Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(27)

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out.

It doesn't take her long to pick out an entire ensemble, complete with shoes, a shirt and jewelry. Motioning to the vanity, she pats my desk chair. "Come on, let's get your hair and makeup done." With the determined expression on her face, she could pass for an army drill sergeant.

Thank god for best friends.





WESTON


I've been driving in the country for a few miles when I finally come to a really long driveway. From the road, I can make out a large stone house with a wraparound porch and a high peeked roof. The mailbox is on the opposite side of the street, and it's getting dark out already so I roll down my window to double check the house number: 932.

I let out a nervous breath.

Yup, this is definitely it.

I turn in. The whole driveway is blacktop and there are lamp posts lining the road about every seventy five feet. It's only early October, but someone has already tied corn stalks to the black light columns in preparation for fall, and a few of them have large pumpkins sitting next to them on the ground. I pull up to the turn around and sit facing a large red vinyl Wisconsin Badger flag that's flapping in the breeze off the basketball pole next to the garage: next to that hangs another red flag with a large number 19 on it.

Her brother Matthews' hockey number?

I reach forward and turn the volume down on the radio, then cut my engine. I give my legs and back a good stretch before I open the door, then stretch again once my feet hit the ground.

The walk up Molly's front door isn't long but by the time I reach it my palms are good and sweaty. I feel like I've just skated a few practice laps in the heat. Why am I so damn nervous? My hands are fidgety so I shove them inside my pockets.

Then I take them out.

Crap. What do I do while I'm standing here? I bounce a few times on the balls of my feet and loosen my shoulders like I'm preparing for a Mixed Martial Arts fight. Then I stop because shit, if someone's watching from a window they probably think I look like a complete jackass out here.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and raise my fist to knock.

Almost immediately, a dog starts barking wildly inside the house, and I can hear someone shouting for it to 'go lay down.'

The door opens.

A woman who is so obviously Molly's mom looks back at me with a pleasant smile on her face, and wow does she look like her daughter. On the taller side, and slender, with the same brownish red hair as Molly's (in a ponytail), she even has freckles on the bridge of her nose. She's very pretty. Not as pretty as Molly, obviously, but still... I would put her at MILF status for sure.

"Weston I presume?" she asks casually. That small smile still pinned to her lips, Mrs. Wakefield asses me, her eyes taking me in from head to toe until I can feel her staring holes into my tattoo covered arm. I resist the instinct to cross my arms. Still, her face remains impassive and if the sight of my tats offend her, she's hiding it well.

Cool.

"Yes ma'am, pleased to meet you." I stick my hand out for her to shake (which she does) and pray to god it isn't clammy. Damn, maybe I should have wiped them on my jeans first. "Is Molly home?"

Her mom chuckles softly, giving me another once-over and shaking her head from side to side as if she can't believe I'm standing in her foyer. "As if she'd miss this. Come on in." She motions me in with her hand and the door widens as she steps aside to let me in.

"Thanks." I don't know what else to say. "Those UW Wisconsin flags outside are great."

"Ah, yes, the flags. Mr. Wakefield had those made when Matthew, our son, signed his letter of intent to play for Madison a few years ago. But let's not talk about him: I hear you're a player yourself."

Player myself...? Oh! She means that I hockey player, not I play girls. "Yes ma'am. I'm a forward."

"We haven't been to any of the games at the high school lately, but we hear you're very good. Maybe we'll have to come cheer you on. Mr. Wakefield loves hockey, as you've probably guessed."

"Yes ma'am." Shit, I sound like a freaking idiot. "Sorry I keep repeating myself. I don't do this very often." Mrs. Wakefield cocks her head and smiles like she's talking to a child.

"Don't tell me you're nervous?"

"You have no idea."

"Well I won't torture you any longer. I'll go let Molly know you're here, even though I'm sure she's listening from upstairs." She pats me on the arm.

"Thank you Mrs.Wakefield," I say as she starts walking up the beige carpeted stairs. Then, as if she just can't help herself, she turns back and glances at me standing in her foyer. I swear she mumbles 'holy crap Molly' but it's either my ego messing with my head or a case nerves.

Upstairs, some faint light chatter is soon followed by footsteps padding down the hallway and my senses go on alert as Molly rounds the corner.

Barefoot, she is dangling a pair of shoes by her index finger.

I blink.

Coming down the stairs, Molly looks incredible in these tight ass skinny jeans. They're dark ending mid-calf and damn if even her ankles are sexy. She shoots me a shy smile and flips her long wavy hair. Her fitted top is white and strapless, setting off her golden skin, and flaring out at the bottom; around her waist is a thin belt. Molly's smooth shoulders and arms are completely bare, and I try hard - I really do - but I can't stop myself from checking out her cleavage.