All the Sweet Move (All The Right Moves 1)

Naturally I wonder if she’s wearing a bra, because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s not, and holy hell does she have great boobs. Why have I never noticed before?

Someone clears their throat, and I glance up to see Mrs. Wakefield staring holes into me with her arms crossed.

Shit.

* * *

Molly

Okay, don’t think for one second I don’t see Weston checking out my chest, which I will admit is displayed quite nicely, compliments of my new strapless peplum top. As I make my way toward him, I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe. I cannot believe I have a date with this boy.

This hottie. This un-gettable get.

Can I call him a stud muffin? I know, I know—lame, right?

Weston is standing at the bottom of the stairs with this hooded expression on his face that looks something like…lust. His scrutiny is the one thing making my stomach flutter—well, that and the fact that it looks like he wants to tackle me to the ground.

Oh God, I’m in way over my head. I think I might throw up.

Suddenly, my mom’s loud throat-clearing fit interrupts any nervous nausea I’m feeling—and yeah, I know I’m totally going to get in trouble for it later, but I send her a hard look over my shoulder that says, For the love of God, please go away.

Weston stands there awkwardly and shoves those masculine hands of his into the pockets of his jeans. His appearance has actually shocked me; not only is he wearing a pressed polo shirt and dress pants, but—

“You cut your hair,” is the first thing I say to him, a little breathlessly. Before I can stop myself—and because, let’s be honest, I want to—I walk over and brush the newly shorn strands above his ears through my fingers. He shivers. “Why?” I whisper as I pull my hand away. In response, his dark brown eyes study my face. So quickly I almost miss it, they dart back down between the valley of my breasts before settling on my lips, then my eyes.

“It seemed…like the right time to get a haircut?”

His voice makes my girly bits tingle and he smells incredible.

I wrinkle my brows. The ‘right time’ to get a haircut… Okay, what the heck is that supposed to mean? When will I ever understand guys?

“Whew! Okay then! You kids should be on your way,” my mom practically shouts, looking back and forth between us. “Young man, please remember your manners tonight and act like a gentleman. Oh, and Molly, your brother texted me while you were getting dressed. He’s coming home tonight.”

Say what!

Shit, shit, double shit. I contort my face in confusion, which I will admit is not a good look for me. “He is? That makes zero sense. He has a game tomorrow.” I sneak a peek at Weston, and his face has actually lit up like a Christmas tree.

God is he hot—ugh, especially with that short hair.

I want to touch it again. Is that so wrong?

“Well, I kind of let the cat out of the bag about you having a date tonight…” she says slowly with her hands spread wide as if to say, Hey, what do you expect? I can tell she doesn’t want me to be embarrassed, but whoops! Too late!

I throw my hands up, groaning. “You ‘kind of’ told him I had a date? Great. Just great.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Weston asks. In his mind, he’s probably thinking, Sweet, this is great news! Imagine getting to meet the Matthew Wakefield, local hero finishing out his collegiate career at a Big Ten school and recently becoming the third overall pick in the NHL draft, to the Anaheim Ducks. Matthew was the fifth American selected in the first round—normally its lots of Canadians or Russians who go first.

He is a local legend.

I mean, kids from our hometown rarely go on to play professional sports. To say that I am dreading—yes, dreading—having to introduce my egotistical brother to my date would be a gross understatement.

Matthew is a total asshat.

“Let’s see, how do I put this…?” I arch my fingers into a steeple and look up at the ceiling. “He will be waiting for us when we get back. Well, actually, no, I shouldn’t say us…I should say you. Matthew will be waiting for you. “

My mom giggles nervously.

“Sweet.”

Like I said—I will never understand guys.

CHAPTER 12

WESTON

“I’m not always sarcastic. Sometimes I’m asleep.”

– Weston

If you’re thinking I got my hair cut because I’m going on this date, you’d be correct. Actually, as soon as I told my mom I had a date, she kind of had a mini-spaz attack and immediately insisted I get “cleaned up for that nice-looking girl from the hockey game.” Of course, this was all done after lecturing me on prioritizing my life and activities, which go something like this: