He clears his throat and grins again in the cutest, almost bashful way. “She overheard me talking to my dad the other day and cornered me in the hallway last night when she was supposed to be in bed.” Weston grins at the memory. “She actually had it all written out on a sheet of paper. So besides the advice about singing you a song—aren’t you glad I spared you having to listen to me sing?—she also suggested the following: writing you a love poem, throwing rocks at your bedroom window in the middle of the night, and let’s see, what else…decorating your locker with rose petals.”
I chuckle at that one. “Wow, she has quite the imagination.”
“I’m not done yet,” he says, and he ticks off the suggestions on his fingers. “Declaring my love during the pep rally next week, which actually isn’t a bad idea…”
Laughing, I add, “Don’t you dare!”
“What’s the next best thing, Molly?” Weston asks, getting serious. “What’s it going to take for you to forget the shitty things I said?”
“It’s not like I want this to be a big, dramatic thing, Wes. I just think you aren’t ready to date anyone, and I…think I might be. Finally, you know? It’s been four years of high school of me just watching from the outside, going on a few shitty dates and to dances with guys as just friends, and I’m done doing that.” I play with my straw. “In a few months we’re going to be leaving for college. Imagine all those parties. All those single guys…” I sigh dramatically, let my voice trail off, and rest my chin in my elbow.
Am I being manipulative? Probably, but who’s here to stop me? Besides, when I report all of this back to Jenna, the details better be juicy or I’m in deep shit. I better make this good.
“Wait—what parties? What single guys?” he asks, frowning. I waggle my eyebrows at him, which makes him turn a deep shade of pink. “That’s not fucking funny, Molly.”
“Let’s get real for a minute, Weston. Not once did we discuss being exclusive, and not once did I call you my boyfriend or act like you suddenly were. So, I don’t get why you went into panic mode each time someone brought it up. Newsflash, buddy! It was kind of insulting.”
He has the decency to look embarrassed and stutters, “I’m… I’m…”
I believe the word he’s looking for here is sorry.
I let him squirm.
Tilting my head, I wait while he fumbles with his apology. “Molly, I’m an idiot. What do you want me to say? I’m eighteen and I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve been on one date, except that one with you. I’ve never bought anyone flowers, I’ve never had sex with anyone I care about, and I’ve never brought anyone home to meet my parents. I have no goddamn clue what I’m doing, okay?” He stares at me. When I don’t answer, he says again, “Okay?”
Not convinced, I purse my lips. “Yeah, but still….”
“There was one other thing Kendall mentioned doing that I think might work to get back into your good graces: a grand gesture.” He leans back and puts his arms behind his head, thinking.
“Grand gesture? What did she mean by that?”
“You’re asking me? Shit, I had to Google it.” Suddenly, without warning, he stands up at the table, his whole body jostling the surface and causing everything on it to shake and clatter. Clearing his throat, Weston loudly says, “Excuse me, excuse me, can I have your attention?”
Besides his table of teammates, about five other people turn to stare at us.
Holy shit, he is not about to—
“Attention, please,” he repeats. While I’m horrified by what’s about to happen, a sick part of me kind of wants to hear what he’s about to say. He continues, “My name is Weston, and I’ve been a complete idiot.”
His friends begin shouting in agreement, and loud insults are being hurled at Weston as he stands. “Boo! Sit down, douchebag!” “McGrath is a pansy ass!” My personal favorite, yelled across the room by Rick, is “Hey, McGrath, your mommy called and wants her tampon back!”
I leap up and grab his arm to stop him. His strong, muscular, tanned arm… “Oh my god, please sit down. I’m begging you.” I hiss at him in a sharp whisper. He looks down at my hand on his arm and gives his head a quick shake.
“I have to do this, Molly. For you.”
Oh, brother. Someone’s obviously been knocked over the head with the dip stick.
Gag me.
There is, of course, nothing I can do but watch.
* * *
Weston
“According to your own calculations, this is strike three. I say, if she’s willing to give you yet another chance, she’s a real keeper. Now go be a man and prove to her why she should keep you around…you dipshit.”