Page 4 of Checking It Twice
“You literally just made a cryptic comment about wolves,” Bennett points out.
I feel Mitch’s eyes on me then, and my skin prickles with awareness. When I look up, he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse skip. There’s something calculating in that gaze, like he’s weighing options I can’t see.
I’ve always noticed things about him. The way he runs his hand through his dark hair when he’s thinking. How he drums his fingers against his thigh during long meetings. The way he actually listens when people talk, instead of just waiting for his turn to speak.
Right now, he’s doing all three.
“The book’s actually good,” I say, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “It’s about not letting the past define yourfuture. Taking risks even when you’re scared of getting hurt again.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Sounds relevant.”
“So you’ll do it?” Chase presses.
The silence lingers in the room. I can feel Mitchell still watching me, and I have the strangest feeling he’s not just deciding about the book club. Like there’s some other question being asked here, one I don’t understand yet.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “I’ll do it.”
“Great.” I make a note on my clipboard, trying to ignore how his agreement sends an unwelcome thrill through me. “I’ll send you the discussion guide.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The way he says it makes me think he’s not talking about the book at all.
And something in my stomach twists.
I didn’t claw my way through a communications degree and two years of unpaid internships just to throw it all away for a hockey player who looks good in a suit. This job is everything I’ve worked for—coordinating campaigns, building fan engagement, maybe getting promoted to Vivian’s level someday. I’m not about to screw that up for anyone.
No matter how hot Mitchell Drake is.
Chapter Two
Home Ice Disadvantage
Mitchell
My phone buzzes just as I’m cracking open a beer, and I already know who it is before I look at the screen. Mom has this sixth sense about calling at the exact moment I’m trying to forget my problems exist.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Mitchell Alexander, don’t you ‘hey Ma’ me. I’ve been waiting three days for you to call me back.”
I sink into my couch, already feeling the familiar weight of expectation settling on my shoulders. My Dallas apartment feels too quiet, too clean, too much like the life I’ve built to escape everything back home.
“Sorry. Been busy with—”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. I know your schedule better than you do.” Her voice is warm but demanding, the way only mothers can manage. “When are you coming home for Christmas?”
There it is. The question I’ve been dodging for weeks.
“About that... I’m thinking maybe I should stay in Dallas this year. The team’s got some events, charity stuff—”
“Mitchell Alexander Drake.” The full name now. I’m screwed. “You will not spend Christmas alone in that sterile apartment of yours. Your family misses you.”
My family misses the version of me that existed before Hannah ripped my heart out and served it on a platter to my best friend. They miss the guy who believed in forever, who planned his whole life around coming home to Maple Grove with a wife and kids and the American dream.
That guy’s dead. And I’m not interested in attending his funeral.
“I know, Ma, but—”
