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)
This is going to be nightmare.
But instead of recoiling, which is what any other girl would have done, Molly leans in for my mom’s hug like it’s no big deal, emitting a low, content laugh. “Hello, Mrs. McGrath. It’s nice to meet you. It smells good in here. Did you just have dinner?”
I let out the breath I’m holding.
“Yup, just cleaning up and loading the dishwasher. And please, call me Laura. We had pot roast, Weston. Shame on your for not bringing Molly home to eat with us! Just look at you both; you’re soaking wet,” my mom exclaims, turning to my sister. “Kendall, go get some towels, sweetie, for your brother and his friend.” She turns and looks at us again—actually, she’s only looking at Molly—still smiling. She just can’t wipe it off her face, it seems.
Must be a mom thing.
Kendall slowly inches off the barstool. In fact, she’s so slow that if I were on fire and needed her to grab an extinguisher, I would be dead by now. She’s got this shit-eating grin on her face as she says, “By friend, do you really mean girlfriend? Because I heard mom talking about you on the phone the other day, and that’s what she called you.” The little brat actually used air quotes with her fingers when she said friend.
Holy shit. “Jesus, Kendall, what the hell!”
Kendall shrugs innocently. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”
“Weston Richard, watch your mouth! And Kendall Rebecca McGrath, stop embarrassing your brother and go get him and Molly each a towel. Now!” My mom follows her out of the room, probably to lecture her more about embarrassing me—that itself is horrifying—and to make sure the smart-ass little shit is actually going to fetch some dry towels.
And…it’s back to being a complete nightmare. I can feel the color rising up my neck, and my face is scorching hot. I don’t even want to glance over at Molly, but I can feel her shoulders shaking next to me and can hear short sputters of what sounds like a muffled laugh.
“You think that’s funny?” I ask her indignantly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh Weston, you should see your face. Priceless.” Her gaze flickers over my biceps, lazily over my forearms, and she bites down on her lower lip. “You look so…cute right now, all flustered and blushing.” she whispers, her green eyes shining, almost like she’s stripping me naked in her mind and liking what she sees.
I groan. “You can’t say shit like that in my parent’s kitchen. Now I want to tackle you to the ground.”
“Maybe I think it’s fun to tease you,” she sasses me.
I’m about to reach for her when my dad makes his appearance.
“Well, look who finally made it home in one piece. Looks like you two got stuck in the rain.” My dad walks into the kitchen wearing jeans and a Ravens fleece, his big frame filling the entire doorway. He walks to the counter and, with his back to us, lifts the coffee carafe out of the coffee maker, gets a mug out of the cabinet, and proceeds to pour himself a cup while we stand there idly.
I take him in, trying to picture what Molly sees.
It’s not uncommon for people to be intimidated by him. Shit, even I am occasionally.
Finally, my dad turns and faces us, slowly stirring his drink before tapping the coffee mug with the spoon and setting it in the sink. He eyes Molly critically, one eyebrow crooked, at the same time his giant hand reaches out for a shake. “Brian McGrath. You must be Molly. Can’t say we’ve heard all that much about you.” He says this nonchalantly and sips his coffee, watching us over the brim of the mug for our reaction.
What an ass.
“Brian!” my mom admonishes, her soft features flush, and she turns a dark shade of pink as she reenters the kitchen. “What he means is we’re so glad to finally meet you. By chance, I noticed you at the last home game.”
I want to say, Yeah, everyone noticed because I couldn’t stop myself from eye fucking her from the ice, but I hold my tongue. Molly and I aren’t touching, and I find myself wanting to reach for her hand. It’s not necessarily to protect her from my parents—well, mostly just my dad, because my mom’s being way cooler than I thought she would be—but to make it easier on her.
Molly’s face flushes with a little blush of her own. “Oh, well. That wasn’t my choice; I was coerced into going.” She elbows me shyly in the ribs, and my dad’s steely gaze bores holes into her, like he can’t believe she’d touch me in front of him.
My dad sets down the coffee mug and crosses his arms, leaning against the granite countertop. “And how does that work? Being coerced into going?”