Page 45 of The Thorne at My Side
"I'm just going to go and ask questions, I probably won'tadopt one tonight."
I laugh and roll my eyes because that “probably” tells me that she will definitely be doing it if it's an option.
I catch up to the senator as we get in an elevator to the top level of the Kofee Center.
The suite is at center ice so I've got a view of the full arena. Fans line the stands and cheers erupt when a fight breaks out on the ice. I settle into a seat at the front of the box and Jorge brings over a plate of chicken fingers for us to share.
The first period ends scoreless, the second does too, but in the opening minutes of the third period the Northern Knights score and the arena goes quiet.
Somehow 20,000 DC Renegades fans all agreed to be nervous at the same time. It's a political writer's dream to get a crowd all on the same page that way. To be able to rile them up and calm them down and energize them behind a common cause.
And political campaigns are kind of like sporting events but there are fewer rules and the race takes too long.
The thought makes me yawn. It has been a long day. The energy burst from my run has definitely worn off over the course of seven campaign stops and now a late night sporting event.
"We're going to head down to the locker room at the end of the game. Tom says it's a must see." The senator wiggles her eyebrows and I roll my eyes with a smile.
Halfway through the third period the Renegades get a power play and they score just before it expires. A few minutes later, Felix Fournier somehow loops the puck from behind the net over the goalie's shoulder to put them ahead. The entire arena is on their feet for the final three minutes.
They're quiet but the tone is optimistic this time. I don't know how I cantell the difference but I can.
Time runs out and the Renegades bring home the win. We gather up our things in the suite and head down the elevator to the basement of the arena. Upstairs, the suite and the hallways were carpeted and filled with artwork and photographs of the achievements of the teams over the years.
Down here the walls are made of cinderblock and the floors are concrete. There are golf carts driving back and forth with employees wearing matching polos saying things into walkie talkies.
I've been backstage at speeches and conferences before but something about the cold simplicity of the space strikes me as odd when these guys were just under flashing lights and skating to the sounds of thousands of people cheering for an hour.
We're directed to an area that is between the locker room and the player's parking lot. The senator and Jorge go but I opt to stay in the hallway. I don't really want to see half naked athletes right now, I'm too tired to fully appreciate the splendor.
"Are you following me, Collins?"
I snap my head up at the sound of Austin Thorne’s voice. He's standing in front of me wearing jeans and a cream crewneck sweater under a blue wool blazer. He's got a DC Renegades scarf wrapped around his neck. I drink him in and get caught on the way his burnt wood eyes twinkle behind his dark frame glasses.
Goosebumps explode on my arms with him this close as I’m remembering the way he slid his glasses off and set them on the table before we fucked. Or how he removed them before going down on me in epic fashion. Mentally I’m begging him to slide them off again now. Or, even better, I’ll take them off for him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask because I cannot think of anything else to say. He is the last person I expected to see. He laughs and the sound vibrates through me.
"I'm waiting for my buddy. He and I are going out to celebrate the win."
"He's on the team?"
Again Austin laughs and it's a breathy sound that makes the backs of my knees tingle.
"He is, he's the captain."
"Felix? The senator was here for the puck drop."
"I know, I saw."
"Oh."
We're quiet for a beat before he shifts to one side and leans his elbow against the wall. One foot kicks up over the other and it is such an outrageously planned but casual pose that even my stiff limbs react. The air around us changes and I feel a buzz of energy. A spark of competition lights again because how dare he try to use the prop-one-arm-above-my-head move?
I mimic him and cross my arms and throw a shoulder into the wall. Except I'm a little too far away and I have to readjust my footing after a harder landing than I’d planned.
"Did that hurt?" He asks.
"No," I reply even though, yeah it did a little bit.
