Page 57

I make a show of looking him up and down. “Yeah, glad you’re back on the protein bandwagon, you’re practically wasting away, you're so scrawny.”

His eyes drop to my jean-clad legs and then back up to my eyes. “I’m trying to keep up with you, I can’t have your quads out-doing mine.”

“Mitchell Anderson,” I say with an obnoxious, fake southern drawl. “Have you been looking at my quads?”

He closeS his eyes for a beat, like he’s trying really hard not to be annoyed. “It’s just Mitch.” He looks down at my legs again. “And yes, I have.”

Heat rushes to my face. “Your legs are pretty impressive too.”

He pretends to be shocked. Sarcastic Mitch might be my favorite Mitch. “Andie Downsby, did you just compliment me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he says smugly. “From this moment on, I expect you to shower me with compliments. It’s the least you can do since you called me the ugliest Eagles player.”

“Sorry, what I meant to say was the grouchiest Eagles player.”

His perfect mouth pulls up into a slow, mischievous grin. It’s absolutely devastating. He leans in closer to me, his face mere inches from mine. It takes every ounce of self-preservation I have not to move, and not to look down at his lips.

He whispers, “I think you’re into grouchy guys.”

Mitch leans in with an aching slowness, closing that last bit of space between us. This moment that has built up over the past month, this moment that I can’t stop, can’t deny myself of. He’s going slow, giving me the chance to stop his lips from meeting mine. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

And then he kisses me, swiveling in his seat so my knees are trapped between his own. His powerful thighs are warm against mine, making me feel secure… safe. One of his hands lands on my waist, and the other comes up to caress the side of my neck. His lips on mine are hot and soft, contrasting perfectly with his rough beard and calloused hands. I scoot to the end of my seat, trying to get as close to him as I can. And his hand on my waist seems just as desperate, his large fingers squeezing the dip in my waist. One of his fingers dips under my shirt, feeling so warm against the skin on my torso. Thank goodness for cropped shirts.

Our lips move against each other in perfect tandem, like we’ve been kissing each other all our lives, but I’ve never had a kiss like this. So tender and yet so desperate. His hand moves along my neck and then into my hair, along my scalp. Normally, I don’t like it when people play with my hair, it doesn’t feel soothing to me… but when Mitch does it? Yes, please. Soothing isn’t the right word for the gentle tugging I feel on my hair, titillating is probably a better description.

He pulls back just long enough for me to see his hooded hazel eyes, and to whisper, “Kissing you is even better than I imagined.”

Bringing my hands to his black t-shirt, I grasp it with my fists and pull him back to me, kissing him again. I flatten my palms against his broad, defined chest and enjoy the feel of his muscles beneath my hands. I trail them down, longing to feel if his abs are as chiseled as I’ve pictured, but his hands gently grab mine and I feel him smile against my lips. “Are you trying to undress me?”

“I just want to touch your abs, please,” I beg.

“Am I just a piece of meat to you, Blondie?”

I whimper. “Yes. Girls need protein too, you know.”

I feel his body start to shake as he tries to stifle his laughter, but he fails. A thunderous laugh comes out of his mouth, and it’s music to my soul. Making Mitch ‘The-Machine’ Anderson laugh will never get old. I wield this ability like the rarity it is, because I know not just anyone can make him laugh. You have to work for those laughs, you have to earn them.

Finally, he shakes his head. “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

“Isn’t it great? Stick with me, Anderson, and you’ll never get bored.”

He opens his mouth to speak just as my phone rings from my back pocket. It’s Ronda’s ringtone. I give Mitch an apologetic glance, then pull it out and answer it. “Hey Ronda, everything okay?”

“Hey, Noah started feeling sick at the restaurant so I brought him home. We’re watching a movie and he’s sipping water. I just wanted to let you know,” Ronda says, her voice serious and concerned.

“Oh no. Do you think it’s food poisoning?”

“I’m not sure, sweetie. If you’re out having fun, don’t worry about rushing home! I’ve got it under control.”

I glance up at Mitch, he’s close enough to hear the entire conversation. I know I’ll feel horrible if I leave Ronda to deal with my sick little brother. I give Mitch a sad smile and he rubs my knee gently as if to say it’s okay, I understand.

Ronda and I say our goodbyes and Mitch gets up from his seat before taking my hands and pulling me up too. Hand in hand, we walk slowly toward his front door. So slowly that I know neither of us wants this evening to end.

We stop in front of the door and he turns to me. “I’d like to do this again,” he says, pinning me with those serious eyes of his.

“Make out?”