Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Oh wow—I really am a bitch.
Shaking my head, I head off down the hallway—though not before whipping out my cell phone to call Jenna.
Hey, I’m only human, and this is too good to resist gossiping about.
CHAPTER 19
WESTON
“Thing about an itch is eventually you’re gonna have to scratch it.”
– Tate Myers, River Glen Hockey Center
For the life of me, I cannot concentrate during hockey practice, and I’m lucky I made it through without anyone noticing my lack of focus. I mean, I missed almost every shot I made on the goalie, for Christ’s sake. As much as I hate to admit it, my sole mission—for the first time in my hockey career—is to get done and get out so I can meet Molly for dinner.
I’m itching to see her again, and literally tripping into my pants after practice might not have been my proudest moment, or my smoothest, but this…this thing we’ve got going on is new to me, and after today I will be the first person to admit I’m definitely liking it.
Dare I even admit to liking the sarcastic and insulting commentary in the locker room from my teammates? Apparently, they all knew I had a date this weekend and whom it was with, thanks to Rick. Luckily I didn’t feel the urge to hit anyone when Lee Brickner spent the entire afternoon referring to me as Cupcake. (Okay, that’s a lie—I did want to hit someone, just not as hard as I normally would want to.)
See, what Brickner doesn’t realize is that in some sick fucked up way, I kind of liked the teasing.
I haul ass on my bike to Kyoto, which I’ve already subconsciously categorized as our place, and my body hums to life when I spot Molly’s Jeep already sitting in the parking lot. Shifting down gears, I pull into the parking spot next to her. Through the plexiglass face guard on my motorcycle helmet, I can see her head bent, texting behind the wheel. She looks up and smiles just as I remove my headgear and give my head a shake, running my fingers through my still damp hair.
We meet on her side of the Jeep, and childishly I give the small white bow in her hair a tug. “Hey,” is my lame greeting.
She rolls her eyes. “Hungry?”
Hell-freaking-yes, I think, while also wanting to skip dinner entirely to make out. Molly’s an amazing kisser, not to mention just thinking about sucking on her neck again is making me hard. I shift uncomfortably as if she can read my debauched mind.
Actually, I don’t think she would be shocked, let alone care. I’m sure she’s heard worse from that tit-wad brother of hers.
In no time at all, we’re sliding into a red vinyl booth—the same booth where we first met—and I’m even hungrier than I was five minutes ago. Not one to shy away from stuffing my face full, I take my fork and twist up a big wad of noodles, not giving them time to cool before shoving them in my mouth.
They’re hot as hell, and I panic as I reach for my cup of soda, not wanting to look ridiculous.
Too late.
Molly tries smirking at me, but her pert nose slightly scrunches up as she bites back a laugh. “Oh, so you think that’s funny?” I ask her while running my tongue back and forth along my teeth to ease the pain on my taste buds. Maybe she should kiss it and make it better, I can’t stop myself from thinking. “I wouldn’t be giggling at you if you burnt your tongue.”
Yes, I’m whining.
Molly thinks about this for a bit before she says thoughtfully, her empty fork suspended in the air, “You know, I would pay actual paper money to see you giggle.”
“Paper money? Wow. I bet you would.”
“Yeah, I would.”
We stare at each other, and I narrow my eyes before digging into my noodles again. Molly bends her head to twirl a bite onto her fork then holds it up to her lips, blowing air over the top of it to cool it down. I stare at her little bow-shapped mouth as she does to her dinner what I suddenly want her doing to me—and thank God I don’t say this shit out loud.
I’d look like the biggest asshole.
The noodles are still steaming hot, and I immediately gulp down another drink of ice-cold soda. I let my mouth hang open for a few seconds, opening and closing my jaw to speed along the cooling process.
Molly shakes her head and her lips curls up. “Why do guys always do that?”
“Do what?”
I watch as she rolls her eyes. “Eat scalding-hot food that burns their taste buds off.”
“You seriously have to ask that?” She stares at me blankly. “Because we’re starving, that’s why.”
She shakes her head sadly. “I will never understand guys. That’s why I never date.”