Her Brother, Her Mate

Hadley POV

I watch as the handsome and slightly familiar man, Mitchel, helps Jenny into the resort’s shuttle and talks with the driver, who he also seems to know. I’m glad he was here because I had no idea where she lived and I have a feeling she was too far gone to tell me.

Guilt was eating at me for a moment there. I didn’t realize she was getting drunk until it was too late. I was drinking like I would normally do back at home with my parents and friends. I don’t even feel tipsy, but Jenny seems plastered. Maybe she is a lightweight.

Debra was like that too, though. After two margaritas and a beer, she said she was feeling tipsy and needed to get home before she got drunk and her girlfriend got mad at her. Ralph was getting tipsy too. He actually encouraged Jenny to leave with him, but when she said she wanted to stay I told him I would stay with her.

Thank the lord for this Mitchel guy. I wouldn’t have known what to do with her if he wasn’t there. I didn’t even think about the dangers of putting her in an uber in her drunken state. Mitchel may look like the kind of guy that would only use girls, but he has been nothing but helpful.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

“Well, Tim knows where she lives and will take her home. Her mom is up, waiting for her.”

“You called her mom?” I asked, surprised. He shakes his head.

“No, Tim did. They were hired at the same time and Tim had given her rides before. He had her mom’s number.”

“Oh,” that makes more sense. “So, do you work at the resort too?” I asked him, curious as to how he knows everybody that works there.

He looked nervous all of a sudden, fidgeting slightly while rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. The action drew my attention to his tattooed arm. The sleeve of ink is a mix of grays and blacks, and pops of blues and reds. All the separate tattoos are blended together in intricate swirls and vines. It’s beautiful.

His other arm has tattoos, but not as many and there isn’t the pattern swirling around, blending them together.

“I don’t work there, no. I just….live there?” he says like it’s a question.

“You live at the resort?”

“Yeah. I’ve lived there my whole life.”

I finally put the pieces together. “You’re Mitch, Vivian’s other son?” I said, staring into his beautiful gray eyes. They look just like his brother’s. I should have known who he was just from his eyes. They aren’t filled with arrogance like Mark’s, though. They were filled with anxiety, pain hidden around their edges. I didn’t feel like I was staring into the eyes of a narcissist. Looking into Mitch’s eyes was like staring into the broken window of his soul.

The rest of his features are much like his brother’s, though his face is a little softer, and his hair a few shades lighter, longer, and more messy. Mark didn’t have any noticeable tattoos, but Mitchel was covered in them. It’s like Mark is going for a cleaner, almost militant look, and Mitchel looks like your typical bad boy. The features are very similar, practically identical, but their demeanors are very different.

The raw emotion in his eyes called to a part of me, just like his touch earlier made my insides feel like they were dancing. I swear I felt his pulse through his fingers, drumming into my skin in a rhythmic beat.

He tilts his head down and looks at me through his thick lashes. His face was slightly more round than Mark’s. More boyish. I suddenly have this uncontrollable desire to protect him, which is silly because he is a man and looks very capable of defending himself.

“You’re Hadley, my mom’s new event coordinator,” Mitch surprises me again.

“I am,” I smiled reassuringly at him, sensing his anxiety and wanting to ease his worry in some small way. I reached my hand out to shake his hand again, wanting to feel his touch to confirm that what I felt before wasn’t just in my head.

I’ve never felt protective towards anyone before. This unexpected wave of protectiveness that overcomes me staring into Mitch’s beautiful gray eyes causes me to pull him towards me when he places his hand back in mine, surprising us both as I wrap my arms around his muscled waist.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, stumbling to pull away from him. “I don’t know what came over me.” I tripped over my heels as I stepped back, almost falling to the ground, but Mitchel’s firm grasp on my waist kept me upright.

His touch was making my skin buzz with energy, mind-numbing tingles shooting clear to a place unexplored in the pit of my abdomen.

“Are you okay?” his husky voice fanning close to my ear made me noticeably shiver in the balmy night air.

I stared frozen up at his handsome face, fighting down the urge to run my fingers through his tousled hair. What is wrong with me?! I never feel affected by a guy. No matter how handsome they are.

Mitch is different though. Something about those eyes calls to my soul, like I am the only one who would be able to erase the hurt hidden behind them.

“Hadley?” Mitchel’s breath brushed against my lips, causing me to look down at his while moistening my own. My tongue traveling across the pump curves made his eyes flicker down to the action.

“Sorry,” my voice was a rough whisper, “I didn’t mean to fall into your arms,” quite literally, I added to myself in my head.

His mouth quirks up into a lazy half smile, “I didn’t mind.”

Mitch helps me to right myself, hands firmly pushing me to stand on my own, lingering softly as I maintain my balance. When his hands release me, I feel colder, missing his touch. Seriously, what is wrong with me right now? Maybe I am drunk?

“Do you need help getting home too?” he asked me. Gawd, he probably thinks I’m a sloppy drunk like Jenny now.

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “No, no. I’m not drunk, I promise. I just, um, lost my footing all of a sudden.”

Mitch chuckles softly, causing an involuntary smile to break on my face. I like his laugh. It’s deep and throaty, with a twinge of the salty accent like you would expect a surfer to have.

“You sure? I didn’t drink and have my car?” he tells me.

I bit my l*p while thinking about his offer, noticing that his eyes flashed quickly to my mouth, watching the movement. He doesn’t react, though. Zeki would have licked his lips in response, or reached out and pulled my l*p from my teeth, muttering some crude comment about how he could put something better in my mouth.

Mitch doesn’t do anything like that. He just watches me, waiting for my response. I find myself wishing he would do something like that. I wouldn’t mind if it was him.

What is wrong with me?!

“Okay,” I smiled up at him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach when his face lit up because of my answer.

Mitchel Meyers. Why do I feel this way towards you?