13. Stacey
CHAPTER 13
STACEY
THE NEXT MORNING
I fucked Mitch Greggs.
I fucked Mitch Greggs and I liked it. I liked it way too much. It was so much better than the fantasies I’d woven in my head on those nights I promised I’d never let turn into more.
But I wake up in Mitch’s arms to the sound of an upbeat pop song blaring from his phone.
“Sorry,” he says as he rolls away from me and stands up, leaving my bare back cold. “I forgot to turn my alarm off last night.”
A yawn escapes my mouth and my body starts to stretch against my will, forcing the covers to slide down my body. Suddenly, I’m on my back, completely naked from my hips up. Mitch turns towards me and freezes. I reach down to pull the covers back up. I may have felt some weird sort of freedom with him last night, but now I feel a little bit too curvy and a lot too exposed. You’re just too much, Stacey . The thought rings through my head, my extra self feeling extra over the top as I snuggle into the covers further, eager to feel less exposed in front of someone I thought I hated.
Can you hate someone who gives you the best sex you’ve ever had?
I haven’t decided yet.
I roll on my side and reach for my phone to check the time. It’s five o’clock in the morning.
“Mitch,” I moan. “Why is your alarm going off at five?”
A little chuckle escapes him. “Sorry,” he says. “I keep a pretty strict sleep schedule.”
I was not expecting that, and it’s weirdly disarming. I always sort of assumed he stayed out partying late and just woke up whenever, hungover and disheveled. I turn back towards him and see that he looks anything but disheveled right now. His hair is a little bit messed up, which I guess I should take responsibility for, but otherwise, he looks fucking delicious. His boxer briefs hang loose around his hips, which happen to have that insanely hot v-shaped thing going for them. Above that he’s stacked with abs, given that he’s a professional athlete. But the real showstopper is his legs. Thank the lord hockey exists, if only for making him look like that.
Shit.
I’m staring.
What is happening to me? I’m supposed to hate this guy.
He lays back down next to me and scoots in my direction. I’m not usually a cuddler. Or at least I thought I wasn’t, but I guess I’ve cuddled Mitch twice now ...
Seriously. What is going on here?
“Good morning, love,” he says with a smirk.
I pull the covers tighter around me and look up at the ceiling. How am I supposed to handle him when he’s lying next to me naked? I can barely handle him when he’s fully clothed. I can barely handle myself fully clothed when it comes to interpersonal ... whatever this is.
“Morning,” I say a bit too sharply.
He reaches out and touches my shoulder. It’s the only part of me that’s been left exposed, and the touch immediately sends a zing through my whole body.
“Stacey,” he starts. “Are you good?”
Am I good?
I have no idea, to be honest. On the one hand, nothing has really changed between us. On the other, everything has. And Mitch is being kind and sweet and it’s really throwing me for a loop, so I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m uncomfortable and act like an asshole.
“Fine,” I say shortly. “Just tired.”
“I can let you go back to sleep if you want?” he says. “I have to get in some ice time before we’re supposed to drive up for the venue tour this afternoon, but you can stay here until check-out if you’d like.”
Shit. I completely forgot about venue tour today. It’s in Breckenridge, which is two hours away on a good traffic day. So I have to sit in a car with Mitch for four hours and act normal—or whatever I usually act like when I’m around Mitch—after he gave me a mind-blowing orgasm last night? Fuck. Me.
I have to do this for Caleb and Cassie, though. I can’t let them down. And they cannot know about what happened with Mitch. They’ll read into it because they’re total lovebirds, and I don’t know what this is, but it’s not that. Not at all. It can’t be.
“We can’t tell anyone about this,” I blurt out quickly, still staring at the ceiling. I’m not sure what I think will happen if I look at him, but I can’t risk it.
“Um ...” he says. “Okay?”
We sit there in silence for a moment. It’s not uncomfortable, though. It feels normal, even though it’s very much not .
“Actually, I need to be honest with you about something,” he says in a serious tone. So serious that my brain just freezes, unable to process what on earth he could mean. What is this going to be about?
“What’s that?” I ask, trying to keep the dread from coming through in my voice.
“I’ll probably talk to my therapist about this,” he says.
His ... therapist?
Uh ... what?
I mean, therapy is good. No, it’s great. I’ve gone myself and it was wonderful once I found the right person. But I never in a million years would have thought that the macho NHL player that is Mitch would see a therapist. The sport of hockey is many wonderful things, but it’s also filled with toxic masculinity.
“Your ... therapist?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says like he didn’t just blow my mind a little. “I tell her everything, so this will probably come up.”
It’s not like his therapist is going to tell anyone. Legally, she can’t even if she wanted to. “That’s fine.” I say. “But you also seem to tell King and Mack everything, and that I’m less okay with.”
