Page 25 of On the Line
In the end, it seemed as though Lexie had won yet another round, and Mitch was left standing with his dick in his hand like a dumbass.
Lexie moved as fast as her unsteady legs would carry her away from what she would forever refer to as “the scene of the crime.” She would never be able to enter this bar again without thinking about what happened in that darkened supply closet. The dim lighting snaking under the door had all but stripped her of her eyesight, forcing her to rely on her other four senses, which only heightened the experience.
That was, bar none, the hottest sex of her life. Putting herself back together afterward, acting like she didn’t want to take him home and strip them down completely so she could ride him all night, took a level of self-control Lexie hadn’t been aware she possessed.
She was proud of herself, but she was also ashamed. Mitch got to her so easily, could somehow break down the walls she had so carefully constructed around her heart.
It was good that he hadn’t been able to see her when they had just come together because she was afraid that he would’ve been able to look into her eyes and know that her man-eater mentality was all an act. There had never been anyone like Mitch before. Never had she reacted so strongly to the sheer presence of a man, as though she was drawn to him like a magnet.
For that reason, Lexie had been shooting him down every time he tried to make plans, and why she had refused to use the tickets he had offered her to his game that night.
Over the last month, keeping him at arm’s length had become increasingly more difficult.
Getting close to people wasn’t something she did, save Berkley, Kimber, and Amelia. Call her crazy, but she had an inkling that if she carried on like this, if she let Mitch have even one small piece of her outside of her body, she would come to regret it.
He kept telling her that she was going to ruin him, but the simple fact was that he had no idea he held all the power. He had no idea he could very easily ruin her, too.
She intended to keep it that way.
Now...
TwoweeksaftertheKnights’ home opener, Mitch still could not believe he’d skated out on the ice and found Lexie sitting in glass seats, staring wide-eyed at him. As if she was surprised to seehim.
Who did that?
He hadn’t even paused to see who was seated next to her, to see if it was anyone he knew. Brent had his own season to worry about, which meant Berkley wasn’t going to any games her fiancé wasn’t playing in any time soon. Chances were high Lexie was on the road for work, but with the way they had ended things, what made her decide to show up at his game, where she knew she’d see him, if only from afar?
Thankfully, as a professional athlete, he had long since mastered the ability to compartmentalize, and had played a near perfect game despite her reappearance in his life.
And then he, Gabe, Cally, and some of the other guys had gone out that night and got absolutely shitfaced. Mitch half expected the crowd in the club they were in to part and find her standing there, exactly like New Year’s Eve two years before. Thankfully, she’d never appeared. Mitch had no idea what he would’ve done if she had.
When he was traded, he had left her without a word, and there wasn’t a lot he could say to her to come back from that.
But she had pushed him away before that.
Truthfully, they had both messed up, and now he was living with the consequences.
Gabe hadn’t asked any questions, though Mitch was sure he had known something was up when Mitch skated away from the boards where Lexie was seated, pale as a ghost.
And Mitch hadn’t wanted to talk about it anyway.
“Game time, boys!” Gabe yelled, pulling Mitch from his inner turmoil. Mitch stood and walked past his teammates, tapping each of their sticks with his own as he did before joining Gabe at the head of the line.
Gabe grinned widely at Mitch, and asked, “You good, bro?”
Mitch only nodded and turned toward the tunnel, all business as he led the Knights from the locker room and onto the ice. That night, they were playing the San Jose Wolves.
As an athlete, he fed off the energy of the crowd, and that night, the air was buzzing with hostility. He couldn’t figure out why, but he experienced a prickling sensation along the back of his neck the moment he skated onto the ice.
“Something feels wrong,” he told Cally and Gabe when they lined up for the National Anthem.
His teammates exchanged a look. “I’m sure it’s fine, bro,” Cally said.
The last time they played the Wolves, Mitch had got in a fist fight when one of the Wolves’ players had laid a bad hit on Knights’ forward Cooper Barrineau, forcing him to miss fifteen games with a concussion and partially separated shoulder. The Wolves’ player had only received a five-game suspension. It was hardly fair, and tonight, the air in the arena was hostile, fans and players buzzing with animosity.
Something bad was going to happen. Mitch could feel it like a weight on his bones.
When the puck dropped to start the game, Mitch and Gabe did what they did best: they patrolled their defensive zone, blocking shots, protecting Evan Powell, their goalie, and running interference for any other teammates who managed to get themselves into defenseless situations. It was back-breaking work, trying to be everywhere at once while skating for only forty- or fifty-second shifts at a time, but Mitch had been born and bred, grown and matured as a hockey player for nights like this.
