Page 56 of Checking It Twice
“I was boring,” I say honestly. “Student council, debate team, honor society. The most rebellious thing I did was stay out past curfew for Academic Decathlon practice.”
“Academic Decathlon,” Mitch repeats, his voice warm with something that might be affection. “Of course you did Academic Decathlon.”
“Someone had to represent the nerds with dignity.”
“I bet you were captain.”
“Obviously, Mitchy.”
He grins at me, heat pooling low in my stomach at the look on his face—like he finds my teenage overachievement not just amusing, but attractive.
The server appears—a blonde who looks like she stepped off a calendar, all perfect teeth and strategic cleavage. Her smile widens when she spots Mitch.
“Mitchell Drake,” she purrs, leaning over the table in a way that gives everyone an excellent view of her assets. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Hey, Amy.” His voice is polite but distant. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Really good.” She glances at me, taking inventory with the thorough assessment women do when they’re calculating competition. “And you must be the girlfriend everyone’s talking about.”
“Clare,” I say, extending my hand with my most professional smile.
She shakes it briefly, her attention already back on Mitch. “So what can I get you? The usual?”
“Whatever’s on tap is fine. Clare?”
“Same.”
Amy nods but doesn’t move away immediately. Instead, she lingers, one hand resting on the back of Mitch’s chair, her body angled toward him like I don’t exist.
“You know,” she says, her voice dropping to what I’m sure she thinks is a seductive purr, “I’m off at eleven if you want to catch up.”
The audacity is breathtaking. She’s literally propositioning my fake boyfriend right in front of me.
Before I can stop myself, I’m sliding closer to Mitch on the bench seat, close enough that my thigh presses against his, my hand finding his arm in a gesture that’s clearly possessive.
“Thanks,” I say sweetly, “but we’ll probably be busy catching up ourselves.”
Amy’s smile falters slightly. She looks between us, processing the territorial display, then forces her professional smile back into place.
“Right. Well, just flag me down if you need anything.”
After she leaves, the conversation resumes, but I’m hyperaware of the way other women in the bar keep glancing over at our table. At Mitch specifically. And why wouldn’t they? He’s gorgeous, successful, and clearly the most interesting thing to happen in this small town in months.
The possessiveness I felt when Amy was practically throwing herself at him surprises me with its intensity. I’ve never been the jealous type—too pragmatic, too aware that you can’t control other people’s behavior. But watching women eye Mitch like he’s available makes something primal and territorial rise in my chest.
He’s not single. He’s with me.
Fake with me, but still.
When he gets up to use the bathroom, I watch at least three different women track his movement across the bar.
“He’s always been popular with the ladies,” Sarah observes, following my gaze.
“Has he?” I try to keep my voice casual.
“Oh yeah. Even in high school, before the whole NHL thing. Those eyes, that smile—he always had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room.”
That magnetic charm. The same quality that probably drew Hannah to him in the first place, and maybe why losing her hit him so hard.
