Aweek later, I'm essentially living with a ghost. Thorne is avoiding me. Coming home late, leaving early, doing extra volunteer work and sponsorships just to be out of the house. It's got to be exhausting for him.
I’m fine with it. Great, actually. Since the morning after the cabin —when I woke up alone in Thorne's bed and spent twenty minutes there cataloguing every single way I'd torched my own rule the night before —that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
A hockey player kissed me. I kissed him.
But he still turned me away.
My hockey boy rule exists for a reason. And I walked straight through it like it wasn't even there. The worst part, the part I keep turning over, is that I don't regret it. All I want is to do it again. That's exactly the kind of thinking that turns women into supporting characters in someone else's story.
So Thorne avoiding me is fine.
It's good. The universe is doing me a favor.
In the meantime, I drag myself to work every day.
Everything outside work is confusing and tense since I kissed Thorne on the Fourth of July. But things at work have literally never been better.
First, my videos of Thorne have been a huge hit online. Maybe it's just because the fans are hungry forcontent since it's the off season. But one particular ten-second reel of Thorne grinning as he fires a shot seemingly right at you has gone super viral. More than 2.5 million views on TikTok alone.
The virality alone was worth me falling on my ass to get the shot.
"Holy shit." Juliet sets her phone down on her desk. "The tickets for the first handful of preseason games were languishing. Then you posted this video and they were gone like that." She snaps her fingers. "What kind of magic did you work and will it require human sacrifice to do more of it?"
My heart soars. Juliet is my supervisor and I've never gotten such direct praise from her before. It feels so good.
"No sacrifice. The camera loves Thorne."
Juliet's lips thin as she pins me with a stare. "Was it his idea to film him shooting right at you? Or was it yours?"
"It was mine." I feel heat climbing my cheeks. "I'm not saying that I had zero hand in it. But you know. Virality is..." I gesture. "Unquantifiable, unpredictable. There is no right formula."
"Whatever you're doing? Do it more." Juliet pushes away from her desk. "Sorry, I have lunch today with Hunter."
Tiny Juliet's monstrously tall defenseman of a husband is waiting in the doorway when I turn around. I startle, and he crosses his arms. Which, like, hello, welcome to the gun show.
"We have a reservation,” he grates out.
"It’s our half anniversary.” She smiles and explains, “He likes to go all out for every single milestone. We're all done here anyway, aren't we?"
I nod and stand up. "Yup. Absolutely."
"Thanks. Mollie." Juliet crooks a finger at Hunter. "Now come here and give your wife a kiss."
"Always," he says, ambling past me toward her desk.
I head out, but not before I catch Hunter leaning down and kissing Juliet with obvious hunger. I blush again.
They're allowed to kiss. They're married and everybody knows it. But I've heard that this time a year-and-a half-ago, they were faking their relationship for the press. It's funny, because they are clearly so into each other. They're certainly not faking anything now.
I get home from work in the middle of the afternoon. Apparently, just in time to catch Thorne hanging out in the living room, a baseball game on the big screen. He doesn't notice me at first, giving me a chance to skulk behind the couch and peek at him.
I really am a stalker.
He's all laid out, his arms folded behind his head, colorful tattoos and droolworthy biceps on full display. He's wearing a snug white T-shirt and black basketball shorts. A strip of his equally hubba hubba abs is visible where his shirt rides up. His eyes are closed.
Is he asleep? I sneak closer, admiring his dark eyelashes on his suntanned cheeks and his strong Roman nose. It's never been broken on the ice, which is amazing. Most of the hockey players I know havenoses like pro boxers. He has a faint scar on his upper lip, a faded sign that he was once hurt. I’ve seen him take a couple of punches that made his mouth bleed, but it's still weird to think that the great and mighty Alexander Thorne isn't untouchable.
It makes me think of how he laid out Brad for hassling me. Equal parts hot and sweet.
