Well Matched (Well Met #3)(19)

I didn’t want to think about that. “So you’re sure it’s okay that you blew off rehearsal today? I don’t want you getting me in trouble with my brother-in-law.”

Mitch shook his head with a smile. “Nothing going on today that I need to be there for. Once we start fight rehearsal . . . that’ll be another story.”

“Really? Isn’t it the same fight you did last year?” Here I was, talking out of my ass again. The Renaissance Faire was in no way my domain.

But Mitch didn’t seem to mind me asking such basic questions. “Yeah, for the past few years. But Simon and I want to change it up a little. Pass on the big fight to someone else, you know? Which is great, because then we don’t have to work as hard during the summer.”

I nodded like I had any idea what he was talking about. “So you’ve been doing the big fight?”

“Yeah. It’s the climax of the whole thing. Simon and I sword fight for a while, then we punch each other around a little. He flips me over his shoulder, and . . .”

“No.” I sat back on my heels and shook my head. “There’s no way Simon flips you over his shoulder. You’re like six inches taller than he is.”

Mitch echoed my posture, sitting on his heels and leaning his hands on his knees. “You’ve never seen our fight?” His voice was wounded.

“Um . . .” It was hard to not cringe. This Ren Faire thing was a part of life for so many people in this town that it was almost embarrassing to be someone who wasn’t involved. “Sorry?”

He laughed at my meek attempt at apology. “Here.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, turning to sit cross-legged on the floor. While he tapped and scrolled, I sat down next to him. It was break time, apparently.

A few moments later he handed me his phone turned sideways. “Here,” he said again. “This is the fight we usually do.”

I hit Play on the video he’d called up, which unpaused the action of two men mid-tussle on a grassy field. I recognized Mitch immediately, wearing a kilt, knee-high boots, and little else. But it took a moment for me to recognize Simon, wearing leather pants, a loose black shirt, and a red vest. The two fought hand to hand for a few tense moments: punches and backhands, circling each other threateningly. Then Simon caught a punch thrown by Mitch in both hands, turning the larger man’s momentum against him, and before I realized what was happening, Mitch was in the air, flipping over Simon’s shoulder. I frowned and paused the video.

“I still don’t get it. How does that work?”

“Leverage.” Mitch reached around me for his phone, taking it out of my hands and rewinding the video about fifteen seconds. “See? He bends like that, gets his shoulder right about there on my chest, and then I basically dive over him. Like a lever, you know?”

“Hmm. I’m very bad at physics.” I watched the flip again, but this time my focus was on Mitch’s kilt, and the way the fabric flew when he flipped over Simon’s shoulder. “Hey.” I paused the video again with a frown. “You have shorts on. Under the kilt.”

Mitch’s laugh was practically a guffaw. “Nice of you to notice.”

“I mean . . .” I’d made it pretty obvious where my attention was, hadn’t I? Yikes. I rewound the video and watched it again, from the beginning this time. “I know what a stickler Simon is for historical accuracy. I’m surprised he let you get away with that.” On the little screen the men circled each other with swords that matched their physiques: Mitch with a massive sword that took both hands to wield, Simon with a slender rapier.

“It’s a family Faire.” He leaned over my shoulder, watching the video with me. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to lean back against him, but I fought the impulse. Fought it hard. “I understand your disappointment, but that flip alone would make it a very adult show.”

“I didn’t say I was disappointed.” I watched Simon flip Mitch once more, this time concentrating on Mitch’s powerful legs, and how the muscles looked when he landed on his feet. Those same muscles were right here next to me, covered up by a pair of jeans. My mouth went dry and I coughed.

“You thirsty? I’m thirsty.” That was an understatement, and I shoved the phone back into Mitch’s hands before standing up. I needed to get away from him. And while that wasn’t possible, I could at least stop sitting practically in his lap.

“Sure.” He rose easily to his feet, and even though he was dressed, all I could see were those legs in the video. Powerful. Muscled. Mouthwatering.

Yeah. Definitely needed a drink. Cold, cold water.





Six





So your grandma,” I said on the way to the kitchen. “With the old house? This is the one I’m meeting soon? At the dinner?” I opened the fridge to snag a couple of cans of soda from Caitlin’s stash.

“Ugh, seriously?” He looked over my shoulder at the contents of my fridge, close but not crowding me. “Would it kill you to put some beer in here?”

I turned my head, meeting his eyes. I raised an eyebrow and he huffed. Not quite a laugh, not quite annoyed. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll bring some next time.”

“You said that last time,” I reminded him. I handed him a can and bumped the door closed with my hip as he stepped back. “Anyway, your grandma?” I cracked open the soda.