Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(37)

Watching like a freaking sap.

I look up at the round clock hanging on the wall, and curse because she technically only has a few more minutes to get here - two more minutes actually, until the bell rings - or I can write her off as having gone somewhere else for study hall.

A calculus book sits open in front of me and my right leg impatiently bounces up and down of its own free will - and I watch the door like it's my job. The thought crosses my mind that I should have texted her, telling her to meet me here - but I haven't gotten ahold of her since our date Saturday, and don't want to seem too eager.

Desperate.

The bell finally rings, and, disappointed that Molly hasn't shown up I finally force myself to look down at my textbook. After staring at the same page for who knows how long, the words and numbers on the page still aren't making sense, and none of them are registering in my brain. I stare unblinking and trancelike down at the open pages, unable to stop thinking about my date this past weekend. Unable to stop thinking about Molly - who has been consuming my thoughts - and if my dad knew he would personally serve my ass up on a silver platter and never let me see her again.

I know at least mom was secretly excited for me; she was waiting up for me in the kitchen Saturday night to hear the details of my date with Molly. Actually, when I came in to the house she scared the shit out of me sitting there in the dark on a barstool at the counter.

I might have even screamed a little.

I've actually never seen mom that way before - my guess is that she holds a lot of it in because of my dad not wanting me to be serious about anything other than school and hockey, but really, she was pretty damn excited. I felt like a girl the way she fussed over me, helping me get ready and insisting that I get my shaggy hair trimmed earlier in the day - which of course, I did. And yeah, it was really f*cking irritating - but I let her fuss anyways, because in a way I felt guilty - I know mom's love that shit and before this weekend she's never had the opportunity.

I'll just keep telling myself all the effort was for my mom and sister, and not for Molly.

And speaking of Kendall... she had gotten freakishly excited too, singing that annoying ass song "Weston and Molly sitting in the tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G..." over and over before I bolted from the house.

Unable to concentrate I lean back and take off my cap, running my fingers through the hair that's no longer there. I keep forgetting how short it is. Damn.

I raise my eyes as I set the hat down on my head, brim to the back, I swallow hard as Molly walks into the room. She's stopped at the circulation desk, leaning over on her elbows across the counter with a slip of paper extended towards Mrs. Stalworth, the dumpy old librarian who takes it and grins.

As they continue quietly chatting I'm checking her out...

Obviously.

Even in casual school clothes, she makes my breath hitch and I reach up to flip my hat back around so no one catches the expression in my eyes, which I'm assuming is akin to adoration. Let's just get something straight right now: Weston McGrath doesn't get caught checking chicks out - ever.

And just so we're clear, he also doesn't do girlfriends.

But hell, why is she so much goddamn cuter than I remember?

Molly leans against the counter, still oblivious to the fact that I'm watching her from the corner of the room. It's the first glimpse I've had of her since Saturday, and the sight of her gets my blood flowing - especially in those tight blue jeans, which hug her ass like a second skin.

She straightens to a stand, and my eyes rake hungrily over the navy blue and white stripped tank top that's pulled tightly across her breasts (nice), over which she's wearing an unbuttoned gray cardigan. A thin brown leather belt is wrapped around her waist and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail with the cutest f*cking white bow in it.

Now how in the hell am I going to concentrate?

Finally she turns and scans the room looking for a place to sit. I sit at attention, my posture a little straighter, and silently will Molly to notice me in the back of the room. Shit, why did I have to sit back here? Oh that's right, because I'm a f*cking idiot.

Patiently I wait.

I'm rewarded when our eyes meet and she takes those first tentative steps towards me - then falters. Biting on her lower lip she is obviously measuring whether or not to approach me, and I mentally chastise myself for not having texted her after our date. It was a great date - so great I was hard for two days afterwards - but let's be honest: this isn't going anywhere. Despite that, I feel like a world class jackass and I wouldn't blame her if she sat somewhere else, even though I know she won't.

Because Molly Wakefield is classier than that and I doubt she tolerates bullshit. In fact, I would kind of expect her to waltz over and bitch me out for not calling.

Weaving her way through the tables that have been staggered around the room, I think she is going to come over to my table.

But then she shocks the crap out of me.

In a library full of people, instead of choosing to sit with me she parks it at a table with some random emo chick wearing all black that I've never seen before. Her chair is facing me and she shoots me a smile that even from here I can tell is forced, despite my lack of a sensitivity gene, before pulling it out and plopping down. Molly then lobs her black backpack onto the tables' surface in front of her and I watch as she unzips it, takes out a notebook then a calculator.

Fine, ignore me. See if I give two shits