Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(23)

Weston: you made it to the game.

Well, he certainly doesn't beat around the bush now does he...? How awesome.

I bite my lip, not knowing whether to play coy or just go with it. Either way, I can't believe he's basically calling me out for attending the game simply because he asked me to. How embarrassing. But then again, he's admitting that he was watching for me in a crowd of people!

Me: u noticed?

Weston: i noticed. my MOM noticed.

I begin kicking my legs under the covers in a total freak out moment, and as my duvet falls on the ground I wrack my brain wondering what he could possibly mean by that. His mom noticed? Then it dawns on me.

Me: lady with the foam finger?

Weston: lol. yup. she was freaking out when i got home.

Me: why???

He doesn't respond for what seems like an absolute eternity.

Weston: for a bunch of reasons.

Way to leave a girl hanging! I'm totally tempted to ask 'what reasons?' because obviously, I am beyond dying to know. But he's given me such a vague answer that I don't want to pry, as much as I...want to pry. My fingers hover over the keypad on my phone, and don't know what to say. First I type 'oh' but then delete it. Then I type 'no biggie' but delete that too. Before I can make my brain come up with a cohesive sentence, he writes: were you impressed? Sheesh, what a conceited ass.

But at least it's something I can sink my teeth into.

So I literally type yes, you conceited ass. i was on the edge of my seat to the bitter end.

Weston: lol. i aim to please.

I stare at that sentence, not really knowing what to say, and those flutters are back in my stomach. A million things come to mind, none of them even remotely appropriate for this conversation. Newsflash: I have a tremendously imaginative mind. And by imaginative, I mean vivid...and by vivid I mean I can out trash talk my brother.

Weston: i noticed you were late. tsk tsk

Me: shouldn't you have been focused on the game?

Weston: and THAT'S the reason my mom was freaking out when i got home.

Me: (snort) like you have never been distracted from a game before...

Again, Weston doesn't respond right away. I sit there in the dark thinking maybe I went too far. Calling a guy out for creeping on me? Real smooth, Molly. Jenna would be having a hysterical fit right now (and not in a good way) and would probably be hitting me with something at this point too.

Like, with a blunt force object.

After about four minutes of pure torture, my phone finally lights up the dark.

Weston: nope. this would be a first.

My phone immediately dings again as he sends another text. i was hoping we could have grabbed something at Kyoto after the game, but my hand had 2 get wrapped and the trainer took 4ever.

Why is he saying these things?!

Me: noodles do sound good...great. now I'm hungry. thanks a lot!

There is yet another long pause before he responds, and I have to question at this point whether he knows anything at all about the female species, because if he did there is no way he would take so long. It's freaking driving me out of my mind, and I have enough energy coursing through my body right now I could easily bust out my cross trainers and jog a few miles.

Weston: so my parents are probably going to freak when they find out im asking you this, but...do you have plans this weekend?

This weekend? As in three short days from now?

Me: i...think im free. why? did you want to go have those noodles ;)

Long pause.

I take this time to close my eyes and imagine what his his long muscular body looks like stretched out on his bed, in only mesh gym shorts. In my mind, they're red and his chest is bare. Defined pecs and strong calf muscles flexing as he decides what he's going to text next.

I bury my face in the pillow and let out a loud groan.

Weston: no. more like...an actual... idk. date.

And that's the moment I kick the covers off my bed and let out a blood curdling scream.





Chapter Ten





WESTON


"Just when you thought you couldn't piss me off even more, you go and out do yourself." - Brian McGrath to Weston



I have a date.

Holy shit, an actual date.

I haven't had a real one in... well, never.

And my mom is totally going to kill me when she finds out. Correction: my Dad is totally going to kill me when he finds out. I'm less worried about my mom...

You see, the thing is - even though my parents do pretty well financially they're still counting on me to receive a hockey scholarship for college. I've been playing since I was crapping my pants: to say that it consumes my life would be the understatement of the year.

This usually means:

1. No girlfriend, which means I tend to not get laid very often. Or not at all, depending on what season it is, contrary to popular belief.

2. No job, which means I have to kiss my dad's ass when I need cash for something.

3. No life.

Most people assume that I don't participate in school functions because I'm some kind of insensitive *, but that's not the case. The fact is I don't have the time; never made the time.

If I'm not at hockey practice, I'm sleeping off hockey practice.

Or eating.

As I'm about to slam the door to my locker shut, I grab a Pop-Tart from the dwindling supply on the top shelf. I have one pack left. Fucking Rick is always eating my shit and never replaces any of it. As I rip the silver wrapper open with my teeth (it's cherry by the way, my favorite) I sling my loaded down backpack over my shoulder and tug my ball cap down over my eyes in an effort to avoid having to stop and talk to my peers, who loiter in the halls. Unfortunately, I'm forced to raise my head and nod to a few people along my way to the cafeteria.