Page 95 of On the Line
Why they traded a forward to Detroit in exchange for Mitch made sense in the way that it further strengthened their already solid defensive core, but Mitch thought that they really could’ve used a high-scoring forward.
Unfortunately, no one asked for his opinion.
After practice was over, and Mitch had showered and redressed in a bro tank and cargo shorts, two of the only summer-like articles of clothing he’d had the foresight to bring from Detroit, he slung his bag over his shoulder and made for the door.
All things considered, the day had gone better than he’d expected. Maybe this trade wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him.
“Hey, Mitch!” He whirled to find Gabe hurrying toward him with his own bag slung across his chest, Hawaiian-print shirt buttoned haphazardly over his chest, as though he’d dressed quickly.
“What’s up, Gabe?” Mitch asked.
“Let’s go get dinner. I’ll show you the city and we can get to know each other a little better.”
Mitch pondered for a moment. Quite frankly, he was starving, and didn’t have anything better to do. “Fix your shirt and you got a deal.”
Gabe looked down at his shirt and grimaced, quickly unbuttoning and straightening it.
They exited the arena together, and Mitch was suddenly grateful for the offer so he could bum a ride back to his hotel after. He didn’t yet have a vehicle in LA, and he was getting sick of dealing with Uber drivers.
Gabe led him to his car in the player’s lot, a bright white Range Rover. They stashed their bags in the back, settled onto the black leather seats, and set off.
“I’m going to take you to WeHo,” Gabe told him, using the abbreviation for West Hollywood. “It’s got some great restaurants, for sure, but I figure if you’re in LA, you should be exposed to the Bravo TV hot spots as soon as humanly possible so you never want to go back.”
“That bad?” Mitch asked with a laugh.
“Not bad, exactly. Just…overwhelming. I prefer downtown.”
Mitch gazed out the window as the streets rolled by, the buildings an amalgamation of chrome and glass, wood, and Spanish-inspired architecture. The sun was a bright, near-white ball in the sky, heating this corner of the earth to what would be mid-summer temps back in Michigan. Palm trees cropped up at regular intervals, towering over the sidewalks packed with a melting pot of people from all walks of life.
He definitely wasn’t in Detroit anymore.
But he had promised himself he would give this city and his new team his all, so he turned to Gabe and asked, “How long have you been with the Knights?”
“Six seasons,” he said. “Since I graduated college.”
“Really?” Mitch asked, studying his new defensive partner. Gabe didn’t look old enough to have already been in the league for six seasons, especially not if he went to college first. “Did you leave school early?”
Gabe shook his head. “Nope. Got my degree and everything.”
“How old are you?” Mitch asked.
“Thirty.”
“Wow,” Mitch said, genuinely surprised. “I thought you were way younger than me.”
“You’re like, what, thirty-three?” Mitch nodded. “I don’t know why, but I always thought you were younger, too.”
“Seriously? Have you seen me?” Mitch asked, gesturing to his massive body.
“You move like you’re a lot younger,” Gabe said with a shrug.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mitch said. “And so do you.”
Gabe laughed, and pulled to a stop in front of a white stucco building, a sign out front announcing Mexican food. “I’m really glad we’re getting out now, because things just got a little weird in here.”
Mitch laughed with him, feeling lighter than he had since arriving in LA.
They made their way inside and were seated almost instantly, seemingly catching the restaurant in a weird lull between rushes.
