She sticks her tongue out at me, then starts hauling a couple of the trash bags upstairs. Brat.
I help her get it all upstairs, running out to my SUV for a second and third armload of bags. When everything is deposited in a pile in the room she's staying in, I slip away to the back deck to call my agent.
He doesn’t have any news for me, so I follow that by giving Gordie a nice long walk around the western side of the Cheshiahud Loop. It's a nice walk, paved and studded with coffee shops, boutiques, and eateries. The lake and its many docks are on the other side. There are a ton of people jogging, and lots of families strolling together.
The idea of having a family appeals to me. People who cheer you on. People whose successes and failuresyou celebrate and comfort. Unfortunately, the second I start trying to picture myself with a family; as a happy dad wearing a giggling toddler with my wife pushing a stroller beside me, I get a pang of guilt.
This is probably what my dad thought before having me. He and my mom swear they had me on purpose. Which means that at some point, my dad thought that he would be a good family man. That’s laughable.
And look at what a mess that turned into. Hockey players should stay single until they retire. There would be a whole lot less heartbreak if we all just learned to keep our sex lives casual.
I've done my part so far.
When Gordie and I get back to the house, my eyes bug out. Twelve pairs of Converse are in a pile next to my neatly displayed shoe rack. On the coat rack, there are several strange rain jackets. There are several "Learn How to Coach" books on the end table beside the couch. And going upstairs, I nearly trip over one of her duffel bags.
"Hey!" Mollie pops her head out of the spare bedroom. "Will you take that bag into your home gym?"
She pops her gum, waiting for my answer. The tinny sound of music played through a phone leaks from her room.
"Your stuff is already everywhere. How did you manage it so fast?" I wrinkle my nose.
But Mollie's expression hardens. She steps out, grabs the bag, and pulls it away.
"Sorry that my stuff is crowding you. It must be terrible to have your space taken away from you all of a sudden." Her words are sharp enough to cut, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
"Fuck. Mollie, I didn't mean?—"
She shuts the door in my face. I gape at it.
This isn't going well at all. Having my teammate's little sister, someone I already find tempting, in such close proximity is already a challenge. But add in the way that I can't manage to open my mouth without insulting her?
It's a disaster.
I go into my room and sit on my bed. It's only then that I realize that every single sound from her room is amplified and played through the vent. And right now, I can hear her crying jagged tears.
Fuuuuck. I made her cry? I really am the worst.
Mollie would hate if she knew I could hear her. Not to mention that doing anything about it would be crossing a line I've been careful about for a year.
The last few months, I’ve struggled to keep Mollie separate from me. I can’t do anything to rock the boat.
I put my headphones in to give her a little privacy and tune her out. Hours later, though, my stomach is growling and she’s still holed up in there. I end up ordering Korean food, since bibimbap is basically all the foods I normally eat anyway. And I tack on an order of tteok-bokki, bulgogi, an order of galbi, and some of those tasty dumplings. I’m hoping that a little Korean food will ease some of the tension that I created.
I knock on her door and leave the bag of food without waiting for a response. It feels a little cowardly, but I’d rather keep some space between us. When I pass by her door later, though, I notice that the food is gone.
Shaking my head, I hope I just made things better instead of worse.
Chapter Five
Mollie
Staring up at the ceiling of Thorne's guest room, I watch the pale morning light blossom into full-fledged daylight. It's way earlier than I usually wake up. But then again, I'm not usually sleeping in my mortal enemy/brother's teammate's guest bedroom. And I don't usually ask guys to take my virginity shortly before finding out that my apartment has gone up in flames.
I press my hands against my face and sigh deeply. Maybe if I never, ever mention the virginity thing to him again, we can both pretend that it never happened.
That's possible, right?
It takes some serious positive self-talk to get me up and dressed for work. Things like ‘I can do anything I set my mind to! (Except Thorne.)’ ‘Being here is not inconveniencing anyone! (Again, except Thorne.)’ I drag myself through the shower and then pause in front of my closet.
