Page 27 of The Attack Zone

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 theycannotknow 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 differentreaction 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. “Ifyou 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 withanyone. And this isMitch, 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 youtoo muchand 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.

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