Kissing In Cars (7 page)

Seriously,
an idiot
...

"Um, no. I ski actually - what about you?"

"Yeah, I board. Well, not as much as I used to because of, you know. Hockey."

I nod in understanding. "I can imagine that you're crazy busy."

Across from me, Weston starts fiddling with his fork, pushing a few noodles around on his plate. He looks at me directly and what comes out of his mouth next genuinely dumbfounds me. "Look Molly, about the other day at school...I..." he pauses and lets out a long breath. "I can't stop thinking about how Rick treated you, and...well. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't step in and tell him to shove off. He's an asshole and you seemed really..." he searches for a word. "Kind of scared."

I process this information. "It's okay. I mean. Yeah, I was a little freaked out but...I survived." I feel like I'm stumbling over my words.

"Well...if you want me to beat the crap out of him for you, I will." He smiles and we both laugh.

"I can see the headlines now, 'Local guy gets butt kicked for acting like... a
guy
."

"Ah, come on Molly, we're not
all
complete assholes."

WESTON

"You talk cute." (what I want to say when Molly is speaking) - Weston

As I'm saying the words '
We're not all complete assholes'
Molly's bright green eyes get real wide and she gives me this dubious stare like she doesn't believe a word coming out of my mouth. Which I guess makes sense, because sometimes even
I
don't believe a word coming out of my mouth.

We guys
are
kind of all assholes.

It's not like it's a big secret. Even so, I'm not going to admit that out loud.

I stare at Molly for a few seconds.

I can't help it, I really can't: she's just so goddamn adorable. And as I wonder why she's single, she gets quiet and her cheeks start getting a little red. Her fork hovers over her plate, and I think she's about to say something in protest. Instead she shrugs, nodding slowly. "Yeah, okay. Maybe you're not."

Ah shit, she has freckles across her nose. The kind you want to lean in and kiss one by one.

How cute is that?

"You can't judge us all because one guys today treated you like shit. Right?"

"So you're saying you're not an asshole?" Molly tips her head and looks at me, and lazily starts to trail her fork around her plate, pushing noodles this way and that. She rests her chin in the palm of her other hand with a small smile on her face. I notice she has the shadow of a dimple in her right cheek. "All right. I believe you."

Chapter Seven

MOLLY

"Once I walked in on my brother belting out the words to a Hanna Montana song. The person who said 'No one looks stupid when they're having fun' was a liar. Charlie looked like an idiot." - Ella Beauchamp, Soccer teammate

"So really. What were you listening to?" Weston asks again.

"You're not just going to sit quietly and let me eat, are you?"

His response is to laugh out loud. The sound is crazy wonderful - low, rich and vibrating deep within his chest.
His very...muscular...chest
. I preen with the satisfaction that I've made this god-like teenager laugh, knowing it's because I've surprised him with my bluntness.

I huff a sigh for show before answering, and swallow my embarrassment. "You've probably never heard of it."

"Try me." He leans forward, flexes his biceps and slowly begins twirling some noodles around his fork... stabs a few vegetables... takes a large bite. A lock of hair falls in his eyes.

He doesn't bother brushing it away.

And yeah, I totally want to do it for him.

"You don't seem like the type of guy that enjoys romantic girly songs," I give him a sideways glance, eying him skeptically.

He considers this, than nods his head. "You would be correct. But
now
inquiring minds want to know - just what is on that iPod of yours Molly Wakefield."

Dear Lord, he's teasing me and I
love
it.

Love it, love it.

I love that he keeps saying my name - not just the way he's saying my name, but the simple fact that it's on his lips! I love the way his mouth moves when he's talking: his battered bottom lip slightly crooked when he smiles - and how his voice gets animated.

I suddenly find myself developing a titanic sized crush on him. It's instantaneous, like a bucket of cold reality that has just come crashing down on my head.

I clear my throat. "Okay, fine. But after I tell you let's eat. I'm starving and you're already one step ahead of me." I point to his half eaten plate of food with my fork; meanwhile, I've barely touched mine. I can tell he's amused, and wonder where all of this bravado on my part is coming from.

