Page 40 of The Attack Zone

I look up at the screen and see our left wing and captain, Grant Lance, taking the face-off. Thomas may be our star center, and one of the best forwards to play the game, but he’s actually kind of terrible at face-offs.

Lance wins us the face-off and the game is off and running. Every time Mitch is on the ice, he’s playing with the exact aggression I expected. He’s being so strong with his hits and when the Blizzards get a power-play, he winds up running it instead of Caleb. His play leads to a power-play goal that puts the Blizzards up 2–0 at the end of the first period.

A few moments after the guys return to the dressing room, my phone buzzes in my purse. I try to reach for it calmly, but I really hope it’s Mitch replying to my snarky text from before the game.

Mitch: Have I ever wasted a night of yours?

He follows it with a winking emoji and a heart. I start to feel an ache deep and low. I reach for my vodka cranberry in an attempt to get a grip and almost knock it over. One mention of how we’ve been spending our nights and I’m completely thrown off-kilter. What is happening to me?

Stacey: I suppose not ... I do like how aggressive you’re being tonight.

Mitch: You ... what?!

Stacey: I do know a little bit about hockey.

Mitch: That might be the hottest phrase I’ve ever seen from you.

Stacey: I thought you liked it best when I said your name ... Mitch.

Mitch: Dammit, love. Now I’m thinking about it.

Stacey: Good. Use that energy in the second period.

“Who are you texting like the world is ending?” Hazel asks.

I look up and see both her and Cassie staring at me. I guess we were typing back and forth sort of fast. Shit.

“Nobody,” I lie.

“Sure ...” says Hazel.

“As long as it’s not that Greg guy,” Cassie says, turning back to the TV, which is currently showing her fiancé on the bench getting ready for the second period.

“We call him Evil Greg so it isn’t confusing,” I say before I think better of it.

“We?” asks Hazel.

“Oh ... uh ... yeah,” I mumble. “Mitch and I decided it would be too confusing to have a Greg and Greggs.”

“Since when do you call him ‘Mitch’?” Hazel asks.

Goddammit. This is not how this night was supposed to go. Why am I losing my ability to be a fully functioning human right now?

“That’s his name,” I say.

Hazel turns back towards the TV and takes a sip of her beer. “Whatever you say,” she says.

After a few moments of awkward (for me, at least) silence, the puck is dropping for the second period. Mitch doesn’t get quite as much ice time, probably because his coach wants to rest the top lines for the playoffs, but when he is out there, he’s being a menace to the other team’s forwards and making some solid offensive plays in the process. He even lands one insane hit on a Buffalo player that makes him seem like a bulldozer.

By the time the second period is over, the score is 5–2 with the Blizzards winning. I imagine that Mitch will get even less play time in the third since they’re up. Since when do I track Mitch’s ice time? Good lord, I need to calm down. I’m just fucking this guy, after all.

I pull out my phone to text Mitch again, this time trying to be more nonchalant as I do. I pretend to scroll Instagram first, but then I see that the Blizzards’ social media team posted a few photos of the guys walking into the arena today. I swipe to see if there are any of Mitch. When I land on it, I almost have a guttural reaction. He looks fucking delicious. He’s in a blue suit with a wool coat over the top. The suit pants fit him perfectly, which isn’t surprising given how well-tailored I’m learning all of his clothes are. He has what I’m sure is a decaf coffee in his hand, based on how late in the day it is on the east coast. He looks effortlessly cool and if I was in his vicinity I’d have a hard time not climbing him like a tree. Just when I realize I’ve been staring at his photo for far too long, my phone buzzes.

Mitch: Have I wasted your night so far?

Stacey: I’m secure enough in myself to be able to admit that you have not.

Mitch: Good.

---