughing about sucking Mitch fucking Greggs’ dick.

It’s a flirtatious laugh, I realize.

Am I flirting with Mitch?

I think I must be. That or someone else has taken over my body and made me reach out and touch his arm, because that’s exactly what I appear to be doing.

I’m touching Mitch’s arm and we still have half an hour left of this drive. This is not good.

Mitch’s eyes are on the road, but I can tell he’s focused on where my hand is resting on his bicep. His very nice bicep.

Jesus.

I have got to get it together.

“Sorry,” he laughs after I regain control of my own limbs and remove my hand from his body.

“No, you aren’t,” I say.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry,” he pauses. “Not about any of it.”

He’s not sorry about it?

A small part of me thought for sure he’d regret it. And a big part of me thought I’d embarrassed myself with how forthcoming I was with him about what I like. Ever since Trevor, I haven’t been able to be so open with men, but with Mitch it was like he genuinely wanted me to enjoy myself, not just focus on getting off himself. It was very refreshing and also super hot. My cheeks flush just thinking about him saying, Tell me what you want, love. The images flow into my brain one after the other. Mitch’s lips on mine. His hands on my body. His tongue gliding between my legs.

“Holy shit,” he says.

I look over at him and he’s staring at me with wide eyes, the beginnings of a grin starting to form on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re thinking about it,” he says, the grin beginning to grow.

Of course I’m fucking thinking about it.

“Am not,” I lie.

“I think you’re lying,” he says. “You know what else I think?”

“What else do you think, Mitch?” I say flatly, trying to regain my composure and get the images out of my head. It doesn’t work, because now I’m thinking about his hips thrusting into mine.

“I think you liked it,” he says.

“I ... uh ... I ...” I start, but I can’t seem to come up with a snide response. I did like it, after all. “Shut up,” I mumble as I turn away from him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I won’t let it go to my head if you don’t either.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean we can be adults and acknowledge that we both liked it,” he says. “Personally, I liked it a lot.”

I turn towards him, once again thankful that he’s responsible for driving a vehicle so he’s not able to stare me down right now.

“I ... uh ... liked it.” I pause awkwardly. “A lot ... too.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he says as he stops at a stoplight .

“Unlike you last night,” I say in a knowing tone before I can stop myself. His head flicks towards me, eyes wide. “I can’t believe I just said that either,” I continue, looking straight out of the windshield, eager to walk it back.

Mitch laughs uncomfortably and mumbles something under his breath as he pulls the car forward through the intersection.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “We should probably focus on the venue tour. We’re almost there.”

“Right,” I say as if I’ll be able to focus on that. As if I’ll be able to focus on anything other than how to avoid wanting Mitch again when I’m in his presence.