Good Boy (WAGs #1)(43)

Sweet Cheezus, I’ve almost done it. If this baby shower were a baseball game, then I’d be stretching my legs toward home plate right now.

Sure, there were a couple hiccups getting to first, second and third. Like the fact that Molly was glaring at Jess all afternoon. And the suspicious looks my mom kept throwing my way. And I may have pissed off Brenna a wee bit. But I rounded those bases and now I’m sliding to home plate, about to be free of the tension that’s been coiled up inside me since—

“Blake? Can we talk for a second?”

Shitballs.

I almost dive back into the bathroom when I find Molly waiting for me in the hall. Fuck. Why did I have to duck inside to take a piss? I should’ve just held it until I got home. Or used that empty Gatorade bottle on the floor of my Hummer. Jess would’ve probably thrown up, but the fast getaway would’ve been worth her repulsion.

But now I’m stuck, and Molly’s staring at me with that sad, doe-eyed look she’s perfected over the years.

“Ah…Jess and I need to take off,” I say awkwardly. “Can we do this some other time?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”

I guess we’re doing it now.

Swallowing my annoyance, I try to think of a suitable answer. Why didn’t I tell her I was seeing someone…

Well, first and foremost, because it’s none of her fucking business.

But that’s too harsh. Right? Too harsh?

Maybe…because we broke up five years ago?

Damn it. Still harsh.

Because I’m not an angry guy, but every time I see you or hear your name I want to Hulk out and smash an entire metropolitan city.

Okay, even worse.

There’s nothing I can say that’ll appease her. The best I can come up with is, “It’s new.”

“Six months isn’t new!” Her cheeks redden when she realizes she’s yelling. She quickly lowers her voice. “A heads-up would have been nice, Blake. You knew I was going to be here today. I would have appreciated a warning that you were bringing someone,” she says tightly.

My voice is equally terse. “No offense, Mol, but I don’t owe you any warnings. It’s been five years. Shouldn’t be a shocker that I’m dating other people.”

Her lips part in dismay. Then she blinks, rapidly, and I prepare myself for the inevitable tears.

“You don’t have to be”—blink blink—“cruel about it,” she whispers. Blink blink blink. “After everything we’ve been through”—blink blink—“I deserve more than that.”

And cue the tears. They cling to her dark lashes for a second before slipping free and streaming down her cheeks. I pray that none of my sisters walk in right now, because they’re all super protective of Molly. If they saw that I’d made her cry, they’d kick my ass to next Sunday.

“Molly.” I shove both hands in my pockets. I’m not going to touch this woman. Not going to comfort her. “You need to move on.”

Her tear-filled eyes widen. “I have moved on.”

“No, you haven’t. But it’s time for it, honey.” My hands slide out of my pockets and dangle at my sides. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now. Take care of yourself.”

Then I lumber past her without a backward look. Am I an asshole? Maybe. Do I fucking care? Nope.

Molly is lucky to be here. One word from me and there’d be no more invites to these kind of events. If my family knew what she’d done, they wouldn’t even let her approach the front door.

Jess is waiting for me in the parlor, toying with the end of her ponytail. She looks up at my approach, sees my face, and asks, “Everything okay?”

“’S’all peaches and cream. Come on, we’re outtie.” We already said our goodbyes to the fam, so there’s nothing stopping me from taking her arm and dragging her toward the truck.

“Chill out,” she grumbles, shrugging my hand off. “I know how to walk by myself.”

I practically fling myself into the driver’s seat and have the engine running and the gearshift in drive before Jess has even buckled up. Her seatbelt snaps into place as I leave my parents’ house in my dust.

The sight of my childhood home in the rearview mirror pisses me off. I love that house. It’s mine. Total bullshit right there, that Molly is driving me away from my own house.

“Blake, slow down. You’re going too fast.”

I ease up on the accelerator. Shit, I’m all riled up. Riley’d up, if you will. I chuckle at the new phrase I’ve coined. Or maybe it’s not a chuckle so much as hysterical laughter.

“Okay, now you’re just freaking me out,” Jess announces. “Pull over. I mean it.”

I do it. Maybe it’s her tone of voice. It’s sharp and commanding, like when my mom used to order me to clean my room or else she’d stop paying for my hockey gear.

I park at the curb and stare straight ahead. We’re at the end of my parents’ street, and I hope nobody from the party drives by and stops to ask what the hell we’re doing.

“Get out,” Jess orders. “I’m driving.”

Again, I listen to the lady. And I don’t even ask if she’s capable of driving such a powerful machine, because I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize she’d slap me silly for being sexist.