I grumble. “The leftover pizza was gone.”

“You’re moodier than usual.” Molly walks all the way into the living room, invading my space as per usual, dropping Chewy’s leash so he can come say hello.

I scratch him behind the ears but offer no kind words. Don’t get him riled up, don’t pick him up and cradle him like a baby.

“Hey bud” is all I say to the dog, because apparently I’m moodier than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Molly wants to know.

“Nothing.”

She laughs. “Nothing? That’s what my mom always tells my dad when she’s mad at him—and she’ll do it in this really weird way, like she’s daring him to drop the subject and walk away. Nothing always means something.”

I mull this information over. She’s not wrong.

Clearly I’m in a foul mood, but am I going to share that with her? No.

“Does this have anything to do with Chandler?”

Yes. “Pfft, no.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Just what I need, Molly calling me a liar, too. As if the weekend couldn’t get shittier, I’m getting dumped on by a child.

“I think you need to mind your own business.”

Never one to back down from my surly mood, she presses on in true Molly fashion. “Know what I think it is?”

“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“I think you went to Chandler’s last night after your game, got into a fight, then came home.”

Um, how does she know that? “Why would you think that?”

“Easy—you came home about two hours after your game ended, parked in the driveway for about ten minutes, let the dog out, then left. Less than an hour later you were back—deductive reasoning tells me you weren’t out grabbing snacks at midnight.” She pauses to take a breath. “So what happened?”

I am not getting into this with her.

I’m not.

“Let me guess.”

“Please don’t.” Seriously. Not in the mood. “I will pay you to go away.”

“You already pay me.”

“I’ll give you fifty bucks to go home right now.”

Molly shrugs, uninterested in the bribe. “All that tells me is I’m right.”

What a little shit.

“Did you say something to make her mad or did she say something to make you mad?”

Neither. It was my mother drudging up old news and rekindling an old fire.

I silently stuff more popcorn in my mouth for the sole purpose of chewing. Chewing = cannot talk.

“Blink once if this is because you didn’t tell her how you feel.”

I blink once, but not on purpose. “Fuck. That was not my answer.”

Molly laughs, giving the dog belly rubs. “I think it was.”

Fine. It was. Now go away and let me sulk in peace.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, pensive. “Why not? Don’t you like her?”

“I do.”

“So why would you just hurt her by not being honest?”

Hurt her?

I frown. Hurt her? Is that what I did? First Chandler was mad about the publicity stunt a few weeks back, and then she did a complete one-eighty to me not being able to open up. Feelings and sharing is caring and all that dumb bullshit.

Did that hurt her feelings?

My brow furrows, forehead wrinkles so deep I can feel them.

“‘Is your ego so huge you can’t tell me how you feel about me?’” I say out loud, looking up at Molly to gauge her reaction. “That’s what Chandler said last night.”

“And what did you say?”

I rack my brain, cringing as I recall. “‘If it’s not obvious, then I can’t help you with that.’”

Molly’s eyes damn near bug out of her skull. “You did not say that!” Chewy nudges her with his wet nose when she removes her hand from his belly. “Then what did she say?”

“After I told her the night fucking sucked? She said something like ‘I’m sorry you lost tonight.’”

“And what did you say?”

“Jesus Molly, I don’t know! It was shitty, okay? Adult stuff, I don’t remember.”

My outburst sounds childish—like a man who knows he’s fucked up but that won’t admit it—and I’m panting.

“I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Why am I such a prick?

She snorts. “Duh, yeah it was.” Molly continues petting Chewy. “That explosion was your feelings coming out—you can’t help yourself.”

Explosion? Where is she getting this from?

“That was not my feelings coming out.”

“Yes it was. You’re not used to it so you had an outburst. Emotions are feelings—we talked about this. You’re scared of losing her, but you aren’t sure how to express yourself because you haven’t had to before. No one has held you accountable. These women let you get away with all that bad behavior because they were using you.”

I stare, dumbfounded. “Uh, how do you know all this?”

“I asked my mom why you were such a bad boyfriend and she said most of that, but I also googled it.”

Jesus Christ. She’s talking to her mom about this shit? Does the whole neighborhood know what a fuckup I am?

Tags: Sara Ney Trophy Boyfriends Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net