Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Thorne
The events of last night swirl around in my mind before my eyes even open. Mollie pushing my buttons and asking me to take her virginity. That threw me for a loop.
As far as Mollie knows, I’m a fuckboy. I guess it makes sense she would ask me because I’m experienced or whatever, but it feels like shit. Especially because I had to turn her down.
I didn’t want to, but she doesn’t want me. She wants Alex Thorne, hockey legend. She wants the guy on billboards, the guy that all the girls go nuts for. The PR golden boy.
And here I thought I’d done a good job of showing her that I’m a real person with a beating heart. I guess not.
Then when I tried to take her home, her apartment was on fire. Watching Mollie realize that most of her possessions were fuel for the flames was almost as painful as when I turned her down. I’m just glad that she agreed to stay at my place for the night.
Not being able to watch out for her would’ve been the killing blow for my ego.
My phone buzzes next to my head. I open my eyes a crack, and see that it's Beck. That explains getting a call before seven.
"Hey," I mumble when I pick up.
"Jesus, Thorne. I've been calling you and Mollie both."
I squint. "Mollie stayed at my house last night."
Beck huffs. "Yeah, I gathered as much from the handful of texts I got from her. She said there was a fire at her apartment?"
I sit up in bed, my brain still groggy. "Fuck. Yes, there was a pretty big fire. I was giving her a ride home from The Secret History and when I tried to turn onto her street, the whole building was on fire."
"Shit. Has she heard from the building management?"
"You know as much as I do. When I saw the fire, I felt like the responsible thing to do was to bring her over here and put her up in my spare bedroom. By that time, it was 11 o'clock, past my bedtime, so..."
"Right." Beck sighs. "Right, sorry. Living with Rosie has made early to bed, early to rise my M.O."
"That was my guess."
Beck pauses. "Rosie is sick. She woke me up at 2:30, crying and scratching that wasp sting on her cheek."
"Like she's allergic or something?"
"I don't know. I'm calling her pediatrician when they open in an hour."
"Sorry, man. That's rough."
"My point is that I can't bring Mollie into this mess, especially not if Rosie keeps waking up and screaming at all hours of the night."
"...right." I squeeze my eyes closed. "What do you want Mollie to do if she can't get back into her apartment for a few days?"
"Can she stay with you? Not forever, but long enough to figure out if she's lost anything?"
"Of course." My chest tightens at the idea of Mollie staying here, no matter how short the stay. "Until we can organize—"
I'm cut off by a loud wail on Beck's end.
"Shit. Text me?" he implores.
"Yep."
He hangs up and leaves me in the darkness of my bedroom. I drop the phone on the bed and lie back again.
Fuuuuuuuuuck. This is getting complicated, fast. And I haven't even heard a peep from Mollie yet.
Mollie. Who is here in my house after asking me to take her virginity last night.
Does she need to see a shrink? Why in the world would she choose me, with my reputation and the nearly ten-year age gap between us, to be the one to take her v-card? It's a fucking bad idea for a million reasons. But why would she even think about it in the first place?
Maybe she was just that drunk. Is there a number of drinks I could have that would cause me to make terrible decisions? I think so, but I'd be close to passing out by then.
Since today is a rest day, I hit the in-house gym and sauna before taking the world's longest cold shower.
By 8:30, I'm standing in the kitchen making a huge pile of scrambled eggs, sautéed onions, bell peppers, and whole-grain toast with almond butter.
I'm using the egg pan to cook down the veggies when Mollie comes down, rumpled and yawning.
And wearing a hoodie with my number on it. I forced it on her last night before leaving her alone in the guest bedroom. My chest tightens when I notice that she’s not wearing anything else but my hoodie.
My woman, looking hot as hell, wearing my number? Oh fuck yeah. She’s every hockey player’s wet dream.
“Morning,” she mumbles. There are dark circles under her eyes that indicate that she didn’t sleep much. She's not much of a morning person. Her bedhead is as epic as her eyes are exhausted.
"Morning. Hungover?" I ask.
She puts her finger to her lips. "Shh. Too loud."
My lips curl at the corners. Getting shushed in the morning is definitely not part of my routine. I pull a mug out and pour her coffee from my fancy coffeemaker, then set it down on the island. She gives me a grumpy look as she eases into a seat and takes a sip.
"Got any milk and sugar?"
“I have some unsweetened almond milk and honey." I point to the fridge and the pantry. "You can serve yourself."
