I COULD SPEND days just sitting here, holding this man’s hand. The way he looks at me, touches me, is so reverent, so tender. I almost can’t face the intensity of it. I should’ve expected it; everything Mitch does is with passion and intensity.
But when all of that is poured into something as simple as hand-holding?
I am undone.
Eventually, he slides his hand out of mine and tells me we should eat. The loss of his hand in mine feels like the loss of a limb. It just felt so right there.
We start eating our soup and sandwiches, which are delicious, and I notice Mitch’s turkey panini is loaded with meat. Like probably three times the amount in mine.
“Geez, did you order double meat or something? You can barely fit that thing inside your mouth.”
He nearly chokes on his bite at my comment. He takes a drink of water and pounds his chest a few times like he’s dislodging food that got stuck there. “Triple meat. I have to get a certain amount of protein each day. Helps me build muscle and gives me energy for the games and practices.”
I make a show of looking him up and down. “Yeah, glad you’re back on the protein bandwagon, you’re practically wasting away, you’re so scrawny.”
His eyes drop to my jean-clad legs and then back up to my eyes. “I’m trying to keep up with you, I can’t have your quads out-doing mine.”
“Mitchell Anderson,” I say with an obnoxious, fake southern drawl. “Have you been looking at my quads?”
He closeS his eyes for a beat, like he’s trying really hard not to be annoyed. “It’s just Mitch.” He looks down at my legs again. “And yes, I have.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Your legs are pretty impressive too.”
He pretends to be shocked. Sarcastic Mitch might be my favorite Mitch. “Andie Downsby, did you just compliment me?”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he says smugly. “From this moment on, I expect you to shower me with compliments. It’s the least you can do since you called me the ugliest Eagles player.”
“Sorry, what I meant to say was the grouchiest Eagles player.”
His perfect mouth pulls up into a slow, mischievous grin. It’s absolutely devastating. He leans in closer to me, his face mere inches from mine. It takes every ounce of self-preservation I have not to move, and not to look down at his lips.
He whispers, “I think you’re into grouchy guys.”
Mitch leans in with an aching slowness, closing that last bit of space between us. This moment that has built up over the past month, this moment that I can’t stop, can’t deny myself of. He’s going slow, giving me the chance to stop his lips from meeting mine. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
And then he kisses me, swiveling in his seat so my knees are trapped between his own. His powerful thighs are warm against mine, making me feel secure… safe. One of his hands lands on my waist, and the other comes up to caress the side of my neck. His lips on mine are hot and soft, contrasting perfectly with his rough beard and calloused hands. I scoot to the end of my seat, trying to get as close to him as I can. And his hand on my waist seems just as desperate, his large fingers squeezing the dip in my waist. One of his fingers dips under my shirt, feeling so warm against the skin on my torso. Thank goodness for cropped shirts.
Our lips move against each other in perfect tandem, like we’ve been kissing each other all our lives, but I’ve never had a kiss like this. So tender and yet so desperate. His hand moves along my neck and then into my hair, along my scalp. Normally, I don’t like it when people play with my hair, it doesn’t feel soothing to me… but when Mitch does it? Yes, please. Soothing isn’t the right word for the gentle tugging I feel on my hair, titillating is probably a better description.
He pulls back just long enough for me to see his hooded hazel eyes, and to whisper, “Kissing you is even better than I imagined.”
Bringing my hands to his black t-shirt, I grasp it with my fists and pull him back to me, kissing him again. I flatten my palms against his broad, defined chest and enjoy the feel of his muscles beneath my hands. I trail them down, longing to feel if his abs are as chiseled as I’ve pictured, but his hands gently grab mine and I feel him smile against my lips. “Are you trying to undress me?”
“I just want to touch your abs, please,” I beg.
“Am I just a piece of meat to you, Blondie?”
I whimper. “Yes. Girls need protein too, you know.”
