“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 asshole 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 30
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, rendered helpless by the group of boys across the room. 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 it 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 shoos 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. Because I’m stubborn, I say nothing. To be fair, I don’t feel like there is anything to say. I mean, he said it all in the hallway when he made it clear that I meant nothing to him…right? I bite 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 a grace that still surprises me for a guy his size. Then, just like he always does, he sets his plate down, unrolls his utensils from the paper napkin, and places his fork on the left side of the plate, knife on the right.
Smiling, he takes a bite 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, then 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 at 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, so I’m here to apologize.”
“Yet again.”
“Huh?”
“Apologize yet again. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is what…the third time?” I tick off three fingers and thrust my hand at him. “You know the rule, Weston: three strikes, you’re out.” I push my fork around my plate to find some veggies. As I take a quick bite of my cold dinner, I cringe. Newsflash: noodles taste hideous when they’re cold.
“Wait, was that a baseball reference?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t be an ass. You know what I meant.”
* * *
Weston
Yeah. I know what she means, but clearly I am trying to divert her attention. She’s fixated on being pissed at me, and it sucks. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass on purpose. Sometimes it just happens.”