Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Mollie
The next few days are so busy for me that I barely have time to see the man I'm living with. But he's in my thoughts.
Along with his smirk, dark tousled hair, bare chest, and predatory gaze. Am I frustrated that I haven’t had sex? Yes.
But I can see that he wants to. So I’m choosing to be patient.
I fell asleep in his bed and woke up alone. And since then, we haven't had a real chance to talk. A text here and there, asking if I'm going to be home, or whether I’m going to any of the team meetings about the preseason.
Spoiler alert: I'm not. Instead, I'm busy filming the behind-the-scenes of a charity campaign featuring Theo and Connor with a bunch of adoptable dogs and cats.
I snuck Indie in, and we both made endless Reels and TikToks of Connor holding a bunch of kittens.
Cute, but not quite satisfying. Mostly because Theo spends the entire time flirting his ass off with Indie and me.
And I spend the entire time trying not to hurt his feelings when I don't reciprocate.
Which I don't, because I'm too busy having capital F Feelings for Alex Thorne. I can't rein in my childish enthusiasm for him, even though I know that I should.
I've had crushes that turned into a relationship before. I’ve even come with my fingers while a guy was in the same room. But never quite to coming-riding-on-his-dick level.
That's something unique to Alex Thorne.
Thursday, I'm out of work and on my way to my brother's house when Thorne texts.
ICE KING
busy tonight?
My stomach sinks.
me
Yeah. Tomorrow?
It takes a minute before he answers.
ICE KING
Sure.
How perfectly awful. He actually didn't ask me when I wanted to hang out. For all I know, he was trying to make sure that the house would be empty for him to entertain guests.
Or a guest.
That is, until I see Thorne's truck sitting in the driveway. He's leaning against it, a cocky expression on his handsome face. The feeling in my chest morphs into a flutter of happiness. Especially when he beckons.
I think I’m having a heart attack, but in a good way. Is that a thing? My legs are shaky as I climb out of my car and walk toward him. I usually see Thorne wearing gray sweatpants and a dark vintage T-shirt. But today he's wearing khakis and a light blue button-up, rolled up at the elbows.
Arm porn if I've ever seen it.
"Hey," I say. "I thought you had other plans."
He waves a hand to indicate Beck's house. "I do."
I give him a small smile. "Are we... cool?"
He arches a brow. "I'd say so. Wouldn't you, Freckles?"
He tugs me toward the house as I scowl at him.
"None of that while we're here. Beck will lose it."
"Just getting it out of my system," he teases. Beck's front door swings open before I can say a word.
"Mollie!" Rosie runs out the front door at full steam. I bend down and catch her, groaning a bit as I pick her up.
"Oh my goodness." I smother her with kisses. “Are you feeling better, sweetpea?”
She nods. “Yeah. Lots.”
“It’s so good to see you.” I hug her tightly. Seeing my niece always brings me an absurd amount of joy. She’s growing up so fast, changing like a shapeshifter. Every time I see her, she’s a slightly different version, never to be the same girl again.
If I think about it too long, it’ll make me cry.
"Are you back at school?”
“Yes!” Rosie beams at me and wraps her arms around my neck. “I got to make handprints with my class.”
When she presses her hands against my skin, I feel something decidedly sticky. "Monkey, did you wash your hands?"
Thorne laughs as he looks on. "She definitely didn't. What is that, jelly?"
"It's blackberry jam," Beck says from the stoop, waving for us to come inside. "Somebody didn't clean up like I told them to after having a pre-dinner snack."
"That's okay." I bounce Rosie on my hip. "We can go to the bathroom and wash up together."
Beck follows us down the hallway, looking fairly serious. He's dressed in one of his dark suits, a sight I don't see in the summer too much.
"I know I said we would hang out, but I actually have to go meet my divorce attorney tonight."
I set Rosie down and twist the faucet on, feeling the temperature for her before I squirt some hand soap on her hands.
"Divorce attorney?" I switch to pig Latin, to keep Rosie in the dark. "Ay-way?"
Beck doesn't miss a beat. "Ex-may ants-way ustody-cay."
My eyes widen. "She does?"
"Yeah." He looks at Rosie, kneeling. "Hey, Butterbean. Auntie Mollie and Uncle Alex are going to feed you dinner tonight, and read you a book before bed. You okay with that?"
"Yes!" Rosie screams, making me flinch. "Come on! Come see."
I give Beck a sympathetic glance as I let Rosie tow me into the living room, where her art studio is splayed out.
There has to be two thousand crayons, colored pencils, charcoals, and fresh tubs of various colors of paint in here.
