Page 18 of Thor

"How can you tell?" I asked, pausing before getting in. No one ever normally noticed my stress. I'd perfected the mask of calm efficiency. It was my entire professional identity—the unflappable accountant who handled outlaw bikers and corporate executives with equal composure.

Thor's blue eyes studied me with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't.

"You're stretched thin," he said finally. "I recognize the signs. The way you hold yourself, like you're afraid you'll crack if you relax even a little. The way you immediately tried to accommodate me even though you clearly don't have time." His gaze softened slightly. "The circles under your eyes that you tried to hide with makeup."

My hand instinctively moved toward my face before I caught myself.

"Do you ever take time for yourself?" he asked. "Just to . . . relax?"

The way he emphasized "relax" sent a jolt through me. Did he know? How could he possibly know about my Little space? The pink room hidden behind the spare bedroom door in my apartment. The place where I could escape from being Mandy Wright, the responsible adult who everyone relied on. The stuffed animals, coloring books, and onesies that helped me cope when everything became too much.

No. It was impossible. No one knew about that part of me. Not even Amy.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice stiffer than I intended.

Thor shrugged those massive shoulders. "Everyone has their thing. Their escape." He moved to the driver's side, effectively ending the conversation but leaving me rattled in a way I hadn't expected.

I slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my jeans. The interior smelled new, with hints of Thor's woodsy scent already permeating the space. As he folded his large frame into the driver's seat, the car seemed to shrink around him.

“I don’t have the time for a thing.”

“You should make time.”

I laughed at the thought.

“Anyway, let me take you to the hospital. I’ll be there for you today—you went through a lot last night.”

The Challenger's engine purred as we pulled away from my apartment building. It was nothing like my sensible Civic—this car vibrated with power, eager to be unleashed. Thor had insisted on driving, claiming I needed to see how she handled before taking over. I watched his large hands grip the steering wheel, strong fingers tapping occasionally to the beat of a song playing low on the radio. The strange intimacy of being in a car with him struck me—this enclosed space where I could smell his cologne and see the slight stubble on his jaw.

"I don't have time for myself," I admitted, answering his earlier question after a few minutes of silence. "Not really."

Thor glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. His profile was striking—strong jaw, straight nose, blond hair pulled back revealing the sharp line of his cheekbones. I wondered how many women had traced those features with their fingertips.

"Too many demands?" he asked.

I nodded, then realized he wasn't looking at me. "Work takes fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week. Amy's treatments are three days a week, and she needs help with paperwork, insurance fights, meal prep. And then there's the MC accounts . . ." I trailed off, realizing I was complaining to a man who probably worked just as hard.

"Duke says you're the best he's ever had," Thor said. "For the books, I mean."

Something about his phrasing made heat spread across my cheeks. "It's just numbers. I'm good with numbers."

"Better than good, from what I hear."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with praise. "It keeps me busy."

Thor navigated through a yellow light, the acceleration pushing me gently back against the leather seat. "Everyone needs something that's just for them," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Something that lets them escape."

My heart thudded harder. His words struck too close to the secret part of me, the pink room behind the spare bedroom door. My sanctuary where stress melted away, where I could be small and carefree in a way I never allowed myself otherwise.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling exposed despite knowing he couldn't possibly know about my Little space. "What do you do?" I asked, deflecting. "To relax, I mean."

"I rebuild motorcycles," he said without hesitation. "Work with my hands."

I pictured those large hands delicately assembling engine parts, the contrast of gentle precision from a man who looked capable of crushing metal with his bare fists. The image was oddly appealing.

"Just me and a bike that needs love," he continued. "No club business, no phones, no bullshit. Just focusing on one thing at a time. Making something broken work again."

There was something almost poetic about it. I hadn't expected that from Thor.

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