"If you're going to read a kid's book, you gotta do the voices—" Pain lances through my foot, and I start to fall, hard. "Ow! Fuck!"
I stepped on a fucking Lego and the pain inblinding.
Thorne catches me. "Watch out, there are random bits of Lego on the floor."
I flush at his tight grip under my arms. But when he tries to set me upright, I put weight on my bum ankle and pain radiates up my leg.
"Shit!" I grab his hands and wobble.
"Here, let's get you to the couch." He scoops me up as if I'm weightless, holding me tight against his chest as he carries me into the living room. I use the moment as an excuse to splay my hands against his muscular chest. Ankle? What ankle?
"Mmm, your shirt is soft."
"Feeling me up, huh?" he teases.
"Shut up." I bat his shoulder as he sits me down. Thorne kneels and checks my injury out, running his hands over my ankle. "It seems like you just twisted it."
"I could've told you that."
He stands up. "Luckily, you're at a hockey player's house. I bet Beck has all the ice and ankle wraps your heart could ever desire."
I heave a sigh. "Maybe just start with an ice pack, please."
Thorne retrieves two ice packs and props my foot up on a pillow, then wraps the ice packs around my ankle. His touch is so gentle and solicitous. Is this really the same man that whispered dirty words in my ear as I rode his cloth-covered cock? Because right now, he's in caretaking mode.
I recognize this mode. And it's ridiculously swoony.
"Hey." I stop him, kissing his lips ever so lightly. "Thank you, Alex."
He freezes. "I love the way you say my name."
He zooms in closer, stealing another kiss. I roll with it, loving the unhinged way he's inhaling my scent and gripping my waist. Before long, though, he eases back.
"We'd better not get carried away. Rosie's asleep just down the hall."
I smooth the collar of Thorne's shirt. No, I correct myself. Alex's shirt. "Don't want to be bad babysitters."
"No, we wouldn't want that." His lips curve up.
The next hour drags on while we both wait for my brother to return. Thorne —Alex— turns on the giant TV, flipping between channels. I expect him to settle on some baseball or soccer, but instead he goes to a new-ish Tonya Harding documentary that I haven't seen yet. I sit up, eyes widening.
"Interested?"
If this wasn't my brother's house, I'd grab the material of his shirt and proceed to make out with him. Hard. No one other than Indie ever asks what my taste in movies is. Definitely not any of the boys I've dated so far.
But Alex Thorne is all man. And he asks. Not just about this, but about all sorts of things. How I take my coffee. When I get up in the morning.
He notices things about me that no one else bothers to see.
"Yes," trips off my lips. "I don't have this channel."
He sits back, throwing his arm along the back of the couch. His fingertips brush my nape. "You can watch it whenever you want at the house."
The house. Not his house. Interesting.
Am I reading too much into this? Yes. Am I almost definitely building Alex into some monolithic man that he can't possibly live up to? Possibly.
But it's nice to have a crush to do that to, period.
