Animals

Day 21 Part 2

Wednesday, May 30th, 9PM

I paced the floor of my hotel room, still reeling over Stan's orders. There was nothing we could do yet, he'd said. He would have some men stationed inconspicuously near the National Archives Building waiting to see suspicious activity. Mitch and I were considered "on-call" and were instructed to be ready to go at the first ring. How was I expected to relax knowing what would happen in only a few hours' time?

Mitch and I still hadn't spoken. During the drive to the hotel, I stole glances in his direction. I knew I needed to say something, but with the driver up front and the woman in the passenger seat, I wasn't sure either of us would feel comfortable speaking so openly. Then, imagine my surprise when Mitch and I were given separate rooms. The rhythmic thump of my feet hitting the floor and the slap of droplets against the glass pane helped to work up my nerve enough to knock on Mitch's door.

Unfortunately, I hardly took one step in that direction when someone knocked on mine first. I frowned, my eyes rolling to the ceiling. Of course the second I felt brave enough, someone would interrupt. Now I'd have to work up to it again. He'd already be asleep by that time.

I swung open the door, ready to give whoever it was slight attitude, but my stomach dropped when I saw it was Mitch. His hair was soaking, still dripping from his shower. He'd taken the time to pull on a pair of black sweats. That was it. No shirt, no socks, no shoes. There was a circular scar on his shoulder, the clearest one of all of them. Thin, imperceptible scars decorated the rest of his torso, but one would never notice if they weren't looking for them. I was once again reminded of how tough his life must have been. I had one scar from a pizza oven on my hand, but other than that, my skin was smooth. He'd been through so much more than I, but I'd forgotten that.

"Mitch," I finally said, snapping out of shock. He offered me a small smile, though his jaw was tight. I looked down guiltily, stepping to the side for him to pass by.

He stopped in the center of the room, turning to me with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "You seem surprised."

I stood a few feet from him, trapping my lip between my teeth. Was it possible that he was more confused than I was? "Well... Yeah, I guess I am. I didn't expect you to come over."

"Why not?" The genuine confusion on his face stunned me into temporary silence. Had I been reading him wrong this entire time? I'd seen sides of Mitch I knew he kept private, but I still couldn't read him the way I wanted to.

"I thought you were pissed off with me." I quickly corrected myself, "Not that you don't have every right to be. I just... At the meeting, you were so stony, and you sat an entire plane length away from me, and then the hotel rooms. I just thought..." I trailed off as he moved closer, his hands dragging down my arms slowly.

"At the meeting, it was annoying to hear Stan yelling at you, even though he was right. He can be an ass sometimes. And on the plane, I was going to sit with you, but Stan asked me to help him out with some stuff."

Mitch sunk onto the edge of the bed confidently, leaning back on his hands. I watched as the comforter greedily soaked up every drop of water that jumped from Mitch's hair. His eyes scanned me hungrily, and it wasn't hard for me to guess what he was thinking this time.

"And the separate hotel rooms?"

His broad shoulders jumped in a nonchalant shrug. "One of the other guys made the reservations. You're the only woman. You got your own room."

Everything made complete sense, but because I had assumed I knew Mitch better than I did, I skewed the evidence to fit my own perception of the situation. What the hell happened to my objectivity?