Page 11 of The Attack Zone

There’s a long pause, and the little typing bubble pops up several times before Mitch’s response finally comes through.

Mitch: No. Thank YOU, Stacey.

Mitch: See you on Saturday.

Stacey: See you then!

This might be the most pleasant interaction we’ve ever had. Too bad it’s over text and not in person. Still, as I’m packing up my laptop and shutting down my office for the night, I find myself actually looking forward to Saturday. I’m not sure if it’s because there will be puppies there, or if it’s because I’m excited to exceed my fundraising goal, or something else entirely.

I’m at home on my couch when my email pops up with a notification. Knowing exactly what it’s for, I hop off my couch where I’ve been enjoying a glass of wine and the Blizzardsgame and make my way downstairs. I don’t even open the email because I know what day it is.

It’s Thursday.

My flowers are here.

I walk through the lobby of my building and approach the front desk, where my flowers are sitting. I sign for them and head back upstairs, eager to arrange the new bouquet on my coffee table. Last week’s still looks lovely on my kitchen table, so I’ll leave that one where it’s at.

Once the flowers are arranged to my standards and I’ve refilled my wine glass, I settle in on the couch for the last third of the Blizzards game. It’s a home game, and it’s a bit of a nail bitter. The score is 2–2 and Mitch is on the ice alongside Caleb, but shortly after I sit down, icing is called and the lines change. The camera zooms in on Mitch as he skates to the bench and hops over the barrier.

He's dripping with sweat—they’ve played him a lot tonight—but looks just as driven and energetic as ever, even as he catches his breath.

I keep expecting the camera to veer off of him, but it doesn’t, so I’m stuck looking at his obnoxious, but admittedly gorgeous, face. There’s just something about him that does it for me, and I learned a long time ago that it’s perfectly fine for me to be attracted to someone I don’t particularly like.

But the thoughts that I have about him on nights like tonight—nights when I’m all alone—are, well, dirty as fuck.

Before I can think better of it, I turn the TV on mute with one hand and let the other wander down to the button of my jeans, unhooking them. I slide the zipper down, letting my hand rest on the exposed lace.

This is a bad idea, I try to tell myself.

But really, what’s the harm? He’ll never know. And it’s been a while since I had a close to decent hookup. Also, this is not the first time this has happened, let’s be honest.

I wiggle my jeans down to my ankles and pull my t-shirtup and lace bralette down, exposing my chest to the chilly air of my apartment. My nipples harden immediately, and I circle one lightly with my finger. My hips start to move involuntarily, but I don’t touch myself, not yet. If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right. Let it last a little bit.

As I switch to the other side of my chest, I let my mind wander. At first, it’s just Mitch’s face, somewhat hazy in my head. But before too long, it becomes more vibrant, and I imagine it’s his tongue doing the work on my nipple instead of my fingers.

My hips continue to wiggle against the couch, and in my mind, Mitch grinds his hips into mine, hands bracing on either side of my head while he looks down at me, hair perfectly imperfect, and a smirk across his face.

Then, when I finally feel ready, I reach my hand under the lace just below my stomach and reach one finger inside myself. I’m dripping wet and one finger doesn’t feel like enough (it never does), so I slide a second in and begin to thrust lightly. My breath hitches in my chest as I move faster and faster, until my body feels even closer.

I pull my fingers out, and using the wet dripping down them, I circle my clit. I do it slowly and lightly at first, but pick up speed as my hips buck upward. Mitch is in my mind again, this time his head between my legs, looking up at me with a grin. I continue to circle myself with more and more pressure, Mitch’s smile in my head as my body seizes up and releases, every bit of me shaking as it does.

In the moments after, I think I should be embarrassed or ashamed. But I shake it off, not wanting to wallow on my Mitch Greggs weakness for longer than I have to. I turn to the TV for a distraction to see that Mitch just scored the game-winning goal, and I can’t help but laugh.

Of course he did.

CHAPTER 6

MITCH

FOUR DAYS LATER

It’s the night of my annualRebounds for Rescuesgala and I’m buzzing with excitement. I just picked up my suit from the tailor and I got a haircut this morning. It’s one of the few light weeks we have this season in terms of the game schedule, and I’m excited to be with supporters and friends.

I’m in line to check into the hotel when I hear a familiar voice handing out orders down by the ballroom. I got a room at the hotel the gala is at so I can still get my mandatory nine hours of sleep. My psychiatrist says sleep is just as important as medication, and I need to make sure my bipolar disorder is under control during the season. I’m not open about it with most people, but King and Mack both know and they help me stay on track. It was King’s idea to get the room so I didn’t have to travel across town back to my condo to go to sleep. That dude really looks out for me.

I turn to see Stacey looking as breathtaking as ever in her business casual outfit. She’s wearing long, flowing pantstoday with a tight top and a pink blazer. She gives me a short wave and I don’t even have time to wave back before she’s turning back to her clipboard and walking down the hall.

Once I’m checked into my room, I rinse off in the shower before pulling out my new suit. Once I’m totally ready, I assess myself in the mirror. I look pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. Never mind the fact that I only bought this suit after Stacey said she was bringing a date. I’ll look great to the donors and that’s what matters.