Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(20)

We stay this way, Weston hovering over me, his large capable hands framing my head on the cold metal of my car. The only sound between us is our labored breathing. It's like he can't make his mind up about whether to go all the way or pull back. And I...have never wanted a kiss so bad in my entire life.

But something is holding him back and his face backs away slowly.

Finally, Weston whispers "Damn."

Yeah, exactly.

Damn.





Chapter Eight





MOLLY


"Shut. Up. You can quote me on that." - Jenna

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute - start over. Are you telling me Weston McGrath sat and ate a meal with you? And you didn't pass out and die? OMG I would have choked and died right there on the spot. Fainted dead away." Jenna is sitting at my desk, straddling the chair and staring holes into me with her intensity. On my way home from dinner, she was my first phone call as I left the parking lot.

And, of course, she insisted on coming straight over.

She pounced on me as soon as I walked into the house, and hasn't stopped talking since.

I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny (I'm not good with all the attention on me). "Well I almost did, so what does that tell you."

"Okay, so you're sitting there enjoying your noodles, when....." Jenna doesn't let up, waving her hand in the air in a way that means 'go on.' She wants me to relive every detail. Over and over. Honestly, I've told her all this already.

Every... wonderful... delicious... detail.

But being the good friend that I am, I indulge her.

Again.

"So. I'm sitting there and when I look up, there he is."

"Shut up."

"Yes." (Very dramatic. She is loving this.) "Then he walks over and asks if he can sit down. He said, and I quote 'Mind if I keep you company?' And who am I to deny him?"

"As if you would!"

"So then I forgot I had my iPod on -"

"Was he a jerk?" Jenna interrupts, leaning forward, tipping the chair up on its front legs. I bite my lip and gaze at it nervously. She is so going to fall, or the chair legs are going to break off.

"No. He was..." Dreamy. "Nice. It was pleasant."

"Ew. Nice is boring. Was he coming on to you? Did he flirt?"

"Nice isn't boring, Jenna. We had fun." Actually, I wanted to climb into his lap.

"You know what Molly? I live for this shit. The least you can do is humor me for crying out loud. Give me something! Anything! Don't use words like 'nice' and 'fun!" She throws her arms in the air, exasperated.

My phone beeps.

Picking it up, a number pops up onto my screen that I don't recognize, but I immediately know who it's from.

I think my heart just stopped.

212-555-9083: are you coming to my game this week?

How on earth did Weston get my number!? I look up at Jenna, who is staring at me expectantly.

I swallow hard.

"Why do you look like you just crapped your pants?" she asks crassly. Hey, I didn't say she was my classiest friend.

"Er...." And suddenly, Jenna is jumping - no, tripping - off of the chair and is bouncing on the bed next to me. The chair actually falls and hits the desk, toppling unceremoniously and landing on its side. She snatches my phone up and begins shrieking.

"Holy shit! Holy Shit Molly! Weston McGrath has the hots for you! For you, my best friend!" She clutches the phone to her chest and squeals.

Loudly.

"Shhh, shhhh! Oh my god, be quiet will you?" I'm hissing at her now, but she could care less. She carries on like One Direction has just walked into the room. I keep shushing her. "Jenna, shut up before my parents hear you."

"You have to respond." She gasps. "Put 'hell yeah baby' and then -"

I start laughing because she's actually being serious.

She is always making me laugh. "Give me the damn phone back you freak." I sit there, biting my lip. Wait. What do I want to say? After thinking about it for a few more seconds and swatting Jenna away several times, I start typing.

Me: I would consider it...but I don't even know who this is :(

There. That sounds flirty but not too enthusiastic.

"Why did you put that?!" Jenna shouts, flapping her arms in exasperation. "You should just tell him you're going! Ugh, you're so going to ruin this, I just know it." She accuses, pacing around my room like a caged tiger.

My phone dings again.

212-555-9083: you know who this is.

Me: i do? weird. i don't recognize this number 212-555-9083: you come to my game and ill score a goal for you.

Me: (rolling my eyes) one goal? i might get out of bed for a hat trick "Oh my god, why would you say that?! What's a hat trick? You are such a weirdo! Program him into your phone already, would you? This is driving me nuts!"

"You are driving me nuts," I say to her. My stomach is in knots and my hands are actually sweating. Sweating if you can believe it. Ugh, gross. "A hat trick is a hockey term, Jenna. It means one person scores 3 goals in one game."

Duh.

I am so nervous. I click on Weston's phone number, quickly adding him to my Contacts.

About fifteen torturous minutes goes by before he responds. Doesn't he know how rude it is to keep a girl waiting like that?