Beck gives Thorne some directions for ordering dinner, kisses Rosie, and then vamooses.
Thorne walks over to where Rosie has sprawled on the floor, coloring a picture that honestly looks like a straight up scribble. "That’s rain," she tells me.
"Ah." I grab a blank piece of paper and start sketching a figure skater, occasionally looking over Rosie's shoulder. "What's that?" I ask when she starts on a new page.
"School." She looks perfectly serious as she draws.
Thorne sits down beside us and fishes a set of modeling clay out of the supply basket. When I arch a brow at him, he says, "I'm great at a lot of things, but I can't draw to save my life."
"Hear that, Rosie?" I nudge her. "You're already better at drawing than Thorne."
"Yup." She keeps coloring.
"Okay, Miss Picasso," he says. "What should I make?"
She wrinkles her nose for a half a second, then pops off with, "A pony."
He grins. "A pony? Can’t remember what one looks like off the top of my head. Will you draw one for me?"
"Okay." She flips her drawing paper over to the other side and starts to draw a pink and purple pony. "His nose is purple."
"Purple nose. I'm on it."
I put my colored pencil down and watch them going back and forth to make the perfect pink and purple pony.
Alex Thorne is a bit of a riddle. He's the team's golden boy, the guy with the answers, an all-around wunderkind who has 847 career points, two Stanley Cups, and a Conn Smythe Trophy on his mantle.
On top of that, he has a reputation for being an unserious fuckboy.
I feel like I'm seeing a third side of him, being let in on a secret. One that has nothing to do with hockey or sleeping around.
This Thorne is good with kids, genuinely interested as Rosie tells him a rambling story about something she learned at school.
He's very patient, teasing, and kind. He’s been her godfather since birth.
So at birthday parties and holidays, he’s been around her, interacting with her.
But this is the first time that I’ve really seen him getting down on her level and listening to her.
He nods and asks questions about her life. He’s engaged.
This version of Alex Thorne makes me think that he's going to be a great dad.
Blushing, I try to keep my thoughts to myself. But Thorne looks up at me and catches my blush. I know because he gives me a salacious grin. He must be thinking that my mind is somewhere else. And whoops! Now it is.
He's a rule-breaker. And he's going to get us both in trouble if he doesn't play it cool.
Luckily, the doorbell rings. Thorne stands up. "Dinner's here."
We set up dinner at the kitchen table. Pizza, breadsticks, and a green salad.
Beck left explicit instructions that Rosie can have a piece of pepperoni and mushroom pizza after she eats a small salad.
To our delight, she doesn't push back on this.
She devours the salad and is rewarded when I slide a plate full of pizza and a breadstick in front of her.
Thorne eats beside her, teasing her, occasionally poking a finger into her ribs until she bursts into giggles. It's pretty endearing.
Ah! A shooting pain radiates from my ankle. I stop and rub my right ankle. My movements are mechanical and perfunctory; I’ve done this a zillion times.
“You okay?” I look up to find Alex looking at me with concern.
“Yeah.” I play it off like it’s no big deal, because it isn’t. It’s just a little pain. “Just a spasm.”
It’s a lie, but we’re supposed to be focused on Rosie, not babying my freaking ankle. As we are cleaning up and Rosie heads off to change into jammies, I smile at him. "You're great with her."
"There's a reason that I'm the godfather." He casually rinses off the colorful plates and forks. "I love kids."
"Yeah?" I stack dirty napkins and the empty pizza box. "You want one, I'm assuming."
“Very subtle,” he teases.
My eyes widen. “What? It’s just a question!”
“Uh huh.” He shakes his head. "But to answer your question, yes. Being the only kid is lonely. I want a big family. If I met the right partner, I'd have a dozen kids. Old school Catholic family style, all on top of each other."
I snort. "You would say that. You'll never have to be pregnant with any of them."
"True." He puts the dishes in the dishwasher. "Apparently some women like to be pregnant, though."
"Some do, I imagine. But even if you don't meet your magical fertility goddess, you could still have a big family. There's always adoption."
He nods. "There is. I'm a big fan of that, too.
When I was growing up, there was a family of eight adopted kids called the Sports team Terrys.
They enrolled all their kids in every sport, and made them all play a season of it.
" He shakes his head with a smile. "I'm telling you; that's the life for a kid. "
"Was your childhood so dull, then?"
Thorne purses his lips. "No. But it was just me and my mom for most of the time. Even when I started playing hockey, my dad never showed up to any of my games or trophy ceremonies."
"He probably wouldn't have showed up for your brothers or sisters, either."