All the Sweet Move (All The Right Moves 1)

“Okay. I’ll bite. Where the hell did that come from back there?”

I turn my head to face him and laugh out loud. “Is Mr. Big Bad Hockey Captain impressed?”

“Shit yeah.”

Good, the voices inside my head scream.

“Hmm, well, since you asked so nicely…my brother plays for Madison and…my cousin is Travis Locke…of the Bruins.”

The Bruins won the Stanley Cup last year—and in case you didn’t know, the Stanley Cup is like the Super Bowl of Hockey.

Weston lets out a low whistle and looks at me with a new kind of interest—shocked, excited, and little bit predatory. He shakes his head slowly. “How did I not know this?”

I shrug. “Well, Matthew is five years older, so we would have only been in eighth grade when he was a freshman at Madison. Technically he’s a fifth-year senior now, so it’s his last year playing.”

“I’ve actually heard of him. He’s awesome. And Travis Locke is your cousin?” He lets out another whistle through those full lips. His eyes are brilliant. “Wow,” he says slowly. “So…wow. You actually know what you’re talking about?” Unexpectedly, he braces himself against the Jeep with both arms steadied against the cold metal on either side of my head. His face is bent mere inches from mine. Just a little closer, Weston, come on… “Or do you just have a few things memorized for show?”

“You still don’t believe I know what I’m talking about?” I force the question out in a soft whisper, a lump forming in my throat as his face inches closer.

He whispers back, “Maybe you just don’t seem like the type.”

Gasp! How dare he use my own words against me? Outrageous!

I’m giddy.

The gauntlet has been thrown, the challenge accepted. I draw my next sentence out slowly. “Oh, really…so what type am I?”

Weston draws closer still, and now I can feel his breath on my face.

It’s warm and minty. Funny, I don’t remember him chewing on a mint…

He is so close that as my eyes scan his face, I notice a small scar in the corner of his left eyebrow…one on the bridge of his nose…another on his chin. Stubble darkens his jaw. Instinctively, my hands want to cradle the hard lines of his face. He’s making me want push him up against the light post and maul him. In a parking lot.

I inhale. He smells like soap and aftershave.

Weston cocks his eyebrow and chews on his lower lip in thought. I see the wheels turning in his head. “Okay. What are the walls surrounding the ice rink called?”

I roll my eyes and look off into the distance. “Pfft. Please, don’t insult me. They’re called the boards.”

He gives an undignified snort. “All right, that was beginner’s luck. Anyone could’ve gotten that one.”

“Beginner’s luck? Really, Weston?” I sass him. “If you’re going to discount my answer, then why did you ask?”

He eyes roam my face and land on my lips as he says, “Change on the fly.”

My legs are a little wobbly now, like jelly, but I manage to roll my eyes again and sigh. “Substituting a player during the game.” Is that my voice shaking? I can’t tell, but I pray that it’s not.

We stay this way, Weston hovering over me, his large capable hands framing my head on the cold metal of my car. The only sound between us is our labored breathing. It’s like he can’t make his mind up about whether to go all the way or pull back. And I…have never wanted a kiss so badly in my entire life.

Something is holding him back, and his face backs away slowly.

Finally, Weston whispers, “Damn.”

Yeah, exactly.

Damn.

CHAPTER 8

MOLLY

“Shut. Up. You can quote me on that.”

– Jenna

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute—start over. Are you telling me Weston McGrath sat and ate a meal with you? And you didn’t pass out and die? Oh em gee, I would have choked and died right there on the spot. Fainted dead away.” Jenna is sitting at my desk, straddling the chair and staring holes into me with her intensity. She was my first phone call as I left the Kyoto Grill parking lot.

And, of course, she insisted on coming straight over.

She pounced on me as soon as I walked into the house and hasn’t stopped talking since.

I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. I’m not good with all the attention on me. “Well, I almost did, so what does that tell you.”

“Okay, so you’re sitting there enjoying your noodles, when…” Jenna doesn’t let up, waving her hand in the air in a way that means go on. She wants me to relive every detail, over and over. Honestly, I’ve told her all this already.

Every…wonderful…delicious…detail.

But, being the good friend I am, I indulge her.

Again.

“So. I’m sitting there, and when I look up, there he is.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes.” I’m being very dramatic, and she is loving it. “Then he walks over and asks if he can sit down. He said, and I quote, ‘Mind if I keep you company?’ And who am I to deny him?”