Page 34 of Checking It Twice
My cheeks still sting from the cold, my hair has finally dried from its impromptu snow baptism, and every muscle in my body aches from sledding like a maniac for three hours. I should be exhausted.
Instead, I feel more alive than I have in months.
Mitch settles beside me on the couch, close enough that his thigh brushes mine, and immediately starts stealing my marshmallows.
“Excuse me,” I say, swatting his hand away from my mug. “Those are mine.”
“You’ve got like twenty of them. I’m just evening the odds.”
“There’s a whole bag in the kitchen.”
“But yours taste better.” He grins, completely unrepentant, and manages to snag a marshmallow before I can stop him.
“That’s theft.”
“Sue me.” He pops it in his mouth, eyes locked on mine. “Although I can think of better ways you could punish me.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Mitchell Drake, are you flirting with me?”
“Always.” The word comes out rough and honest, stripping away any pretense of performance.
For a moment, the playful mask slips, and I catch something raw in his expression—want, need—causing my pulse stutter. Then he grins, and he’s back to being the charming troublemaker his family knows.
“Can’t help myself around you, Clare Bear.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m fighting a smile. This is the Mitch his family sees—playful, mischievous, the type of man who steals marshmallows just to watch you get flustered.
But I’m starting to realize there are layers beneath that easy charm. Dangerous ones.
“Your sledding technique needs work,” he says, settling back against the cushions.
“My sledding technique was perfect. You were just in the way.”
“I was minding my own business at the bottom of the hill.”
“Standing directly in the path of destruction.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be any destruction. You were supposed to steer.”
I turn to face him more fully, tucking one leg under me. “Nobody mentioned steering was required.”
“It’s implied in the concept of sledding.”
“I prefer the kamikaze approach.”
His laugh is rich and genuine. “I noticed. You nearly took out half my family.”
“Sophie seemed impressed.” I shrug.
“Sophie’s six. She’s impressed by anyone who can tie their own shoes.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Hey, shoe-tying is a valuable life skill.”
“So is not hospitalizing innocent bystanders.”
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes in mock offense. “Are you calling me dangerous, Mitchy?”
Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but I catch it. The teasing light in his gray eyes takes on a different quality, becoming darker and more intense.
