Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thorne
Coach Ryan blows his whistle, clapping his hands. "Passing drills. Let's go. Line up two by two."
I drift to the line, pairing with Theo. It's three-quarters of the way through practice and I'm dragging. Admittedly, I stayed up too late with Mollie. She was in my bed again, giggling and kissable. And I liked it, so much so that I pitched the idea of her moving into my room permanently.
Being Mollie, she didn't just simper at the thought. She arched a brow and asked, "But what about your precious sleep schedule?"
And I kissed her just to show her what I thought about that. I think I'll have movers come into the house while we're at work tomorrow and move all her stuff so that will be the end of our little discussion.
I want her with me. Doesn't she get it?
As I half-ass it through practice, I catch myself staring at Mollie more than is strictly necessary. We have an unspoken agreement that we shouldn't do anything that spills our secret.
But that's hard on a day like today, when I'm watching Mollie filming a lot of content with Theo and Konstantin at the center. I spend the entire practice glaring at them, feeling like a possessive caveman because she's paying more attention to them than me.
Beck elbows me when I let another puck slip past me because I'm glaring over my shoulder. "What the fuck, Thorne? I always knew you had an ego, but are you really this upset over not being the center of attention for once? HockeyTok still worships you, you dick."
I grunt, rubbing the spot he hit. He thinks that I'm worried about the fame? So be it. Better that than his very sexy little sister.
"I'm just keeping an eye on Kuznetsov," I lie.
Yeah, him and every other man with eyes. We skate to the bench to grab some water. I notice Konstantin saying something to Mollie, close enough that they're almost touching. She makes a gesture that I don't recognize and he bursts out laughing.
If I could piss a circle around her to let everyone else know that she's mine, I would. I slide a glance at Beck.
Mollie's scared of his reaction to our news, but I'm losing patience with keeping our relationship a secret. Not telling Beck means that Mollie is fair game for anybody on my team.
Or, god, other teams. I don't think I can handle it. Mollie keeps putting it off, saying that she's enjoying how simple things are. And I do recognize that in order to cheat, she’d have to be into it. There’s no chance of that happening.
But regardless, I have to tell him.
I'm losing my mind in the meantime.
Coach Cross blows his whistle, signaling the end of practice, and I hustle off the ice. Beck and Jett follow, giving me shit the entire time.
"What, have you got somewhere else to be?" Beck's voice follows me into the locker room.
Jett pins me with a teasing look. "Maybe he has someone to see."
It's everything I can do to keep a staid expression. "Maybe I'm just sick of you two."
Beck snorts. "Yeah right. We're a delight."
Jett taps Beck's fist and then starts stripping his pads. I rush through stripping and showering, my mind on Mollie. She probably has a lot more work to do today, but I need a hit. I won't make it through the rest of the day without a little taste.
Sneaking out of the locker room, I stealthily hunt Mollie down, finding her in a darkened hallway. She's bending down, hunting for something on a lower shelf, tempting me with her lush ass and the tiniest glimpse of her white panties.
She squeaks when I grab her ass. Squeezing hard, I whisper, "Heya Squeak."
Mollie sags against me. "Alexander Thorne! It's not nice to sneak up on people."
"You're not people, though." I turn her in my arms. "You're my girlfriend."
Mollie looks over my shoulder, nibbling on her lower lip. "Not in public."
"I know. I'm your dirty little secret," I tease, kissing her lips.
"Alex." She says my name the way I like, twining her arms around my neck. "You're making things difficult."
I kiss her neck, enjoying the mmm of pleasure that escapes her. "Good. Things should be hard for you. Do you know how tough it is to be the dirty secret while you're out on the ice, filming other players?"
A giggle escapes her. "You're crazy. I'm just doing my job."
"That doesn't make it any better." I palm her tit through her sweatshirt and she moans. Grinding my hips against her, I grit my teeth. I'm hard and thinking about her sucking my dick right now is tormenting me. "You wanna be my good girl?"
Her quick inhale is as good as a yes, but it's cut off by her brother's voice. "Moll? You down here?"
She practically shoves me off her. I eye her as I adjust my cock, moving another step back while she smooths down her hair.
"Right here!" she calls.
Beck comes around the corner and stops short when he sees us. "What are you two girls whispering about?"
"Mascara," I say. "And blush."
Mollie swallows tightly but offers a smile. "I was trying to get a blank jersey. And Thorne was making my day harder. What's new?"
She says it lightly, but her use of my last name stings. I rub a hand across my mouth.
