Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
She’s on my mind constantly. There’s definitely something there between us. I don’t have all the answers, but I want to figure this thing out.
“Kit’s got a date?” Victor calls out from behind us as we wait to exit the plane. “With who?”
“Your mom,” Knox says, his response automatic.
“Shit, my mom’s got better taste than that,” Vic scoffs. “Seriously, who’s he going out with? Is her hair longer than his?”
“He’s going out with Molly, the reporter doing a story about him, and…I think his hair’s longer than hers,” Easy says, laughing.
I glare at him. “Shut up. It’s not happening yet. And my hair isn’t longer than hers, you douchebags.”
“Our baby’s growing up,” Vic says, with a fake sniffle. “I think it might be time for us to have the talk with him.”
“You say one more word about it and I’ll punch you in the face,” I say, turning to look at him. “I swear, man, just one more word.”
He presses his lips together, feigning innocence.
“Hey, I didn’t know it was a secret,” Easy says. “Sorry.”
“I’m gonna read your texts with Allie and tell everyone what they say.”
“It gets pretty X-rated up in our chats, bro. Just saying.”
“Really?”
He laughs. “No, we’re married, dude. I mean, there’s the occasional sexy talk, but it’s mostly just who’s picking up which kid and what we need from the store. We save the sexy stuff for when we’re in bed.”
I walk down the airplane steps, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Part of me can’t believe I just asked Molly out, but I did. I fucking did. And she said yes.
Knowing her, I sense it won’t necessarily be smooth sailing from here. She’ll probably try to talk me out of our date at least a dozen times.
It’s happening, though. No notebook, no right or wrong answers and no boundaries. I want to know Molly, really know her. What scares the hell out of me is how much I want her to really know me, too.
Chapter Nine
Molly
* * *
He looks really good in those jeans.
My first thought when Kit walks into the Mexican place we’re meeting at isn’t exactly professional, but when he gets to my table, it gets worse. I gaze up at him, tongue-tied, wishing I could slide out of the booth and into his arms.
“Hey,” he says, smiling.
“Hi,” I manage.
“No matter how early I am, you always beat me.”
“I like being early.”
“You look nice.” He slides into the other side of the booth.
“Thanks.”
I don’t always work on Sundays, but today was good for both me and Kit to do an interview. I’m wearing jeans and a dark gray blouse, my hair still looking freshly done after a trim and blowout yesterday.
“How have you been?” Kit asks as our server delivers chips and salsa to the table.
“Good. What about you?”
“Good. Looking forward to you finishing this story.”
His tone is warm, interested. I reach for my water and take a long drink, my mouth suddenly dry.
“You hardly know anything about me,” I say, meeting his eyes across the table.
“What I know, I like. And I want to know more.” He gives me a boyish grin that would weaken my knees if I was standing. “I’ve been trying to read up on you, but your Internet footprint is pretty small.”
“I like it that way. If you google me, it’s all Gazette stories that come up.”
“I’ve read a lot of them. And I also saw the notice of your divorce.”
I look away, just the word making me feel sad and somehow…ugly.
“It doesn’t bother me, Molly,” Kit says. “That you’re divorced. You don’t need to feel bad about it.”
“I don’t feel bad about you knowing about it, but you don’t—”
Our server approaches to take our orders. It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry, so I open the menu and pick an enchilada lunch combo. Kit orders five steak tacos.
“What don’t I know?” Kit asks after the server walks away.
I smile sadly. “A lot. My divorce changed me. It was really hard, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be as hopeful as I was before. Or as happy.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
My gaze falls on my notebook, sitting on the table with a pen beside it. We’re supposed to be talking about Kit, but I’ve got plenty of time today, so I guess it won’t hurt to talk about me, too. If he doesn’t want to go out with me after the story is done, I’d rather know as soon as possible.
“I met Zach when I was doing a story about the Chicago Marathon. The Gazette put a call out on social media asking for people who were willing to talk about why they were running, and he was one of the people I interviewed.”
“Bet he got a shit time,” Kit says, putting a handful of tortilla chips on a plate.