The footage of Theo is gold. And there are a lot of great shots of Beck helping his teammates take shots on the goal. I nibble my bottom lip.
On the video, he whistles to grab Connor's attention, then waits for the perfect moment to pass. Connor snags the puck and snaps it home. I smirk at the pride in Thorne's expression. "That's how you do it, Li!"
He may be a sarcastic prick to me, but he openly and regularly expresses his pride in how well the other players perform. There is definitely a reason he is co-captain with my brother Beck. They both love nurturing new talent.
Damn Thorne. It's admirable. And dangerous. Because he's not like the other ones. He's the only hockey player I've ever met who doesn't make me want to run in the other direction. Which is a problem, because of the whole I-don’t-even-get-crushes-on-hockey-players thing.
I'm in the middle of watching the video a second time when a dark shape looms over me. "What are you doing?"
Yelping, I scramble away, falling off the bench. My phone skitters across the floor. Thorne is staring down at me with a quizzical smirk.
I press my hand to my pounding heart. "You can't just go around creeping up on people, Thorne. It’s ghoulish."
Thorne sighs as he helps me up, casting his gaze around for my phone. He's traded his skates for a pair of crisp white sneakers that probably cost more than my car. I shiver at the zing of his touch, but he's already stepping back and shaking off my grip.
He leans over, spots my phone, and the attached power bank, and snatches them from under the bleachers. He looks at the screen and a grin splits his face. "Stalking me, as usual. I should've known."
"I was not." I swipe my phone from his hand and glare up at him. "How many times do I have to explain the concept of ‘working for the team’ to you?"
"Obviously a few more. I'm still convinced that you took this job so you can stare at pictures of me." His eyes sparkle. "You can admit it. I bet your apartment is one big shrine dedicated to yours truly. Flowers, candles, golden statues of me shooting the winning goal? I bet it's lavish."
"Question." I cock my head to the side. "In the delusion, have I taken up statue-making? Or did I purchase a statue from someone else?"
"Details, details." Thorne flaps a hand. "You're asking a god whether the ants ate enough at breakfast last week."
I can't help the snort that escapes me. "You are so full of yourself, Thorne."
"You know, I bet that you dream about me at night. Maybe you even have a shrine dedicated to me in that hovel you call an apartment?”
“What? I do not!” I glare at him. “And my apartment isn’t a hovel.”
"Uh huh." His lips twitch as he looks me up and down. "Beck mentioned that your beloved beater of a car is in the shop again. He asked me to give you a ride."
"Don't talk about Car-di B like that."
"What a dumb car name."
I give him the stink eye. "I'll fight you. Car-di B is perfect and I won't hear a word against her. It doesn't matter how many times her muffler falls off."
He groans. "I can't believe you sometimes. You and Beck both act like you grew up in perestroika rather than lower middle class."
"Easy for you to say, Mr. One-Percenter. Besides, I'm proud to say I don't even get that reference. Is it because you're so old that you're practically a walking corpse?"
"Brat."
I stick out my tongue at him. "What's that, Grandpa?"
He taps his car keys against the metal bench beside him. "So, is that a ‘no’ on getting a ride? I have places to be."
"Like at home, jerking off in front of a mirror?"
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"What? I… I wouldn't care."
"Squeak…" He rolls his eyes. "You're so transparent. You know that, right?"
"You suck. And I'll be fine. I'm sure you have some puck bunnies to round up."
