“What!” There is a collective burst of outrage from my friends, and Jenna huffs, “You have got to be kidding me! Ugh, why is he such a jerkoff?”
“Is he here?” Tasha wants to know, rising from the bed. She’s always had a major crush on him. In fact, when we were younger, she would only want to come over if Matthew was home. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t even want to bother coming over, and I would go to her house. How messed up is that? “Do you think he’s in his room?”
“No, stalker, sit down and get a grip. He has a game today. He probably left before the sun came up. His sole reason for coming home was to torture me and my date. It was so awful. I wanted to punch him between the eyes. Seriously, he came out onto the porch and started calling Weston all these names, embarassing the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry, Molly, but Matthew is so damn hot…” Tasha pouts, flopping back down onto the bed.
“Yup, can’t argue with that one,” Maddie agrees.
“Actually, I can argue with that,” I say with a snort. “I’ll be lucky if Weston calls me ever again. Matthew acted like he was committing a federal crime by putting his hands on me. I mean, he grabbed him by the shirt collar, for god’s sake, and the worst part is my parents were inside the whole time and did nothing to stop him.”
“Wait, wait—hold up. Go back to the part about the shirt collar—Weston wore a dress shirt? I think I’m going to pass out. Yup, I’m passing out,” Jenna says, fanning herself with her hands then rolling on the bed until she’s on top of me. We’re all laughing hysterically. “Oh, girl, he must really like you.”
“Yup,” I say, rolling my eyes and giggling. “Nothing says love like a polo shirt.”
CHAPTER 17
WESTON
“I kind of just want someone who’s going to like me for the total asshole I already am. It’s less work.”
– Overheard in the locker room
If you had told me a week ago I would be sitting in study hall anxiously watching the doorway for a girl to walk through it, I would have laughed my ass off and probably told you to shut the fuck up, but the joke’s on me, because here I sit, covertly in the far corner, brim of my ball cap almost covering my eyes, willing Molly to walk through the door of the library.
Watching like a freaking sap.
I look up at the round clock hanging on the wall and curse because she technically only has a few more minutes to get here—two more minutes until the bell rings, actually—or I can write her off as having gone somewhere else for study hall.
A calculus book sits open in front of me, and my right leg impatiently bounces up and down of its own free will as I watch the door like it’s my job. The thought crosses my mind that I should have texted her telling her to meet me here, but I haven’t gotten ahold of her since our date Saturday and don’t want to seem too eager.
Too desperate.
The bell finally rings, and, disappointed that Molly hasn’t shown up, I finally force myself to look down at my textbook. After staring at the same page for who knows how long, the words and numbers on the page still aren’t making sense, and none of them are registering in my brain. I stare unblinking and trancelike down at the open pages, unable to stop thinking about our date, unable to stop thinking about Molly, who has been consuming my thoughts.
If my dad knew about those thoughts, he would personally serve my ass up on a silver platter and never let me see her again.
I know at least Mom was secretly excited for me; she was waiting up for me in the kitchen Saturday night to hear the details of my date with Molly. Actually, when I came into the house, she scared the shit out of me, sitting there in the dark on a barstool at the counter.
I might have even screamed a little.
I’ve actually never seen Mom that way before. My guess is that she holds a lot of it in because of my dad not wanting me to be serious about anything other than school and hockey, but really, she was pretty damn excited. I felt like a girl with the way she fussed over me, helping me get ready and insisting I get my shaggy hair trimmed earlier in the day—which of course, I did. And yeah, it was really fucking irritating, but I let her fuss anyway, because in a way I felt guilty. I know moms love that shit, and before this weekend, she’s never had the opportunity.