Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(43)

And that ladies and gentleman, is how I got my reputation as a complete *.





Chapter Twenty





MOLLY


"The last time I condoned 'the wet look' was when I was five. And even then it was hideous." - Tasha



There are moments in your life where sometimes you just want to crawl under the table and hide.

This, ladies and gentleman, is one of those moments.

Weston sits across the table from me, watching Mary Rogers and her best friend Olivia shrink away to their own table. If they had a massive crush on him before, he sure went and ruined it with his ugly tirade. I'll admit it: even though the words weren't directed at me, they were about me and they hurt.

Did I want to go to Fall Formal?

Not really.

I mean, we've covered this topic before. However - not wanting to go, and having the guy you like completely repulsed by the idea of taking you?

Um yeah, two totally different things.

Now I'm faced with the question: how do I react to all this? There he sits, his face finally going back to its normal color after being beat red, totally ignorant of my hurt feelings.

I push some rice around my plate with a knife, having completely lost my appetite. Quietly I say, "Wow. You really are an *."

Weston looks up at me from his plate, surprised. "What did I do?" I tap the knife on the table before setting it down; my stomach feels like it has been twisted in a thousand little knots. Weston's brow furrows and he asks again "What? Molly..."

I bite my lip, uncertainty fueling my next move. Awkwardly, I grasp for my jacket, at the same time grabbing my purse. Weston reacts stealthily, reaching across the table in a futile attempt to stop me. "What are you doing?" The low timbre of his confused voice almost has me hesitating as it vibrates and warms my core, but I've gone this far already and I'm not stopping until I'm in the parking lot.

Are guys really so stupid?

Does he really not know what he said to upset me?

I weave my way through Kyoto, sights set on the door. It's getting dark out, and the visibility in the parking lot is terrible; the rain that's pouring down outside makes it almost impossible to see my Jeep from the door.

Good.

It would serve that A-hole right having to hitch a ride with Mary Rogers, who apparently got dressed in the dark this morning and couldn't find anything but a toddler's tee shirt to cover her giant boobs.

Or better yet, maybe he can call that jackass Rick Stevens to come pick him up.

You know what they say: One giant jackass deserves another (actually, I just made that up, but it fits, don't you think?).

I shrug into my jacket, thankful that it has a hood, and continue standing in the doorway of the restaurant watching the rain come down in sheets. In the distance lightning flashes, and my hand grips the door handle. It's coming down so hard I have to psych myself and count to three before I can make myself push the door open. Then, just as I'm about to give the door a shove, a large, warm hand covers my shoulder.

Of course I know who it is: I don't even bother turning around.

"Can we talk about this?" His voice is inches from my ear. "Please. Let's go sit down."

But I am too embarrassed and hurt to go back into the dining room. "Weston, just let me leave. You really... that was..." I shake my head and stare into the parking lot.

"Fine. Then let's go out to your car." He shoves the door open with the toe of his boot and envelopes my hand in his, pulling me unceremoniously out into the pouring rain.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!" I screech as we run to my car, water pelting our faces and splashing under our feet. Vainly, I thank god my hood is up and that my hair is staying dry. It's gotten cold, and I can feel my shoes and pant legs getting soaked.

"Keys!" he shouts when we get to the Jeep. I fumble in my pocket, finally slapping them in his outstretched palm. Several seconds later, he's opening the driver's seat and ushering me inside before jogging around to the passenger side.

Side by side in the dry shelter of my car, we shake ourselves off, both of us shucking off our rain soaked jackets. The pounding on the roof is loud and quarters inside the Jeep are so close that an intimate atmosphere is created inside the cab that isn't normally there. Weston's large body sits next to me, and suddenly I'm aware of his every breath. He swipes his large hand over his hair a few times, than lets it fall to his thigh.

He turns his head to look at me and exhales. "This could take a while to pass. You want me to call someone to pick me up?"

I consider this and slowly shake my head. "No. Let's see what happens I guess. I probably shouldn't be driving around in this either." I let my neck relax back onto the head rest and stare up at the canvas roof, quickly praying to the Waterproof Gods that it doesn't leak anytime soon.

"So.... I guess since we're stuck here we mine as well.... You know. Talk about what an ass I was back there."

"I thought guys hated talking."

"Yeah, about our feelings maybe, but not yours. On second thought, I've been doing a lot of shit lately that's out of character, so what the hell do I know." Weston shrugs and leans his brawny frame on the door. Under his jacket he had on a ratty old muscle shirt that actually has tons of rips and holes in it - like a Freddy Krueger got ahold of it - but it's not bothering me one bit because it's affording me glimpses of the smooth skin underneath.