Matthew crosses his arms across his broad chest and doesn’t respond.
“Yeah, sooo…I was at the game against Duke last year. That had to have been one of your best career games to date. That goal against Kuznetsov was one for the record books.”
Matt purses his lips, but it’s obvious the ego trip is softening his resolve, because his feet shift and he still hasn’t hit me. Again, Molly groans, “Oh brother.”
“What did you say your name was?” Matt asks, narrowing his eyes.
“McGrath. Weston.” Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out. “Good to meet you.”
“I’m sure it is,” he says with a sneer, not moving an inch.
Molly was right: Matt is an asshole.
“Matthew!” Molly shouts. “Oh my god, don’t be so rude.” She stands next to me and grabs the hand I have extended, her warm body sidling up against mine. Matt looks down at our clasped hands, and his wall goes back up.
Finally, he says, “I might have heard of you, kid. Must suck dick being compared to me all the time.”
Slowly, I nod. “Yeah, but that only lasted my freshman year. That one year was all it took to break your high-scoring record.” I plaster a smug look on my face, knowing I just royally pissed him off.
Matthew laughs with his head thrown back. “No fucking way you broke my record.”
“Well, no, you’re right. I didn’t break it—I decimated it.” Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“You little fucker,” Matthew mutters through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides. He takes a step forward.
“Hardly little, but…go on.”
“STOP!” Molly shouts, pulling me by the hand toward the porch steps and pointing an angry finger at her dipshit brother. Wow, she is pissed. “Weston, you are leaving. Matt, get inside and find a good place to hide, because when I come back in, I’m going to murder you for ruining my night.”
* * *
Molly
As I’m stalking across the turnaround, dragging Weston behind me, my freaking brother is standing on the front porch, shouting, “Don’t think you’re going to stand out there making out by your sex machine, McGrath. Are you listening? I’m watching you!”
Ugh, what an idiot.
I see my mom open the front door and drag him inside as he struggles against her grip. Sheesh, what the hell, Mom? It sure took her long enough to get that maniac out of my business. I’ll have to thank her tomorrow, one more time, for telling Matt about my date in the first place.
I drag Weston behind the Hummer and thank god the driver’s side door is away from the house, cloaked in the dark shadow of the truck. I shove him up against the huge black vehicle before giving his arm a good smack, grateful for the fact that no one can see us.
“What is wrong with you two?” I hiss as he shrugs with a lazy grin on his face. “That wasn’t a pissing contest.”
“Come here,” he says quietly, the low timbre of his voice in the dark making my stomach flip-flop. Leaning up against his dad’s shiny truck with his legs spread wide, Weston pats his hard thighs, inviting me to lean in. It all seems too…easy. Too comfortable. Too everything.
Shouldn’t this be more—I don’t know—awkward?
I feel like we’ve been doing this for…years.
Before I even think about what I’m doing, my body gravitates closer of its own accord, stopping just shy of his knees. Even in the dark, the sight of him stroking his legs while he watches me is erotic, and the butterflies return, wreaking havoc on my insides.
“What? You’re crazy.” I shake my head and cross my arms.
“Babe, you’re so adorable when you’re pissed. Come here,” he repeats, grabbing my hand before I can protest, dragging me until I’m standing between those gorgeous thighs. I shake a little—I can’t help it. This all is just too much for me to handle in one night. This large, sexy hunk of a guy, my dipshit brother…
And holy shit, back up—did he just call me babe?
“I should go before he comes back out and forces me to knock him on his ass.” Weston’s calloused hands are softly stroking my bare upper arms and he leans in, nuzzling my neck with his nose. It tickles and, sorry, but I might have giggled softly.
“Stop that. I’m mad at you both.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re a big fat lie, because I’m leaning into him too, lacing my fingers through his short hair. He moves his head around until he can plant a kiss in the palm of my hand.
“Aw, don’t be mad, Molly…” His voice trails off playfully. “You make me feel so—”
“McGrath, your time is up. Get the hell outa here. Molly, get your ass back in the house.” Matthew’s loud, annoying voice booms from the porch, and I vow to kill him in his sleep.