Page 55 of In Your Wake

Reluctantly, he releases his grip, and I pinch a section of his beard between my fingers. Even though he looks totally uncomfortable, I’ve got to say this is pretty fun.

“Here it goes.”

I snip the hair, the sound loud in this tiny room like a sword being pulled from its sheath. After dropping the chunk of brown hair into the garbage, I continue with the rest, clipping off just enough to shorten Mitch’s beard to less than an inch. Hints of his jaw peek through the dark hair. Once I’m done, I rinse the scissors in the sink and then dust my hands.

I fill the sink with hot water, shake the can, then squirt some white foam into my hand.

“Do you trust me?” I ask, the words almost slipping out of my mouth unintentionally. Immediately, I wish I could take them back.

I watch his chest rise and fall with his deep breath. I’m terrified for what he’s about to say. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts and slowly lifts his gaze to meet mine. A small frown pinches the space between his deep-set eyes.

“I’m trying to,” he answers, and I try to ignore the lump in my throat.

“Tilt your head back.”

He does, focusing his eyes on the ceiling before shutting them with an exhale.

For a few seconds, I watch him, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and calm, and I’m filled with shaky nerves.

Why did I agree to this? What the hell was I thinking, letting myself get so close to him?

I hate his guts, but I’m also a heterosexual woman with a healthy sex drive. A drive that hasn’t been properly satisfied in a while. And Mitch, well, he’s my teenage love who’s grown into a fucking sexy hockey player with muscles that seem to communicate telepathically with my loins.

Fighting my stupid urges, I bite down hard on my lower lip and see him press his together at the same time. His perfectly timed deep inhale fills the room, his chest rises, his nostrils flare and it stirs my insides.

“Are you doing this, Toots?” he asks, opening one eye and peeking at me. “Or are you chickening out?”

The nickname does the trick and snaps me out of my deep dive into how fucked up I am.

I slap my hands against his cheeks a little harder than necessary, earning his rough moan and deep chuckle. With a few strokes, I cover his skin with the foam, then rinse my hands under the faucet before shutting it off. I dip the razor into the water, then give it a little shake and begin gently tracing his jaw from the sideburn down. Soon, the scratchy sound of the razor scraping his skin becomes meditative.

After every stroke, I rinse the razor in the sink, then repeat until Mitch’s pale skin reveals itself. Until I see the defined jaw I used to love so much. The lips that were thin, but would occasionally curve up into one of the sincerest smiles I’d ever seen. A smile that only appeared if the mood struck. If Mitch chose to favor me with one.

Him letting me shave his beard at all says a lot. It tells me how much he’s grown. How he’s changed and maybe doesn’t hate me anymore. There’s still far to go, to get back what we once had and to regain the trust we lost.

But if he can move past it, and has changed as he claims he has, then I should be able to trust him a little more, too.

Mitch

How is it that beyond the lavender-infused shaving foam and the smell of the hotel, I still pick up Maxine’s light scent that makes me want to sink down into this chair and melt into the warmth of her essence?

The push in her body, her words, the way she keeps fighting to keep me at arm’s length all seem to disappear the minute her gentle hands touch my cheeks. She rubs the foam onto my skin with hesitant, cautious strokes of her tiny, slender fingers, and I have to bite my tongue not to let out the moans building in my chest, but a few still slip through.

A single touch from Maxine Nolan, the thrill of having her so close I could wrap my arm around her and lift her onto my lap, fills me with more absolute contentment than any single second the game ever did.

And I fucking hate that.

How the hell did I get myself into such a fucking shit show? Not just with the league—that reality crept up on me months ago, and is even worse since I drove into town.

This is about Maxine. Being near her, even our petty fighting has ignited a part of me I was sure had died the day I left Oakwhite Bay. When we’re together, we’re volatile and better off apart.

“Mitch?” she says breaking into my thoughts with her soft, measured voice.

I crack my eyes open, meeting her worried gaze.

“Why are you so sure this place is worth it?” She gingerly glides the razor up my throat, around my Adam’s apple.

When she rinses the razor, I swallow. “I guess I appreciate what it’s like being rejected for what’s on the outside. For what’s broken.”