Mollie
When I come downstairs, the tug to make enough coffee for both of us is strong. I know Thorne’s schedule well enough by now that I’ve timed it… and that information I’ll be taking to my grave.
My rule about not dating hockey players was supposed to protect me from exactly this. Memorizing a dude’s schedule, noticing when he hasn't eaten, making coffee for him because it’s a nice thing to do. Hockey players aren’t interested in that.
I’ve spent enough time around Beck’s teammates to have absorbed, like a sponge, the way they treat women. It’s not always gross, but seven times out of ten it is.
I know exactly where behaving like a girlfriend leads. You make yourself useful, accommodating, and easy. Then one day, you realize that nobody is paying that kind of attention in return and that your crush has moved on.
So I make enough coffee for me and Indie, who picks me up for the ride to the cabin the team has rented. Beck, who’s still dealing with a sick Rosie, gave me all the details. It should be a really nice weekend.
It's been ten days since the fire. Ten days of Thorne's guest room and Thorne's coffee. Gordie has been looking at me like I'm the best thing that's everhappened to him, which is more than I can say for Thorne himself.
Pretty sure he still hates me.
"Wooooowwww." Indie's eyes are huge as she pulls into the circular driveway of the main lake house. "It's huge! And it's literally steps away from the lake."
She gestures to Lake Union, which the house and all the cabins that go along with it are snuggled up against.
"Jessa’s email says we should park wherever we find a spot." We're going to have to fight for parking; it looks like everyone and their mama is here. There are forty or fifty expensive SUVs pulled up already. "Jessa said that the Havoc are sharing this with some of the Seattle Wolves and the Seattle Sentinels. Something about trying to foster community?"
“Mmm, football, hockey, and baseball players?? Don’t mind if I do.” She creeps along the rows of cars, looking for a spot, then snags one about halfway down the frigging driveway.
"I hope your bags aren't heavy," she mutters. "We have to hoof it quite a ways."
I grab my zebra print weekender bag and hitch my backpack over my shoulder. "I bet we can make it."
As we hike to the main house, Indie looks at me, a blush tingeing her cheeks. "I'm so excited to be here, you have no idea. Thanks for the last-minute invite."
"You're the only person I want to spoon while I'm drunk," I tease her. "And it will give me a respite from my current roommate situation, which is disgustingly male."
"Gross." She offers me her fist and I tap it with mine. "I'll be on my best behavior. This is a vacation, not an influencer fest. Even if I will be around a ton of hot hockey butts..."
"And football butts."
"And baseball butts!" she says with a grin. "I'll be so respectful."
"I appreciate that. Now let's find our cabin, dump our stuff, and go check out who's grilling. It smells amazing out here."
Cabins are distributed by rank, apparently, because ours is very nice. But it's divided in two, us on the left, someone else on the right. We put our bags down, barely taking the time to admire the king-sized bed and cute loft before we hustle our butts off to investigate the smell of meat and charcoal.
We don't even make it all the way to the porch before Gordie comes barreling over to me. Guess Thorne beat us here.
"Gorgeous Gord," I croon to him. Scratching him behind the ears, I bend down and hug him. "Who's the goodest boy?"
A sharp whistle pierces the air, drawing the dog away from me. Thorne is standing on the porch, holding a beer by the neck, pointedly not looking at me.
What the hell did I do wrong?
"Indie!" Theo pops his head out of the house, as excited as a yellow lab. "I didn't know you were coming."
Indie nibbles on her lower lip, trying to hide a grin. "Mollie brought me."
"Mollie, what's up. Let me grab you something out of the coolers. You want a Coke, a Celsius, a White Claw, or a Corona?"
We climb the porch and spend a few minutes chatting with Theo and sipping White Claw. Indie shows him a video on her phone; I drift away, glancing at Thorne out of the corner of my eye.
He scowls and chugs the remnants of his Corona. I sigh.