However, in this situation, it's best to play it cool.

With a guy like Weston McGrath - a guy who has groupies - the only females who are going to stand out are those who can resist him. Give him a challenge. Play hard to get.

Weston eyes up my food thoughtfully and points to my plate. "Just so you know, anything you don't eat by the time I'm done with
my
food, I'm going to try and steal." He says this very matter-of-factly.

"That's the best you've got? You're only going to
try
and steal it?" As these coy words are rolling off my tongue, my eyes drift. I notice that one of his bottom teeth is chipped and my eyes linger once again to that cut on his lip. It's swollen and there is dry blood in the corner of his mouth.

Without realizing it, my tongue darts out and I run it slowly over my bottom lip.

He studies me with his head cocked and doesn't say anything for a few heartbeats.

He shakes his head and blinks. "So....the song you were listening to..."

His persistence is irritating - and also incredibly adorable.

"I'm beginning to feel like this is a battle of wills." I set down my fork. "Fine you big baby. I'll tell you, but the song is old." I finger the tablecloth, and feel my face getting hot.

I know what you're thinking: why is she making this such a big deal?!
Um, because, I'm listening to a song about love and kissing and now he wants me to blurt it out. I don't want him to get the wrong idea
. Well. A perverse part of me does... The part that wants to stand up, walk over to his side of the booth, and crawl onto his lap.

Holy crap where did that come from? I'm not sure how I feel about this saucy Molly Wakefield taking control of my body.

Newsflash: my hormones seem to have kicked in and are full-fledged raging. Well, I better cool it down because despite his intensity, he's not even really flirting.

Inhaling I quickly blurt out "Youshouldhavekissedme."

"What? Wait.
What
?" his eyebrows shoot up into his shaggy hairline and the play of expressions on his gorgeous face is priceless. Somewhere between 'I can't believe my luck' and 'get me the hell out of here.'

I laugh. "The song is called 'you should have kissed me.' It's by Gloriana. Seriously, get your mind out of the gutter." I twirl some noodles around my fork and blow on it.

"I hate to break it to you Molly, but my mind is
already
in the gutter." Weston winks at me. "I dumped it back there on my way in to the building."

He winks again.

Okay. Definitely flirting.

Do people still swoon, or am I laying on the drama a little too heavily?
Because dear lord, right now I could pass out and die.

Then I have this sudden random thought: if I were delusional like Erin from work, that wink would constitute an invitation to the Fall Formal dance. I almost giggle out loud at the thought, but catch myself and just do a generic eye roll instead.

"So wait, wait, wait. The song is about making out?" Weston stuffs more noodles into his face and wiggles his eyebrows. "Tell me more."

"Yes.
No
... It's basically about..." I pause to think about this and screw my face up in thought. "Mmm... It's basically about a girl arriving home from a date that she
thought
went great. But, her date doesn't kiss her good-night and naturally she wonders why."

"Naturally," Weston interjects airily.

I ignore him and continue, warming up to my topic. "The girl watches him through her curtains sitting in his car - he can't decide if he should go back or not - but then he finally he does run back up to the house."

"And then what? They make out?" He sounds like an excited little kid, and at the same time I can feel him looking at my lips. The scrutiny is intense, and I resist the urge to lick them again.

I'm tempted.
So
very tempted - just to see what would happen.

"Well,
yeah
, I guess. But not like that...."

He puts down his fork and stares at me. "Okay. Like how then?"

He's completely serious.

I wave my hand around in the air, trying to conjure up an explanation. No words come out: I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with Weston McGrath
of all people
. The very first time we formally meet.

"Look, just forget it."

"Hell no I won't forget it! Are you
trying
to drive me nuts? You know what? Here, give me your iPod. I'll just listen to it myself." He doesn't wait for me to hand it to him. Nope. The brute leans across the table and snaps up the iPod, its small size dwarfed by his large hands.

