“You work at Mount Olympia?”
I nod. “Yup. In the gift shop. Nothing all that exciting, but I do get a free lift ticket every season, so…”
“No shit. You board?”
“Why, do you consider yourself boring?” I tease.
He screws his face up and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No, Molly, I meant do you snowboard.”
Seriously, I am a complete idiot.
“Um, no. I ski, actually. What about you?”
“Yeah, I board, though not as much as I used to because of, you know, hockey.”
I nod in understanding. “I can imagine you’re crazy busy.”
Across from me, Weston starts fiddling with his fork, pushing a few noodles around on his plate. He looks at me directly, and what comes out of his mouth next genuinely dumbfounds me. “Look, Molly, about the other day at school…I…” He pauses and lets out a long breath. “I can’t stop thinking about how Rick treated you, and…well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t step in and tell him to shove off. He’s an asshole and you seemed really…” He searches for a word. “Kind of scared.”
I process this information. “It’s okay. I mean, yeah, I was a little freaked out, but…I survived.” I feel like I’m stumbling over my words.
“Well, if you want me to beat the crap out of him for you, I will.” He smiles and we both laugh.
“I can see the headlines now: ‘Local guy gets butt kicked for…acting like a guy.’”
“Ah, come on, Molly. We’re not all complete assholes.”
* * *
Weston
“You talk cute.”
(What I want to say when Molly is speaking) – Weston
As I’m saying the words, ‘We’re not all complete assholes,’ Molly’s bright green eyes get real wide, and she gives me this dubious stare like she doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth…which I guess makes sense, because sometimes even I don’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.
We guys are kind of all assholes.
It’s not like it’s a big secret. Even so, I’m not going to admit that out loud.
I stare at Molly for a few seconds.
I can’t help it; I really can’t—she’s just so goddamn adorable. As I wonder why she’s single, she gets quiet and her cheeks start getting a little red. Her fork hovers over her plate, and I think she’s about to say something in protest. Instead she shrugs, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. Maybe you’re not.”
Ah shit, she has freckles across her nose, the kind you want to lean in and kiss one by one.
How cute is that?
“You can’t judge us all because one guy treated you like shit, right?”
“So you’re saying you’re not an asshole?” Molly tips her head, looks at me, and lazily starts to trail her fork around her plate, pushing noodles this way and that. She rests her chin in the palm of her other hand with a small smile on her face, and I notice she has the shadow of a dimple in her right cheek. “All right. I believe you.”
CHAPTER 7
MOLLY
“Once I walked in on my brother belting out the words to a Hannah Montana song. The person who said, ‘No one looks stupid when they’re having fun,’ was a liar. Charlie looked like an idiot.”
– Ella Beauchamp, soccer teammate
“So really, what were you listening to?” Weston asks again.
“You’re not just going to sit quietly and let me eat, are you?”
His response is to laugh out loud. The sound is crazy wonderful—low, rich, and vibrating deep within his chest, his very…muscular chest. I preen with the satisfaction that I’ve made this god-like teenager laugh, knowing it’s because I’ve surprised him with my bluntness.
I huff a sigh for show before answering and trying to swallow my embarrassment. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Try me.” He leans forward, flexes his biceps, and slowly begins twirling some noodles around his fork…stabs a few vegetables…takes a large bite. A lock of hair falls in his eyes.
He doesn’t bother brushing it away.
And yeah, I totally want to do it for him.
“You don’t seem like the type of guy who enjoys romantic girly songs.” I give him a sideways glance, eying him skeptically.
He considers this then nods his head. “You would be correct, but now inquiring minds want to know—just what is on that iPod of yours, Molly Wakefield?”
Dear Lord, he’s teasing me and I love it.
Love it, love it.
I love that he keeps saying my name. It’s not just the way he’s saying my name, but the simple fact that it’s on his lips! I love the way his mouth moves when he’s talking, his battered bottom lip going slightly crooked when he smiles, and how his voice gets animated when he’s being playful.
I suddenly find myself developing a titanic-sized crush on him. It’s instantaneous, like a bucket of cold reality that has just come crashing down on my head.
I clear my throat. “Okay, fine, but after I tell you, let’s eat. I’m starving, and you’re already one step ahead of me.” I point to his half-eaten plate of food with my fork; meanwhile, I’ve barely touched mine. I can tell he’s amused, and I wonder where all this bravado on my part is coming from.