Page 52 of Desire or Defense

I nod, but I’m only half listening. I barely slept last night, and have been distracted all morning. But with my suspension almost done, and my first game back on Wednesday, I’ve gotta get over this brain fog. Or, Andie fog.

This does she hate me, or does she want me game is about to drive me insane. There were at least five different times last night I wanted to pull Andie in for a kiss. Five agonizing, gut-wrenching moments that I craved her so badly I could hardly sit still.

But last night wasn’t about me or Andie, it was about Noah. And he was within a two-foot proximity to us the entire evening. Don’t get me wrong, as kids go, Noah is the greatest. He’s quiet, not obnoxious, and just an all-around cool guy. But when all I want to do is kiss his big sister? Yeah, having him nearby is an issue.

“Mitch?” Max’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up and see him staring at me, which is okay since I'm fully dressed now. I hardly even remember putting clothes on, that’s how consuming my thoughts of Andie are. All I can think about is how to have some time alone with her.

“Yeah, I’m listening.” I’m not.

Max clears his throat and leans against the lockers. “So anyway, the comments on the Wombats social media page, and the article where we interviewed the boys before their game a few weeks ago were amazing. Everyone loves you!”

I close my locker and toss my damp towel in the large hamper in the center of the room before looking at Max and seeing his stupid, smug smile.

“Glad to hear it.” My voice isn’t very convincing. I really haven’t minded coaching the kids, it was more tolerable than I expected. But I feel cringey about using it as a way to get people to like me.

“However, photos are circulating. They’re of you and the youth hockey mom… from the game last night.”

My jaw twitches. I want to protect Andie, not drag her into my stupid media circus. “She’s not a hockey mom. She’s Noah’s sister.”

He rolls his lips together as if trying to hold back what he really wants to say. “Hockey mom, or hockey sister. Whatever causes the most drama is what people will cling to. He runs a hand through his too-short hair. “I’d just stay away from her, to avoid getting mixed up in the drama… because I have good news!” Max’s demeanor changes from annoyance, back to his fake grin. Then he annoys me further by making an ear piercing drum-roll sound on the metal lockers. “You have a new company interested in collaborating! This is a big one. They’re offering even more than Advanced Athletics.”

“Really? What company?” I ask, ignoring his comment about avoiding the one person in this world who makes me smile. It’s none of Max’s business who I date. He’s my sports agent, not my babysitter.

“Franklin Distilleries,” he says excitedly.

My shoulders slump, but he either doesn’t notice, or ignores it completely.

“They’re creating a new bourbon blend, and they want your name on it!”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t drink.”

He waves his hand in the air as if shooing my remark away. “Doesn’t matter! They don’t care if you drink it, they just want your help promoting it. They want to call it The Machine. Catchy, huh?” He pumps his eyebrows a few times.

“Not interested.” I grab my car keys from the locker and brush past him.

Max leaps in front of me, holding his hands out to stop me. When I look down at him with a scowl, he changes his mind and moves out of my way. “Mitch, come on! Just listen to me.”

“I don’t have anything against people drinking or whatever. But it’s not for me, and I wouldn’t feel right about having my name on a bottle of bourbon.”

I keep walking, but hear his voice from behind me. “This is a huge payday. And after losing your other big sponsor, you’d be a fool not to take it.”

Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face him. “My personal boundaries aren’t up for discussion, Max.”

“You’re making all the wrong choices,” he mutters as he stands there gawking at me. His look says he thinks I’m crazy not to take this deal. But I’m not going to promote a product I know nothing about and would never use. When I draw a line… I don’t cross it.

Okay… I usually don’t. But I’ve definitely toed the line I drew with Andie. And I can’t stop crossing it. I’ve pretty much used my shoe to completely scuff the line and erase it. I keep walking until I’m outside in the parking lot. I find my car and get inside, still bristling with restrained anger.

If he thinks the right choice is promoting a product I’m personally against and avoiding a person who brings me joy, then maybe he’s the one who needs therapy.

I reach for my phone, the reminder of a certain blonde makes me itch to text her.

Things I’m not crossing the line on: alcohol.

Things I’m definitely crossing the line on: Andie Downsby.

Pushing Max and his bourbon proposal completely out of my mind, I think of how best to get Andie alone so I can spend time with her. Most men would just ask the girl on a date, easy peasy. But dating a high-profile athlete is no small feat. And Andie isn’t the kind to seek the public’s attention. There’s also still a small part of me that’s not sure she’s interested in me like that. So I’m going to play it cool.

Finally, I think I’ve thought of the perfect plan. I type out a text that she’ll probably see right through, but oh well. I’m shooting my shot.