Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(62)

I continue.

"But no matter what he said or did to make you mad, you should know that he really likes you. And even though one time he ate an entire batch of cookies my mom made for my birthday party at school (gee, thanks Kendall) he's the best brother a girl could have. And he wants you to be his girlfriend, even if he won't say it. Because he's a boy. And we all know that boys are, well, dumb."

Everyone is laughing - some hysterically - and clapping as I finish the letter and begin folding it up, back into a neat little square. Before I can stick it back in my pocket, Molly reaches for it.

"Please. Can I have that?" her eyes are smiling, even if her mouth is in a serious straight line.

"What are you planning on doing - burning it in a bonfire pit?"

She smirks. "Maybe, maybe not."

I hold it out but snatch it back before she can take hold of it. "I'll only give this to you if you promise you're going to put it under your pillow."

Inwardly I groan at how stupid it sounds when I'm trying to be slick, and Molly rolls her eyes heavenward. "Why? Is the tooth fairy gonna come?"

"More like the boyfriend fairy," I snicker slyly.

From across the room, my friends are shouting things like, "Dude, we can hear you!" and "You sound like a f*cking idiot!" And, not to be out done, Gavin Woznuski is chanting 'Douche!' over and over and banging on the table with his fists.

"Please ignore them." I say grimly as my face gets warm from the blush creeping up my neck.

"Hmmm, I don't know. They are pretty hard to ignore," Molly muses, tapping her chin in thought.





MOLLY


Right before I was even close to finishing my next thought, Weston grabs my hand in front of everyone, half dragging me across the restaurant until we are in the parking lot leaning against my car.

The street light above us flicker as they struggle to go on, and Weston hovers over me. He taps on the back window of my Jeep. "That backseat is looking mighty good to me right now..." his voice trails off suggestively.

I glance over his shoulder and take in our audience - his friends have their faces practically pressed against the glass of Kyoto. Rick is blowing on the glass, his cheeks puffing up - and completely disgusting me in the process.

I roll my eyes at his suggestion and laugh. "Even without an audience, you sound awfully confident for someone who was groveling not ten minutes ago." Still, the idea of kissing him in the car has merit, and old habits die hard as I begin playing with the collar of his worn tee shirt. Pulling at a loose thread and letting the tip of my finger stroke the smooth skin above his collar, Weston groans and buries his face in my hair.

He inhales deeply and lets out a breath. "I missed you."

"Good."

He pulls back sharply to look at me. "What the hell!"

"Well, I want you to remember that feeling next time you run your mouth off to other people. Seriously. Jenna was about to come castrate you."

Weston leans forward and kisses my collarbone, muttering, "Castration isn't very nice."

"No, but at least she's got my back."

"I'd like to get you on your back..."

"Hey! I haven't said I'm giving you another chance." I pull a straight face and tip my chin up defiantly.

"Babe, please. I promise I won't run away like a chicken shit again. I just need you to know that I'm an *, and that's probably not going go to change... I mean, look at my dad. Hello."

I don't say anything, but I do make a 'Hmmph' sound in my throat.

"Molly - can you just love me for the * that I am?"

"Well... when you put it that way, how could I possibly resist?"





EPILOGUE





WESTON


"Let me know what happens at the end. Call me or some shit..." - Rick Stevens



So here we are one year later, although it seems like just yesterday we were standing in that parking lot, my heart beating out of my chest as I waited anxiously to hear if Molly was going to give me another chance.

I check my watch one more time, noting that if we don't head out now, we aren't going to make it on time. "Molly. Babe, let's go!" I call up the stairs. "If you're not down in five seconds, I'm coming up."

"Babe, I'm coming!" She shouts back. "Two more seconds." I can hear her hopping around frantically on one foot, probably trying to pull boots on or something, and low mumbled curses.

A voice interrupts me from behind. "Oh my god dude, every time I hear you two 'babe-ing' each other, it makes me want to blow chunks." Matthew Wakefield says, walking into the foyer and shoving a fistful of almonds into his mouth.

"Hey, give me a couple of those," I demand.

He slaps my hand away, quite viciously I might add, and sticks the bag of almonds in the pocket of his hoodie. "Get your own damn delicious treats. Jeez bro, isn't it enough that I have to put up with your crap at school? Now you're stealing shit from me in my own home? Back off."

Yeah. You heard that correctly.

You're looking at a freshman starter for the Wisconsin Badger Hockey team - and, I guess you could say - the bane of Matthew Wakefield's existence. Actually, Molly and I both go to Madison now and are only home this weekend for the Homecoming hockey game. Which, of course, we're running late for.