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)
“I saw your bike outside. Are you going to ride it home in this rain?” the other girl asks, playing with the strap on her backpack. She’s mousy, and it’s quite obvious she’s Big Boobs’ yes-girl. You know, everyone has that one friend who goes along with everything they say, always fading into the background, never stealing the spotlight for herself.
“It’s raining?” Molly breaks in.
“Yeah. Just started. Just a drizzle though.” How did I not know it was going to rain?
“If you need a ride home, Wes, my mom lent me her car,” Big Boobs Small Shirt says with hope in her voice, again using my first name like she knows me.
I snort. “Yeah, like I want to climb into your mom’s minivan when my date here has a perfectly good Jeep.”
There.
That ought to give them a hint. To really amp up the jerk factor and to be a bigger prick, I stuff my face with a fork full of food and chew with my mouth open. It’s pretty revolting if I do say so myself.
I can’t force myself to look at Molly.
She’s got to be totally disgusted with me right now.
“This is a date? Like, you’re on a date?” Big Boobs’ sidekick asks.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“So, do you date other people, or just her?”
“Um, excuse me, ‘her’ is sitting right here and she has a name,” Molly says, the irritation in her voice palpable.
“Just her,” I grind out.
“Oh.” Big Boobs sounds crestfallen, and her shoulders slump. She starts biting her lip, oblivious to the fact that her trusty sidekick keeps clearing her throat behind her. Then a thought must occur to her, because she perks up again. “So are you taking her to Fall Formal?”
Okay, now I’m one hundred percent pissed off. My dating status is none of their fucking business, and I’m suddenly furious they’re asking me these questions in front of Molly. If we were out on the ice, I’d take Big Boobs Small Shirt by the facemask and lay her out flat on the ice. However, my only recourse is to calmly lay down my fork and clasp my hands in front of me on the table. I can feel my nostrils flaring. “Uh, no, I’m not taking her to Fall Formal, not that it’s any of your business. You might not know this, but I don’t have time for that kind of kiddie bullshit.” I pause. “Now, are you done interrogating me, or should we wait until my food is completely cold before you walk away?”
And that, ladies and gentleman, is how I got my reputation as a complete asshole.
CHAPTER 20
MOLLY
“The last time I condoned ‘the wet look’ was when I was five, and even then it was hideous.”
– Tasha
There are moments in your life when you just want to crawl under the table and hide.
This, ladies and gentleman, is one of those moments.
Weston sits across the table from me, watching Mary Rogers and her best friend, Olivia, shrink away to their own table. If they had a massive crush on him before, he sure went and ruined it with his ugly tirade. I’ll admit it: even though the words weren’t directed at me, they were about me, and they hurt.
Did I want to go to Fall Formal?
Not really.
I mean, we’ve covered this topic before. However, not wanting to go and having the guy you like completely repulsed by the idea of taking you?
Um, yeah, two totally different things.
Now I’m faced with the question: how do I react to all this? There he sits, his face finally going back to its normal color after being beet red, totally ignorant of my hurt feelings.
I push some rice around my plate with a knife, having completely lost my appetite. Quietly I say, “Wow. You really are an asshole.”
Weston looks up at me from his plate, surprised. “What did I do?” I tap the knife on the table before setting it down; my stomach feels like it has been twisted in a thousand little knots. Weston’s brow furrows and he asks again, “What? Molly…”
I bite my lip, uncertainty fueling my next move. Awkwardly, I grasp for my jacket while at the same time grabbing my purse. Weston reacts stealthily, reaching across the table in a futile attempt to stop me. “What are you doing?” The low timbre of his confused voice almost has me hesitating as it vibrates and warms my core, but I’ve gone this far already, and I’m not stopping until I’m in the parking lot.
Are guys really so stupid?
Does he really not know what he said to upset me?
I weave my way through Kyoto, sights set on the door. It’s getting dark out, and the visibility in the parking lot is terrible; the rain that’s pouring down outside makes it almost impossible to see my Jeep from the door.