The Troublemaker

“You didn’t have breakfast?”

“You did?” My eyes widen. “When? How?”

“I had a protein shake when I got back from my half-assed mile run.”

“Well, I had coffee. And a banana. Obviously not enough,” I say as my stomach growls even louder. “Why is it so quiet in here?”

Mitchell chuckles, shaking his head as we walk out to the front, but doesn’t comment on my hunger as we pile into his two-door BMW and head to the school. The guys are talking about practice and a teammate who’s been out with an injury and may be coming back and I’m trying to absorb everything, but my growling stomach keeps me from truly paying attention so I focus on the buildings we’re driving by. Without a word, Mitchell makes a right and parks in front of a popular smoothie chain, gets out of the car, leaving the three of us confused, before he walks back out with a huge cup in his hand.

“You didn’t even ask us if we wanted anything,” one of them says behind me.

“I could’ve totally killed a Hulk right now,” Dylan adds.

Mitchell says nothing. He hands me the large cup, which I take, as he puts his seat belt on and backs out of the parking space.

“Are you going to drink it or not?” He shoots me a look as he stops the car by the exit of the shopping center.

“It’s . . . you got this for me?” I feel myself frown.

“I don’t hear anyone else’s stomach growling.”

“Mine is growling,” Dylan says. “You never buy me smoothies.”

Mitch ignores this. He continues to look at me as I look anywhere but his eyes and rip the paper from the straw and plug it into the lid.

“Thank you.” I look at him again. “I need your number so I can send you money.”

“Don’t insult me.” He looks away from me and keeps driving.

I take a long sip of the smoothie and close my eyes with a sigh. “I really needed this.”

“Yeah, tomorrow, after the mile, eat something.”

“Tomorrow?” My eyes pop open. I glance over at him. “I work at seven.”

“We run at five then.” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s no big deal to wake up at four thirty in the freaking morning to do something I absolutely detest.

“As a rule, I don’t do things I don’t enjoy.”

“As a rule.” He chuckles.

“That’s a good rule,” Dylan says from the back seat. Mitchell shoots him a look in the rearview, to which Dylan responds, “What? It’s a good rule.”

“How’d it not work out between the two of you?” Rodney asks. “That’s literally Dylan’s life motto.”

“YOLO,” Dylan says.

“That’s Drake’s motto,” Mitch responds.

“And mine.”

“And mine,” I say, taking another sip of the smoothie.

“Which is why I’m wondering why things didn’t work out,” Rodney says again. I feel my face grow hot, but I don’t make a show out of it. Thankfully, I’m in the front seat and can just look out the window and let Dylan answer this.

“Misty says she’d never date an athlete,” Dylan says. “I respect that.”

“Is that true?” Mitch glances over at me as he parks the car in front of Boshamer Stadium.

I get out of the car quickly, pulling the lever so my seat moves forward and the guys can get out. While they get their bags out of the trunk, I scroll through my emails and texts and sip on the smoothie, then follow behind them as they walk toward the building. Mitch slows down and walks beside me as I continue reading through the group text between myself, Soleil, and Jo.

“You never answered me,” Mitch says, pulling my attention away from my phone and up at him, confused. “You really wouldn’t date an athlete?”

“Oh.” I let out a laugh. “Been there, done that.”

“Right, but that was a long time ago.” His brows pull in.

“It was and it wasn’t.” I shrug.

“So if I ask you out on a date, you’d say no.”

My heart leaps, slamming into its cage. I swallow. “I’d definitely say no.”

“Hm.”

He makes no further comment as we walk inside the building, but if I know one thing about Mitchell it’s that he can’t leave anything alone.

Chapter Eight

The coffee shop is buzzing when I walk inside. There are people everywhere, sitting, standing, talking, working. There’s something to be said about what spring does to people. Both Archer and Austin are behind the bar making drinks and taking orders. I speed up and walk back there, going into the back room to put my things down before pulling an apron over my head and tying it around my waist as I say hi to the guys and clock in. Austin and I haven’t spoken since our date a couple of nights ago and there’s no time right now while it’s this busy in here. I continue taking orders while they make the drinks and once the door stops opening and new customers stop coming in, the three of us let out a collective breath and lean against the counter.