It's time to tell him, but she hasn't agreed yet.
So I let the moment pass. Backing up a few steps, I jerk my thumb over my shoulder.
"I'm going to get going. But remember what I said, Mollie."
"Yeah." She glares at me. "I will."
As I'm leaving, I hear Beck ask, "What'd he say?"
Leaving her to climb out of that hole she dug for herself, I head for the locker room.
I sit down on the bench, moving slowly now that I'm alone. There's no real reason to hurry, besides my late lunch walk with Gordie. Most of the fun of going home these days revolves around Mollie, I guess.
Plus, there's the whole keeping our relationship a secret thing. That's weighing on me, I realize. I need to come clean with Mollie tonight about that.
"Hello?"
My head snaps up, thinking that someone is talking to me. But I realize after looking around that it's Kuznetsov. He's not facing me. He's looking down into his phone, rumbling a laugh.
"Kostya, mon petit chou," a woman says. Her accent is French-Canadian, her voice soft. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"
"Non. It's fine." Kuznetsov rubs his face with a big hand. "But how are you, maman?"
"Ca c'est. Tell me, how are the boys there treating you? Any better than your last team?"
I hear Konstantin’s pause and wonder what to read into it. "Better, yes. There are still difficulties. You saw the last game, non?"
"Oui. You seemed... stressed. Do you want your father or I to come interpret during your next game?"
Another beat of hesitation, then Konstantin shakes his head. "Non."
The woman, Konstantin’s mom, sighs. "You are very tough, mon chou, but you should take help where you can get it. You know your père or I would drop everything to make things easier for you. Dit moi, are the bêtes on your team even using sign language or tapping their sticks to call for passes?"
"Sometimes."
"Oh, Kostya." She sounds mournful. "I should move to be where you are, n'est-ce pas?"
"Non, non." He glances over his shoulder and stiffens. "Maman, I'll call you back."
I cringe. "Sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
Konstantin stands up, grabbing his hockey bag. When he starts to leave, I feel like even more of a dick.
He's struggling to find his place on this team, in this league. I'm one of the captains of this team and yet I've only seen him as my competition, so far.
He is, but obviously there's more to him than that.
"Kuznetsov." I wave my hands, stomping my foot. When he turns back to me, brow arched, I lift my bag to my shoulder. "Want to go get lunch?"
He gives me an unreadable look. "With you?"
"Yeah." The way he says it makes it sound like I just asked if he wants to hold a poisonous snake. "You like burgers?" I ask. "Or sushi?"
Not giving him a lot of options, I usher him out of the room. He looks at me like I'm trying to trick him. "I could eat a burger."
"Fantastic. I'm driving." I clap his shoulder, hoping that I'm comforting him and not signaling that I'm a serial killer.
We go to The Secret History, which has a perfectly fine burger encased in the exceptional vibes of the place. It's a weird time to be at a bar, too early for anything like happy hour. The whole bar has two other patrons in it, so I grab a booth in the front.
It's too early for either of the bar's owners to be here, so we give our orders to the girl working and then settle into the booth.
"Are you living upstairs?" I ask.
Kuznetsov nods, looking around. "I didn't know that this place was here, though."
"The Havoc pays extra to keep a private room in the back that's closed to curious tourists." Our beers come, and I take a sip. “It comes in handy for post-game drinks.”
"That's a nice perk of living here." He pins me with his gaze. "You have a house somewhere else, I'm guessing?"
“I live in a houseboat on Lake Union. It provides a lot of privacy.”
He nods. “Nice.”
“And that was your mom back at the rink?”
“Yes. And before you ask, yes she’s from Quebec. Yes, I’m adopted. Yes, I have a different accent.”
“Right.” I bob my head. “She seemed very nice.”
A small smile forms on his lips. “She is one of a kind. My parents took in several children who had unusual needs.”
“Ah. Like your…” I tap my right ear.
Konstantin nods. “Yes.”
Small talk has never been my strong suit, and it sure as hell isn't his. I ask about the Sin Bin apartments. He says they're fine. I ask if the guys upstairs are loud. He gives me a look that says the question is stupid for reasons I should already understand.
I realize a beat too late that loud isn't exactly his problem.
Smooth, Thorne. Real smooth.
His mom's voice is still rattling around in my skull. Are the boys on your team even using the sign language or tapping their sticks to call for passes? And his answer, flat as pavement: Sometimes.
"So, the on-ice stuff," I say, picking at the label on my beer. "Our signals. Why does it keep breaking down between us?"