Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(53)

She looks over, earring swaying airily. "He's...." She sits up straighter to get a better look over the sea of heads. "He's eating...and (she strains her neck up and squints) he looks angry. But then again, what else is new?" Jenna flops back down in her seat. "That's a look I like to call 'sexy angry." She points at me with her index finger. "You better get on that."

"Get your finger out of my face," I laugh, smacking her hand away and take a sip of my bottled water. Unable to stop myself, I chew my bottom lip and glace in Weston's general direction in the cafeteria, even though I can't see him above the fray.

"Have you talked to him at all today?"

"No. We only have study hall together. He's not exactly..." I pause and play with the cap on the plastic bottle in my hands. Jenna leans in and quietly says "Generous with outwardly affection?"

Surprised, I glance up at her with a wry smile on my face, glad that she kind of gets it without my having to explain. The relationship isn't exactly what I'd call complicated, but it's not exactly a walk in the park either. I mean - because he has something of an obligation to his sport, I haven't been made to feel any kind of priority.

And until this moment, I guess I didn't realize how bad that felt.

Feeling a bit bummed, I nod my head and fake a smile.





Chapter Twenty-Six





WESTON


"Dude, you're dating my ex-girlfriend? I'm eating a sandwich - did you want some of those leftovers too?" - more wit from cousin Jake



You'll have to take my word for it when I say: it's damn hard to eat a decent lunch when you're surrounded by idiots. Not only is it loud in this god-forsaken place, but the guys at my table - my "friends" - don't make it any better by competing to be the most obnoxious and immature.

We have a game this weekend, and although it's four days away, I am trying to get my head in the game. Instead, I'm being mind-f*cked by the memory of my dad's attitude towards Molly, and her reaction to it.

Seriously, I don't have time for shit like that - and it just goes to prove that is the exact reason I don't get involved with the opposite sex. Even though, to be fair, the drama wasn't created by Molly - but it did happen because of her.

Keeping my head down to ignore the crude remarks buzzing around the table, I pull my ball cap further down over my eyes and hunch my shoulders to lean over my tray. I'm sure I look like Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I could give a shit.

I have a lot on mind and I'm still hungry, even after one banana, two slices of greasy pizza, three Otis Spunkmeyer cookies, and one Mountain Dew. My eyes scan the trays of my friends in front of me, and I notice Bryan Bossner has half a hamburger on his tray.

Without asking, I reach for it.

"What the hell man!" Despite his protests, I cram it into my mouth, shoving it all in in one piece.

"I'm hungry," I mumble with a mouthful, barely able to get the words out.

"How is that my problem? I wasn't done with that * - get your lazy ass up and go buy yourself something."

Irritated I shoot him a look, finish chewing, then swallow before saying, "Don't f*cking call me lazy."

Bryan tries to stare me down, and it looks like he wants to tell me to go f*ck myself, but a few seconds later he looks away instead. For the briefest of seconds, I feel a small stab of guilt (if you can call it that), but when I glace down the table and catch Rick watching me from the corner of his eye, the feeling disappears.

If anyone can make me lose my shit, it's him.

To be fair, I haven't heard much from him since I threatened to kick his ass. And I know for a fact he hasn't spoken to Molly either. But still - I don't trust him. And I sure as hell don't like him - even if I have to call him teammate.

A few minutes later, when I've dumped my garbage and stored my lunch tray on the tall kitchen cart, I make my way down the somewhat empty hallway towards my locker. Since mostly everyone is either in class or in the cafeteria, it's quiet and I don't have to think about anything but my locker combination as I stand there dialing it.

I stand at my locker, trying to clear all the bullshit out of my mind, when that stream of peaceful nothingness is interrupted by a none-too-subtle clearing of a delicate throat. Expecting to see Molly when I lift my head, a smile spreads to my face.

And then quickly disappears.

"Hey Weston. So, you haven't called me lately."

Shit.

Stacy Bingham stands next to my locker, brown eyes fluttering, lips glossed to a sticky shine.

I suddenly wonder if I could escape by squeezing inside my locker. Once, when I was in third grade, we had this complete * of a teacher that would make us all climb inside our cubbies when we misbehaved and this one fat kid Jameson got stuck because he never fit inside to begin with.

"Weston, did you hear what I just said?"

I sigh loudly. "Why do you suppose it is that I haven't called Stacy? How long ago was it that we went out? Five, six months?"

Stacy chews on her thumbnail and appears to be thinking of an answer. She counts out the months on her fingers. No lie. "Um, maybe five?"

"Right... So don't you think I would have called if I was interested?"