All the Sweet Move (All The Right Moves 1)

“Pfft, big deal. It’s not like I was in there reading that journal you keep under your mattress.”

“Oh my god, Kendall, I swear to all that is holy—”

Mr. McGrath, God bless him, clears his throat for the millionth time, and I might be mistaken, but there is a laugh threatening to burst out of him. “All right, guys, that’s enough,” he finally says, the low baritone of his voice silencing everyone else in the room. He gives Kendall a warning look then shakes his head at Weston before directing his gaze at me. “So. Molly.” He pauses. “Matthew Wakefield is your brother, huh?”

Once again, he clasps his hands in front of him and leans forward in his chair. Weston quietly groans beside me and nudges my knee with his thigh. “Dad…” he warns.

I put my hand on his knee but snatch it back immediately, for Mr. McGrath’s eyes follow my movement and narrow. I receive the message loud and clear: no touching.

Got it.

“Yes, sir. He’s finishing his last year at Madison, and he’s been drafted.”

“Do you suppose that’s what my son sees in you?”

Weston shouts, “Dad!” at the same time Mrs. McGrath shouts, “Brian!”

If I had been drinking liquid at the moment, I’m fairly certain I would have spit it out.

“It’s a fair question, I would think. Weston is a senior and has never had an interest in girls, because he’s focused on his hockey career, then suddenly he’s ‘dating’ the sister of a future Anaheim Duck? Am I the only one who’s not seeing what’s wrong with this picture?”

He scratches his chin as if in deep thought.

What a jerk.

Laura McGrath stands abruptly, marches over to her husband, and says through clenched teeth, “Brian, sweetheart, can I see you in the kitchen, please?” Not waiting for a response, she jerks him up by his arm and stalks out of the living room, towing him behind.

“Sheesh, this just got awk…ward,” Kendall muses. “Bet Molly’s gonna think twice about coming back over here, eh Weston.”

“Shut up, Kendall,” Weston grits out, his face contorted into a look of disgust. “Come on, Molly, let’s go get my bike.” He hauls me up and turns to his sister, ruffling the top of her head affectionately with his fingers. “Tell Mom I’ll be back in an hour.”

* * *

Weston

Kendall was right. That was freaking awkward.

What the fuck was my dad’s deal?

We ride in silence for a few miles in Molly’s Jeep—she let me drive—the rain still coming down, but in a gentle rhythm, more of a delicate mist than a heavy downpour; it would be soothing if not for the circumstances surrounding us like a cloud.

I honestly have no idea what to say. “Molly…” is all that comes out. If she were one of my guy friends, I would demand that she shrug it off because my dad is nothing but an overgrown prick and a bully, but she’s not one of my guy friends.

She’s…

Different. I want to say special, but that sounds douchey, and sappy, and we’ve already established that I’m neither.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Molly says softly next to me, and now I feel like an even bigger ass. I don’t like it, but the reality is, I’m not going to waltz into my parent’s kitchen and tell my dad off to defend her. He would have kicked my ass.

“I know, but…” My eyes are trained on the road, and I’m trying my damndest to focus on our conversation, but the combination of wet road and the glare from the street lights makes it hard to find the yellow line in the middle of the road. I don’t want to get us in an accident.

Molly takes a deep breath. “Listen, Weston…that totally sucked back there, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to take it personally”—another deep breath—“but don’t think for one second that I haven’t witnessed that scene before, or some version of it. I mean, Matthew is my brother, and he had girls falling all over him for all the wrong reasons. Still does.” Her head is down, and she’s fiddling with the zipper pull on her jacket. “Your parents just don’t want some gold digger to get their claws into you because they think you’re going to be playing pro someday—or worse, for you to get some sleaze pregnant, no matter who her brother is, so…yeah. I get it.”

“I know you’re not a gold digger, Molly, and to be honest…I wish you were a bigger sleaze.”

Shocked, but probably not as much as she’s acting like she is, Molly gapes at me with her mouth hanging open, and we both burst out laughing.

“I feel bad for my mom. My dad is so out of control with the whole hockey thing. Did you see how pissed she was? He’s probably still getting his ass chewed out.”