I feel his body start to shake as he tries to stifle his laughter, but he fails. A thunderous laugh comes out of his mouth, and it’s music to my soul. Making Mitch ‘The-Machine’ Anderson laugh will never get old. I wield this ability like the rarity it is, because I know not just anyone can make him laugh. You have to work for those laughs, you have to earn them.
Finally, he shakes his head. “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”
“Isn’t it great? Stick with me, Anderson, and you’ll never get bored.”
He opens his mouth to speak just as my phone rings from my back pocket. It’s Ronda’s ringtone. I give Mitch an apologetic glance, then pull it out and answer it. “Hey Ronda, everything okay?”
“Hey, Noah started feeling sick at the restaurant so I brought him home. We’re watching a movie and he’s sipping water. I just wanted to let you know,” Ronda says, her voice serious and concerned.
“Oh no. Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
“I’m not sure, sweetie. If you’re out having fun, don’t worry about rushing home! I’ve got it under control.”
I glance up at Mitch, he’s close enough to hear the entire conversation. I know I’ll feel horrible if I leave Ronda to deal with my sick little brother. I give Mitch a sad smile and he rubs my knee gently as if to say it’s okay, I understand.
Ronda and I say our goodbyes and Mitch gets up from his seat before taking my hands and pulling me up too. Hand in hand, we walk slowly toward his front door. So slowly that I know neither of us wants this evening to end.
We stop in front of the door and he turns to me. “I’d like to do this again,” he says, pinning me with those serious eyes of his.
“Make out?”
He shakes his head in dismay, but he’s smirking, so I’ll count it as a win. “I’ll see you Monday? It’ll be my last time coaching. Oh, and we never set up a day for my last one-on-one with Noah.” Mitch releases my hand so he can slip his arm around my waist. He pulls me closer to himself. “My first game back with the Eagles is Wednesday, but I could work with him Thursday?”
“I work Thursday, but let me check with Ronda and see if she can drop him off.” He nods solemnly and a wave of sadness washes over me. I will the feeling away, not wanting to ruin how wonderful this evening has been… minus Noah’s sickness. “I’ll kind of miss seeing you at his games and practices.”
Mitch’s free hand comes to my chin and tilts my face up, he stares into my eyes like there are a million things he wants to say, but doesn’t have the time to say them. “I want to see you. I know my schedule is about to get crazy, but I want to keep seeing you.”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
He bends down and I close my eyes, expecting him to kiss me goodbye. But his lips land on my left eyelid with a kiss as soft as a butterfly’s wings. He repeats the movement with my right eyelid. I don’t want to open my eyes, I don’t want this to end. But I picture Noah laying on the sofa, feeling miserable. And with that, I open my eyes and say goodbye.
Sunday, I called in to work so I could stay home with my sick brother, and by Monday, he’s all better. It must’ve been something he ate at the restaurant. Just the perfect amount of time to ruin my almost-perfect evening with Mitch.
Little brothers, man. But I am relieved he’s feeling okay now.
We head to practice Monday evening and I’m practically giddy to see Mitch. We’ve texted the past few days, fighting and flirting like we usually do, but it’s so much more satisfying now that I’m certain he likes me.
Likes me, likes me… as Noah would say.
When we walk inside the iceplex, I’m trying so hard to play it cool, but as soon as I see Mitch standing there in his coaching gear and hockey skates, a huge grin spreads across my face.
Yeah, I have no chill. I feel a little better when he smiles back at me, in a way he doesn’t smile at anyone else. I amble up to him like an awkward teenage girl, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear so I have something to do with my hands, and biting my bottom lip to keep myself from kissing him in front of everyone. I’ve gone two days without his lips, and am dying to kiss him again.
Mitch’s hazel eyes, looking more blue today, twinkle as he says, “Hey, Blondie.”
Two words. That’s all it takes for me to melt. “Hey, Big Man.”
“Uh, what’s happening?” Noah asks, looking back and forth between us with a furrowed brow. “Why are you guys being nice to each other?”
Mitch tousles Noah’s hair. “I’m always nice to your sister.”
“Okay, but she’s not usually nice to you.”
