Highway Kismet

An Unexpected Arrangement

I had to blink twice and then rub my eyes to make sure that standing before me was Mitchell.  I'd been back for ten days and not once did I hear from him – even though I still had to go through all text messages and calls I missed during the last six weeks – but he didn't show his face once.

"Are you lost?" I asked.

"You are Mila Bandera, right?" He replied.

I pursed my lips and shook my head, "Mila Bandera Brinson," I made sure to emphasize the last name, "I need to be clear in case I get accused of hiding my identity."

He lowered his gaze for a moment before looking back up at me, "I deserved that."

"But," He pushed past me and entered without an invite, "I am at the right place."

"Hey!" I interjected, shutting the door behind me, "I didn't say you could come in."

Mitchell who walked into my apartment like it was his, turned around and looked at me, he took a moment to openly check me out. I was wearing pajama shorts with a tank top and my hair was in an unruly mess at the top of my head.

"You should know that hasn't stopped me in the past." He smugly retorted.

That was right, on the few occasions Mitchell did come over, I never invited him in, yet he always shoved his way through.

I crossed my arms, "It's bad manners to barge into someone's home uninvited."

He raised an amused brow, "Aren't you firing shots tonight."

'Yeah, because you deserve it.'

"What if I had someone over?" I said, "And what if he had his trousers down at his ankles?"

He looked around the room before taking gradual steps closer to me, his cologne reached my nose, and that mere scent took me back to the beginning of summer when things were so much better. When I wholeheartedly laughed, smiled, and felt happy, when I finally felt carefree and had fun for the first time – a time when I got daily calls from Carmen, a time when my mom was alive.

My train of thoughts came to a stop when Mitchell stood face to face with me, he was so close I could feel his body heat radiate off me. I titled my neck and looked up into his blue-grey eyes overshadowed by his dark, thick brows.

He was gazing at me; his eyes bore into mine and then gradually dropped to the rest of my face. I couldn't tell what he was thinking but he seemed to be scrutinizing me.

He slowly shook his head when his gaze met mine once more, "No, there's no way anyone was here tonight."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Because you're the furthest from turned on right now," He answered softly, "Your eyes aren't hooded and hazy, your breathing seems pretty much steady, and your cheeks aren't flushed rosy red."

I was not expecting that answer from him, so I frowned, "How do you know what I look like when I'm turned on?"

Hell, I didn't even know those things happened to me.

His lips curved at the corners forming a small smirk, "Because I've turned you on, on numerous occasions."

'What a cocky ass, he's right but he doesn't need to know that.'

"I think you're mixing it up," I retorted, "Because I clearly remember you were the one with hard evidence on numerous occasions."

His smirk dropped and he opened his mouth to retort, but I was not in the mood for chatting, so taking a step backward I asked, "What do you want, Mitch?"