"TikTok?" she begs, already holding her phone between us. "Thirty seconds. Please? It'll make the fans so happy."
Confidence radiates from her in waves that throw people off if they don't know her. Tonight she's wearing lipstick bright enough to stop traffic, a black geometric print dress that hits mid-thigh, and black Converse. Her long copper hair is styled straight and shiny, catching the light as she moves. She's always like this, matching something she's wearing with one of a seemingly infinite number of pairs of shoes. It's annoying. I know that hair won't stay straight for long in this humidity. Give it twenty minutes and it'll start curling gently at the ends.
I scowl automatically. Her grin says she expected this reaction.
"I don't have time."
"You're literally going home to fuck some drunk chick. She can wait ten minutes. In fact, you can probably tell her that it's foreplay. So really, I'm doing you a favor."
I growl at her teasing expression. "Don't talk about foreplay. Jesus, Squeak."
"Don't call me that." Mollie glares daggers at me. "Just say the line. You don't even have to smile."
"This is my smile," I tell her.
"That's a hostage situation pretending to be an expression," she counters, adjusting the phone angle. "Try again."
The video takes less than a minute. Mollie prompts me when I stall and laughs when I deliver the last line like I'm reading tax code. After she lowers the phone, she rolls her eyes. "Was that so bad?"
"Counterpoint." I raise my eyebrows. "Why does TikTok even exist?"
She waves her hand to indicate all of me. "You're the worst."
She spins on her Converse, flipping her hair over her shoulder and moving away. Good. I've been avoiding her all night. Now I can go back to dodging her and make my way to the door. My eyes skim down her dress. When I see how short it is, my jaw tenses. She used to wear these colorful tights under her dresses.
But lately, Mollie has been playing at being a grown up. Part of that apparently is wearing dresses that skim her thighs. Where is Beck? Her older brother needs to be policing her outfits so that I don't have to.
Across the room, Mollie nearly collides with a rookie I don't recognize immediately. Young kid, too new to know better, carrying confidence that hasn't met consequences yet. Whatever he says makes her cheeks go pink and she laughs, surprised and pleased. Flirting comes naturally to her because everything does.
Before my brain catches up, my body moves.
Three steps put me between them, close enough that the kid has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. Volume isn't necessary and contact isn't required. He reads the situation fast enough to stammer an apology.
"S-sorry, Thorne. I'll just, um..." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, his face as red as a cherry tomato. "Yep."
I unclench my fists and force my shoulders to relax. But when I look, Mollie's glaring at me again. It's the facial expression I deserve.
"You can't do that," she says. "He was just being nice!"
"I already did it."
"God, Thorne." She crosses her arms and cocks her hip. "I wasn't asking for protection."
When she looks all angry and huffy like that, I can't help but goad her.
"You didn't need to, Squeak. Besides, I probably saved that kid from an ass beating. You and I both know how temperamental Beck can be."
"You let me deal with my brother." Her jaw tightens. "I'm not fragile, you know."
"Hm." I cast a skeptical gaze down her body. "You're injured, Squeak."
"Just because I can't skate anymore doesn't make me off limits."
Arguments sharpen fast between us. They always have. I slide my gaze around, smirking when I see that no one is listening to our conversation. Unable to help myself, I slide closer until I feel her breath against my chest. My body leans in without my permission.
Asshole.
"You chose to work for the same team as your big brother, darling," I say, dropping my voice. "At this point? You're pretty much going to die a virgin."
