Page 31 of On the Line
“One day at a time, bro,” Gabe said. “Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”
“Thanks man, I appreciate that.”
The door to Mitch’s room swung open and in walked the nurse Cally had slept with. “Visiting hours are over,” she said flatly. “Leave.”
Cally turned back to Mitch, who mouthed, “Fix this!” at him.
Cally rolled his eyes, and Gabe chuckled.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Gabe told him.
“Sounds good. Thanks for coming by.”
His teammates shuffled from the room, and Mitch closed his eyes again, thinking about all of the things he’d be doing right now if he could walk. Soon, he was asleep again, dreaming of happier times.
Twenty Months Ago...
Ashesteppedoutof the arena in Dallas, shielding his eyes from the watery late-February sun, Mitch’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, surprised to find a text from Lexie.
Mitch huffed out a laugh, and Brent looked at him questioningly. Mitch waved him off and turned away from him to shield his phone. He wanted to keep this thing between him and Lexie, whatever it was,between him and Lexiefor as long as possible.
So now it was athing, Mitch thought.I’ll take it.
Mitch’s eyes widened, his fingers clumsily flying across the screen as he typed out his response.
Lexie sent him a pin of her location, and the second the bus pulled up to the team’s hotel, he was off like a shot, sprinting up to his room. He quickly changed into jeans and a flannel—his uniform of choice outside of the rink—ordered an Uber, and set off for downtown.
Lexie was staying at the Kimpton Pittman Hotel and told him to meet her at the pool. He had several ideas of how she would appear to him when he showed up, but having never been to this particular hotel, he was surprised by what he found.
The Deep End was a swanky outdoor bar with casual seating surrounding a pool filled with scantily clad women and men who, from Mitch’s professional athlete standpoint, spent a little too much time on the abdominal exercises and not enough on arms or legs. Lexie was seated on a tall stool, belly up to the bar, a margarita sweating on the counter in front of her. Compared to the rest of the patrons, she was wildly overdressed, her long, sexy legs clad in black skinny jeans topped with a silky black tank top, feet wrapped in black closed-toe stilettos with red bottoms.
Mitch prayed that getting a drink right now was simply foreplay, that Lexie was trying to play it cool before taking him upstairs so he could strip her naked and spread her out underneath him. All he wanted was to press his mouth to hers and capture those sounds she made when she came, giving her orgasm after orgasm until the team caught their flight back to Detroit tomorrow morning.
He desperately wanted to fuck her in a bed, something she had so far managed to avoid.
By the time he sat next to her and surreptitiously adjusted his fly, he was already sporting a halfie. He signaled the bartender for a beer.
Lexie turned to him, her knee pressing against his thigh, and Mitch swore. With that simple touch, his dick got harder, once again prompting an adjustment.
“Hey stranger,” she said, a mischievous grin tipping up one corner of her mouth.
“Mitch,” he said, sticking his hand out for her to shake. A little role-playing sounded fun, as long as the night ended with her screaming his name.
“Lexie,” she said, her grin growing as she grasped his hand and pumped his arm up and down a few times. The press of her skin had him remembering what her hands felt like on his dick, and scratching down his back, and there he went again, getting all hot and bothered.
It was the purest, sweetest form of torture.
“What brings you to Dallas, Lexie?”
“Work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a model,” she said, so nonchalant, not a flicker of the lie showing in any line of her entire body.
And it very easily could have been the truth, Mitch realized. She was tall, lean, her face nearly perfectly symmetrical, the exception being her left eyebrow, which sat a touch higher than her right, as if she were in a perpetual state of dubiousness.
“I believe it,” he said, taking a swig of his beer.
