It only takes me a few quick strides to catch up with Mollie as she heads out of the park and down the street lined with saplings and high-rise buildings. She arches an eyebrow. “Still here?”
“Like I’d let you walk around the city alone.”
“Let me?” She makes a sound I’m fairly certain is a harrumph. “Thorne, I grew up in Texas, okay? Can’tnobodyfuck with me.”
“You’re an extremely fair-skinned woman who weighs 125 pounds, all in. The sun and wind alone have a decent chance of taking you out.”
“Thorne!” She slides me a horrified look. “Hasn’t anybody told you that it’s rude to guess a woman’s weight?”
“I’m pretty confident in my guess.” I’ll admit that I got her medical records by paying a fan who works at her doctor’s office a fat wad of cash and a few autographs. Mollie was playing her cards very close to her chest when she had her career-ending injury. Beck complained to me that she was keeping him in the dark about her treatment and prognosis.
So yeah, I went to Dr. Burke’s office, turned on the charm, and signed a whole stack of posters for the office staff. The end result was that I had some very up-to-date information about what was going on with Mollie’s ankle. And… all her other info, to boot.
What’s that they say about the ends justifying the means?
I didn’t mean to creep on her. Really, I didn’t. But then I got a taste of her, of knowing things about her that I’m not supposed to. And now? Let’s just say it’s an addiction.
“Hello?” Mollie scowls at me, snapping her fingers in my face. “Where did you go? Pay attention when I yell at you.”
“I’m listening,” I lie. “You were telling me how muscly and handsome I am.”
The neighborhood gets sketchier the further we walk from the park. No more trees and shiny high-rises; here there are blocks of utilitarian concrete apartment buildings, sketchy stores selling vape juice, and hole-in-the-wall bodegas.
“Hilarious.” She crosses her arms. “Feel free to fuck off at any time.”
“Nah. I’m going to see you to the door of your hovel.”
“I know you have four or five puck bunnies praying that today’s the day you’ll call them. Tell me, when you’re a manwhore, is it hard to remember their names after a while? Monica, Monique, Mona, Katie, Kaylee, Keira?”
For a moment, I’m too stunned by her accusation to say anything. Because I was a manwhore. Was. Past tense. I’m reformed.
I stopped sleeping with other women the day Mollie joined the team. It wasn’t a decision I announced, or examined too closely. I just looked across the facility on her first day and something in mewent very quiet and very certain. That was the end of it. I haven't touched anyone since.
But I haven't touched her, either.
And I'm not going to.
“You haven’t been a very observant stalker if you think that’s still the case,” I tell her once I’ve recovered my wits. “Don’t you have to know my schedule at least a little to qualify as my biggest fan?”
“I’m not even a regular fan, much less your biggest.” Mollie blushes so hard she looks like she’s having a coronary.
“Swimfan says what?”
Her face contorts. “What?”
“I knew it.” She probably wasn’t even alive when that movie came out. This is yet another reason why Mollie and I are ships passing in the night.
We’re almost at her apartment, so I stride ahead, eager to change the subject. “Oh, look. Here we are.”
Mollie looks up, blinking, at her building. “I didn’t realize we’d walked so far.”
“Time flies when you’re bickering.”
Mollie ignores that, looking down at Gordie instead. She pets him behind the ears, using both of her index fingers at once. Gordie lets out a whine of pleasure; I can’t blame him in the least. I wouldn’t mind being petted by her, either.
"Can I ask you something?" she asks softly.
Her tone makes my chest tighten. “You can ask. Not sure if you’ll like the answer.”