“Hey,” he says as he brushes his hand from my shoulder down my arm. He doesn’t do it too softly, though, which would have made me feel squeamish. Something about most touching, especially light touching, really bothers me. But he does it with intention, like he knows how much it means that he gets to touch me.
I turn my head towards him and I’m instantly leveled to the ground. Sure, I checked him out this morning, but now that he’s laying down next to me, I’m a little speechless. I have to resist the urge to roll towards him, mount his hips, and have a repeat of last night. I bite my lip to keep from instinctively bringing my lips to his, which is a very different reaction to looking at Mitch than I’m used to. At least that I’d care to admit.
“What?” I ask after taking way too long to reply.
“I won’t tell anyone else,” he says. “ If you tell me why you don’t want me to.”
“I ...” Don’t know? Not really, anyway. I guess I don’t want people assuming we’re together now. Or that this will happen again. Never mind the fact that I’m not a relationship kind of person. I’ll never put myself through that again. Even if I was, you can’t be with someone you can barely stand. The sex may have been incredible, but we’ll murder each other if we keep doing this.
“You know how they all can be,” I say. “And it’s not like we’re doing this again anyway.”
It feels wrong the moment it comes out of my mouth. Not that I think we should do it again, but I’m really being a dick right now. I can’t seem to help it, so I turn back to the ceiling and hope that not looking at his face will help me get some strength back.
“We’re ... not?” he asks.
“Right,” I say, pretending he didn’t say it like a question. “So better to not make things weird with our friends.”
His phone buzzes as a different upbeat song blares from the speaker. His head falls back in frustration before he reaches to turn it off.
“I should get going,” he says. “You can stay if you want, though. I’m not trying to rush you out or anything.”
“I should get back home,” I say. I roll away from him and start to get out of bed, feeling self-conscious about just how naked I am as I do. Not that he hasn’t seen it now, I guess. But despite my generally good confidence, I always feel a little weird and exposed the morning after with anyone . And this is Mitch , for crying out loud. It’s a wonder I’m not running out of here in embarrassment after how ... honest ... I was with him last night .
It wasn’t always like this. I used to be as confident in bed as I am in the rest of my life. But once the person you thought you were going to marry calls you too much and complains about what you like, right before admitting he’s been cheating on you, things change. So for now I’m going to let myself act like a bit of a dick towards Mitch if it means getting me out of here.
I walk towards the door to gather the clothes we left scattered throughout the room, and he does the same. We’re both reaching down, me for my jumpsuit, him for his pants, right next to each other. I glance up at him and he’s already looking at me, a somewhat dopey grin on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says quickly.
Great. I’m more self-conscious now. Excellent.
“What is it, Mitchell?” I ask.
His grin turns into a playful glare. “I think we’ve well established that it’s Mitch at this point, love,” he says. My mind goes back to how I basically chanted Mitch over and over again last night and my cheeks flush bright red. “But you’re just very sexy in the morning, that’s all,” he continues.
I’m ... sexy?
Logically, I know we had sex, so it makes sense that he’d at least find me mildly attractive. But sexy? Very sexy? That’s news, and it’s throwing me off.
Can you think people you hate are sexy?
I guess I do find him sexy (insanely so, admittedly). And I guess he told me he doesn’t really hate me in Miami. Do I really hate him ?
My brain is running a million miles a minute and I still haven’t said anything back to him.
“Um ... thanks?” I say. It’s dumb and awkward and I’m so annoyed with myself right now. I reach for my purse I dropped by the door and avoid eye contact.
He laughs .
The fucker just laughs like I’m not being the most unhinged person imaginable this morning. It makes me laugh a little too, much to my humiliation.
“No problem, love,” he says. After we just stare at each other smiling like morons for a second, he continues, “Hey, if we aren’t doing this again, I’d like to kiss you goodbye. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
I can’t think of a reason why not, and I have to admit that he’s a very good kisser. One more kiss couldn’t hurt, right?
“Okay,” I say.
He steps towards me and wraps a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in. Then his lips are on mine and I can’t for the life of me think of anything better than kissing Mitch Greggs. His lips are soft, but he moves them with purpose as his tongue slides into my mouth. Then his hands are in my hair and mine are in his and I’m moaning against his lips. It’s both hot and sweet at the same time, which I didn’t think was possible.
When we finally part and my eyes flutter open, I’m left breathless, unable to focus. Once I finally regain my composure, I reach down for my purse, which I’d unintentionally dropped on the floor.
“See you around noon?” I ask.
“I’ll pick you up then,” he says. Once I get up the guts to make eye contact with him, I notice his light blue eyes are filled with kindness and have just a bit of sparkle in them. And once again, I’m speechless. “Bye, love,” he says when I don’t say anything else.
“Bye, Mitch,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say his name again without thinking about last night.
God, I hope so.