Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(59)

"Guys, check it out. Stalker alert, one O'clock," Derek jokes loudly, smacking Adam in the arm and pointing towards Molly's table. A hollow pit forms in my stomach, because the jackass was so loud there is no doubt she heard him.

"What, like there are no other places to eat around here?" Erik Travers chimes in, and I immediately lose any respect I had for him, labeling him a follower and adding him to my Shit List, mentally noting that I'll take him out at tomorrows practice.

"Dude, you know a chicks desperate when she -"

"- Would you *s mind shutting the f*ck up?" Rick comes up behind me, growling at our small party of team mates. "Keep it up pansies or I'll have you skating suicides on a day we don't have practice." Rick claps his large hand on my shoulder. "You dickheads go sit down; I wanna talk to McGrath quick."

I move to go sit, but he stops me with a hand on my chest. "Why don't you just go over there for craps sake? You looks like someone kicked your puppy."

"Because I keep f*cking up by saying all the wrong shit. She hates me." If I didn't know any better, I would say my shoulders were sagging a little from both exhaustion and defeat.

"Jesus Christ do you sound like a girl," Rick says, his lip curling in disgust.

"What do you even care? I thought you were pissed at me," I mumble, glancing over my shoulder to watch Molly hiding behind her book.

"Well damn, it's better than watching you mope. I might be a prick, and I might not really give a shit about your feelings, but I want to win games, and dude, for the past few days you've royally sucked."

"Gee Rick, tell me how you really feel."

"Since you asked, I guess I could be apologizing for my * behavior with Molly. I guess I didn't realize you were seriously interested. Plus, let's be honest: I kind of have a huge ego." Rick shrugs and claps me on the back.

"Please stop before you end up hugging me and I have to punch you in the nuts."





Chapter Thirty





MOLLY


"The right guy will move mountains to be with you...He won't hide behind them."- Mandy Hale



My once healthy appetite has completely deserted me as I hover in the safety of this booth, too anxious to even look up. My mind takes a turn, and I can't help but wonder how long I'm going to be stuck here, helpless to the group of boys across the room - because even though I have a book in front of my face, I can totally sense that they're watching me. 50 Ways to Say Goodbye by Train pumps through my iPod, drowning out any conversation, and for that I am thankful - but honestly, this is way worse than one of those dreams where you're naked in front of a crowd.

"Mind if I keep you company?"

Please God, let the earth open up and swallow me whole, I pray. Like, as in right freaking now.

Seriously.

I look up to see Weston standing there in his masculine glory, staring down at me with expectation in his eyes - one hand holding his dinner and one hand stuffed in the pocket of his black Adidas athletic pants. His hair is wet, presumably from the shower he took after practice.

A lump forms in my throat, and I have to clear my throat and swallow hard to keep from blurting out all the things I want to say. Sensing my hesitation, Weston looks over his shoulder at the guys and Rick Stevens shoes him with him hand as if to say "go on bro." Knotting my brow in confusion, I set my book down and look back up at Weston.

"Please Molly," he says. Well, I can't really hear him because of the music in my ears, but I can read it on his lips. And because I'm stubborn I say nothing. To be fair, I don't feel there is anything to say - I mean he said it all in the hallway when he made it clear I meant nothing to him. Right? I bit my lower lip and look down at the table.

"What are you listening to?" He prompts, pointing to my ear buds.

I shake my head.

Nope.

Not giving in.

Okay, maybe I'll just turn the volume way down in case he says something meaningful. Sensing a weakness in my fortitude, Weston artfully slides into the booth with the gracefulness that still surprises me from a guy his size. Then, just like he always does, he sets his plate down, unrolls his utensils from the paper napkin - then its fork on the left side of the plate, knife on the right.

Smiling, he takes a bit of his noodles - but not before scalding himself in the process. A sick part of me is glad he just scalded his mouth, and as he frantically grabs his water glass, I feel a smile threatening to break free. To hide it I reach for my own glass and take a drink.

He swallows, clears his throat, than says "We really have to stop meeting like this." He thrusts his hand out across the table for me to shake it, and I stare him like he's grown a second head. "Okay. Let me rephrase that. Hi, I'm Wes, and for the past few weeks I've treated someone I really care about like shit and I'm here to apologize."

"Yet again."

"Huh?"

"Apologize yet again. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is what... the fourth time?" I tick off three fingers and thrust my hand at him. "You know the rule Weston. Three strikes - you are out." I push my fork around my plate to find some veggies and take a quick bite of my cold dinner just so I don't have to talk to him and cringe (newsflash: noodles taste hideous when they're cold).