Her lip curls but she pushes out of her seat and pads to the fridge. "My landlord called. She said that my apartment is untouched, but the building is unlivable. And she said something about the sprinklers."
"That's better news than I thought you'd get. Have you... talked to your brother?"
She stirs in a teaspoon of honey, tastes her coffee, then pulls a face. "Still gross. And no. My landlord woke me up."
"Do you want some eggs and toast?" I ask.
She looks a little guilty. "I'm starving."
"So that's a yes?" I arch a brow.
She nods, flushing. "I think I'm still a little drunk."
Smirking, I add some olive oil and the egg mixture to the pan. "Tequila will do that."
"I'm going to need some more disgusting coffee before I can start trying to figure out where I'm going to go. Maybe Beck's house, as long as I wouldn't add to his stress."
"Yeah... about that." I stir the eggs and pop the toast down in the toaster. "Beck woke me up this morning. Rosie's sick."
Mollie looks stricken. "Is she okay?"
"No idea. He was taking her in to see her doctor this morning. He mentioned that she'd been crying all night and suggested that you stay here."
She narrows her gaze. "Where's here?"
I spread my hands. "With me."
"You must be kidding." She laughs.
I shake my head. "Totally serious."
Her expression contorts. "But you hate me."
"What? No I don't."
"Yes, you do. I piss you off."
"You irk me. But that doesn't mean I'm going to make you leave. Where would you go?"
"I could... uh... get a hotel until I figure something out. Or, ohhh, I'll Airbnb a place."
"In Seattle? You're going to splash out to rent a place that's close enough to work?"
That gives her pause. "It'll just be for a week until I find something more within my budget."
I slowly shake my head. "I promised Beck that I'd take care of you for the next few days. You're not going anywhere."
"Thorne." She crosses her arms. "You're not the boss of me."
"For the next few days, I am. You're not going to run off without a plan or a place to stay. You'll stay here where I can keep an eye on you."
"And if I refuse?"
It takes everything in me not to smirk at her. She's got nothing, no one to turn to but me, the guy that annoys her to no end. But still, she keeps giving me attitude.
I can't lie. I'm impressed. I lean in and say, “You won’t refuse.”
Stop fighting it, Mollie."
She pushes her cheek out with her tongue and glares at me, but doesn't have a comeback. I serve her breakfast and eat mine standing at the counter, not really making eye contact. I hear her muttering under her breath occasionally, but she doesn't try to engage me otherwise.
"I'm going to feed Gordie." I nod to the French doors behind her, where the dog has his nose pressed against the glass. "When you're ready to go to your apartment and gather some of your stuff, let me know."
Mollie looks pissed. "Fine."
"And there should be some ibuprofen for that hangover in the guest bathroom. Take some. You're pissier than usual today."
As I walk away, I'm aware of the way she flips me the double bird. God help the man who settles down with her; he's got one hell of a rollercoaster ride in his future.
An hour and a half later, we're standing in her wrecked apartment.
The dreary, drippy aftermath of the sprinklers still leaks down the walls, pooling on the bed and all over her floor.
Her small collection of books is ruined.
The kitchen is a wreck. Hurricanes have left less damage in their wake than these fire-preventing sprinklers.
Mollie surveys the damage, struggling not to cry. It's obvious, as she looks around at the ruined bed and fallen plants by her window, that if she were alone, she would cry.
"Fuck." I grimace. "I'm so sorry, Mollie."
She presses her lips into a thin line. "It's fine. Let me see if there's anything worth saving."
In the end, most of her clothes are salvageable, along with three bags full of figure skating clothes and accessories.
They, along with a plush stuffed sloth, were spared by being on a shelf in the closet.
A handful of toiletries are deemed okay.
The contents of her bedside drawer are not, though.
The little particle board furniture is already cracking and peeling from being soaked in water.
I help her carry everything downstairs. Three duffel bags, twelve garbage bags. And the sloth. We pile everything into the back of my SUV and then drive back to Lake Union. When I park near the communal dock where my houseboat floats, I look at her.
"Hey." My hand flexes when she looks away, out the window. The urge to touch her and somehow make this right is strong. "How about you take the stuffed animal? I'll get everything else."
Mollie turns and gives me a shaky smile. "You mean Slothra?"
I give her a blank look. "If that's what it's called?"
"It's like Mothra, but she's a Sloth. Slothra."
"I have no idea what that is. Mothman?"
She looks shocked. "You're old, though! How do you not know about Mothra, Godzilla's mortal enemy?"
"Exactly how old do you think I am?" I shake my head.