His bare arms are tan, toned, and now that we're sitting here and he's distracted, I can openly study his tattoo. It's an intricate design starting in the middle of his forearm and ending at his muscular shoulder blade. It looks like it might actually end even farther under his shirt - like maybe his collarbone, but from where I'm sitting it's hard to tell. And, I can definitely make out a few objects: the Ravens mascot, a crucifix, and a girl's name (Zoe, I think?) all woven into a tapestry of Celtic designs. It is entirely black.

Weston has my ear buds in and is adjusting the volume of my pink Nano.

I can tell that the song is on because his eyes settle on mine.

You should have kissed me: such a wistful and romantic song. I recently discovered it, and could listen to it over and over. Even though I can't hear the song playing myself, I can hear the words and rhythm playing in my head.
"I should have kissed you...I should have pushed you up against the wall....I should have kissed you, just like I wasn't scared at all...."

Dear lord, I wonder what he's thinking.

Weston is watching me watch him, his dark chocolate eyes are hooded as if he's gotten sleepy. His dark inky eyelashes are sinfully long for a guy.

Minutes tick by.

Slowly - aguishly - he runs his tongue several times over the cut on his lower lip before reaching up and removing the ear buds.

I can't stand it. I have to ask.

"So...?"
What did you think
my mind is screaming.

He thinks for a heartbeat then gives me a non-committed "You're right. I've never heard it."

Wait.
What
?

That's it? After all that buildup? Okay, so obviously the buildup was only on my end. But in any case, I feel disappointment.
Really Molly, what did you expect?
He's a
guy.
And all this talk of kissing has me hot and bothered
.
For real,
I wouldn't fight him off if he suddenly decided to ravish me with kisses. After all, I haven't been kissed in ages, and I've almost forgotten what it feels like. And I'm not really sure what to say at this point, so I just continue eating my half eaten meal, which has gotten cold during our conversation.

I rack my ravaged brain for a safe topic. "So,Weston. How did the scrimmage go today?"

There. Safe enough.

His eyebrows shoot up. "You weren't there?" he says and stops chewing. Obviously he's surprised - I can tell by the look on his face.

On second thought, maybe
not
such a safe topic...

"I was
working
. But... I usually don't go to the games, no." I can see by his confused expression that this is a foreign concept. He tips his head to the side, like a cocker spaniel. A girl not following his every move? Shocking! "Why do you seem so surprised?"

"Why not?" he asks. His plate is completely empty so he picks up his glass of water, picks out the straw and, tipping his head back, chugs it downs.

I can't help but admire the muscles of his collar bone, and the smooth area of skin just visible above the 'V' neck of the raggedy tee shirt.

He sets his glass down with a loud 'thunk' and the abrupt sound snaps me out of my perusal.

"Why not what?"
Earth to Molly
.

"Why do you usually not come to the games?"

I shrug. "I just... don't. I just don't think they're that big a deal."

Weston's dark eyes bore into me like I've just delivered an insult. I can tell he's fighting back a sarcastic remark because the muscles in his clenched jaw tick. "Not a big deal?"

I study him for a moment. His nostrils flare.

Testosterone much?

"You want the truth? Here it is: I prefer watching the NHL."

Weston snorts his obvious skepticism with a laugh.

Setting my napkin on the table, I lean forward with my elbows on the table and point to his mouth. I'm about to go in for the kill. "So....did you get that gash in your lip from a high stick, or... did some left wing run interference when you tried to light the lamp?"

Causally, I lean back and wait (and for you non hockey lovers, I just asked him if he got nailed by someone's stick while trying to score a goal).

Weston blinks.

Then he blinks again.

Okay, at this point you're probably thinking to yourself, 'what's he gonna say, what's he gonna do!?' And you wouldn't be alone, because I'm wondering too. But here's the thing:
I don't stick around to find out.

***

An old actress from the 1900's named Mae West once said, "When a girl goes bad, men go right after her." I read that quote once in Cosmo magazine and loved it so much I tore the page out, pinning it to the only space in my room where I'm allowed to hang things: a large bulletin board next to my desk.