“Yeah. I mean, I don’t think that was originally the intention, but now that I’m stranded here, the opportunity presented itself. My mom said they want me to leave the bike here and when you bring me home, they want you to come in and meet them. Are you cool with that?” Weston looks at me expectantly.
“I… Sure. I mean…I guess the better question here is, are you okay with it?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but before any words come out, there is a loud banging on the back window. We both turn in surprise to see Mary and Olivia with their hands and faces pressed up against the glass, and now they’re shouting, but I can’t for the life of me understand what they’re saying.
“What the fuck?” Weston voices exactly what I’m thinking before scooting over and rolling the window down halfway, rain suddenly intruding on our warm, dry haven. “What the hell are you two doing?” he asks, completely disgusted.
“Mary was worried you were stranded because your crotch rocket is still here, so we wanted to check and see if you needed a ride.” The rain is battering down on them both, and now they look like drowned rats. At this point, Olivia’s mascara is running down her face, and she looks like Alice Cooper, a rock star from the eighties who resembles a corpse—or a zombie, whatever it is you’re into.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m in the back of a Jeep with my…with Molly. Why would you think I needed a ride home?”
Okay, even I’ll admit he’s being a tad harsh.
Olivia and Mary just stand in the dark parking lot, rain shining under the dull street lamps that fail to light it. Water drips off Mary’s nose as she stands there getting soaked, and I can’t help but take pity on them. “Go, you guys! Go dry off before you get sick. We’re leaving anyway.”
They turn and run through the parking lot toward their beat-up red car, and Weston rolls up the back window. “Can you believe that? Not a lick of common sense between them.”
“Well…one of them has a crush on you, so I’m sure they thought they were being helpful.” Why I’m defending them when they so clearly ignored me twice today is beyond me, but it truly is hard not to feel somewhat sorry for someone begging for attention from a guy as good-looking and popular as Weston McGrath. It’s almost unavoidable.
What can I say? He has a way about him that makes girls crazy.
Not me, obviously, but…lots of girls.
“Maybe so, but that was annoying.” He looks at me and runs his fingers through his hair. “I guess we can’t sit here feeling each other up all night, as much as I’d like to, so let’s get cranking and get this meeting with my parents over with.”
CHAPTER 23
WESTON
“Give me a little credit for intelligence, would you, son? I could eat a can of alphabet soup and shit out a better excuse than the one you just gave me.”
– Brian McGrath
I wouldn’t say my palms are sweaty as we walk into my house—I mean, it could be the rain making my hands wet—but I swipe them over my jeans to dry them anyway then guide Molly into the laundry room from the garage. I can hear my mom in the kitchen and a few other noises that sound like dishes being put away.
I glance down at the top of Molly’s head, barely resisting the urge to plant a kiss on the bow of her ponytail in a show of support, and brace myself as we enter the kitchen. Immediately I spot Kendall, who is sitting at the island, shoulders bent over a notebook, markers spread out in front of her. She glances up when we walk through the doorframe, her face registering surprise as she spots Molly, then her stare turns to curiosity as her eyebrows shoot up.
She cocks her head and studies Molly with open fascination. “Who is that?” Kendall all but points, setting down her marker. The question floats across the kitchen, drawing attention to us.
Great, just what I need, my little sister gawking at Molly like she’s never seen a girl before. Okay, let me clarify: like she’s never seen a girl I’ve brought home before.
All right, let me clarify again: like she’s never seen a girl I’ve brought home whom I’ve had good intentions toward. I’ve definitely brought girls to the house, just not usually with the intention of conversing with my family, if you catch my drift.
My mom turns, and I can already see the grin forming on her face as she walks toward us, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her arms are already extended, and as she’s reaching for Molly, I notice how much shorter she is. Then I think, Crap, my mom’s going in for a hug.