I cross my arms and glare at him. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah it is,” Mitch argues, still with that gleam in his eyes. “I’m just an innocent soul, constantly being bullied by you. You’re vicious.”
He says it with such a straight face, I almost laugh. Noah narrows his eyes, looking at me through slits. “You’re taking his side?” I ask, allowing my jaw to drop dramatically.
“Of course he is, you’ve been yelling at me since day one,” Mitch says, crossing his arms to match mine.
“You know,” I say. “I liked you better when you spoke in grunts and growls.”
Noah looks between us again and rolls his eyes, walking off toward the locker room to get ready.
Mitch takes a step closer, angling his head down to look at me with that intense stare of his. His eyes are dark and hooded now as he looks into my eyes like we’re the only two people in the room… or in the world. Then he makes a low, growly sound in his throat. That sound pulses through me like a heartbeat. “Is that better?”
“Is what better?” My eyes are half closed and my voice comes out in a whisper.
Mitch chuckles deep and low. “Growling instead of talking.”
“Yes, much better.”
Mitch smirks then steps away from me, and I instantly miss being in his towering shadow. Like when you’re having the best summer day but then the sun sets and it’s all over too quickly.
“I gotta help Coach Aaron get set up for practice, I’ll find you after.” He gives me a faint smile, then turns and walks through the doors leading to one of the ice rinks.
How a man can sexily swagger away like that with hockey skates strapped onto his feet is a mystery I will never solve. I would certainly look like a penguin trying to walk for the very first time, but not Mitch.
“You guys looked awfully cozy.” A voice comes from behind me.
I look over my shoulder to find Steph and Tori standing a few feet away. Tori smiles but Steph still appears to be sour about the altercation between Declan and Noah.
“Oh, hey guys. How have you been?” I ask, giving them both a friendly smile.
Steph crosses her arms. “Not as good as you, apparently.”
“Steph, come on,” Tori whispers, looking annoyed at her friend.
Steph ignores her and continues, “So, this is how you get the coaches to take Noah’s side?”
“Steph!” Tori gasps and steps away from her.
Steph’s accusation feels like a physical slap. I’m not sure whether to cry or slap her back. I clench my hands at my sides, just to be sure I don’t actually slap her. After a beat, I decide there’s no use in arguing or fighting with someone who’s opinion clearly cannot be swayed.
“I’m sorry you think so little of my character, Steph,” I tell her with no anger, no mirth, then turn and walk away. Because oftentimes, walking away is the best thing you can do.
During practice, I watch Mitch intently, noticing how different he is a month into coaching. Not only is he more patient with the boys, but I think he’s earned their respect… a little. I mean, they’re still getting into fights, but I haven’t seen any of what Mitch calls hooking. And when he speaks—with authority but not anger—the boys stop and listen to him. I’m impressed by how far the boys have come, and how far Mitch has come. At times, I can see him struggling not to get angry and yell at them, I can see him close his eyes and take a few deep breaths, possibly practicing his breathing.
I’m curious to see if they’ll stay in line when the other coach is back at the end of the week. My stomach sinks at the thought of not seeing Mitch at practices. This whole month we’ve been forced into seeing each other several times a week, and now we’ll have to be intentional about it. Choosing to make time for each other. And will he make time for me? Can he make time for me?
My thoughts are interrupted when Noah slams Declan into the boards, steals the puck and passes it to his teammate who scores a goal. Declan rushes over to Noah and shoves him, making him fall on his butt. Noah gets back on his feet, his eyebrows drawn, and skates after Declan. He shoves Declan from behind and he stumbles on his skates. Both of them pull their arms back as if they’re about to punch each other, but Mitch skates over in the nick of time and places himself between the two boys. Using his large hands, he holds them as far away from each other as he can. They both calm down, but are still scowling at each other. Mitch’s face is red and he looks irritated, but he doesn’t yell or lash out at them. Instead, he says something to them sternly. They both skate off toward the bench and quietly sit down. Noah and Declan sit there with their backs toward each other while they cool down.
Okay, things aren’t perfect. But they’re better… I think.
