by Sara Ney
Upstairs, some faint light chatter is soon followed by footsteps padding down the hallway and my senses go on alert as Molly rounds the corner.
Barefoot, she is dangling a pair of shoes by her index finger.
I blink.
Coming down the stairs, Molly looks incredible in these tight ass skinny jeans. They're dark ending mid-calf and damn if even her ankles are sexy. She shoots me a shy smile and flips her long wavy hair. Her fitted top is white and strapless, setting off her golden skin, and flaring out at the bottom; around her waist is a thin belt. Molly's smooth shoulders and arms are completely bare, and I try hard - I really do - but I can't stop myself from checking out her cleavage.
Naturally I wonder if she's wearing a bra, because from where I'm standing, it looks like she's not. And holy hell does she have great boobs. Why have I never noticed before?
Someone clears their throat, and I glance up to see Mrs. Wakefield staring holes into me with her arms crossed.
Shit.
MOLLY
Okay, don't think for one second I don't see Weston checking out my chest, which I will admit is displayed quite nicely compliments of my new strapless peplum top. As I make my way towards him, I feel like I've entered a parallel universe: I cannot believe I have a date with this boy.
This hottie. This un-gettable get.
Can I call him a stud muffin? I know, I know - lame, right?
Weston is standing at the bottom of the stairs with this hooded expression on his face that looks something like... lust. His scrutiny is the one thing making my stomach flutter. Well, that, and the fact it looks like he wants to tackle me to the ground.
Oh God, I'm in way over my head. I think I might throw up.
Suddenly my mom's loud throat clearing fit interrupts any nervous nausea that I'm feeling - and yeah, I know I'm totally going to get in trouble for it later but I send her a hard look over my shoulder that says 'for the love of god, please go away.'
Weston stands there awkwardly and shoves those masculine hands of his inside the pockets of his jeans. His appearance has actually shocked me... Not only is he wearing a pressed polo shirt and dress pants, but...
"You cut your hair," is the first thing I say to him, a little breathlessly. Before I can stop myself (and because, let's be honest, I want to) I walk over and brush the newly shorn strands above his ears through my fingers. He shivers. "Why?" I whisper as I pull my hand away. In response, his dark brown eyes study my face. So quickly I almost miss it, they dart back down between the valley of my breasts before settling on my lips, then my eyes.
"It seemed...like the right time to get a haircut?"
His voice makes my girly bits tingle and he smells incredible.
I wrinkle my brows. The "right time" to get a haircut....Okay, what the heck is that supposed to mean? When will I ever understand guys?
"Whew! Okay then! You kids should be on your way," my mom practically shouts looking back and forth between us. "Young man, please remember your manners tonight and act like a gentleman. Oh, and Molly, your brother texted me while you were getting dressed. He's coming home tonight."
Say what?!
Shit, shit, double shit. I contort my face in confusion, which I will admit is not a good look for me. "He is? That makes zero sense. He has a game tomorrow." I sneak a peek at Weston and his face has actually lit up like a Christmas tree.
God is he hot... Ugh, especially with that short hair.
I want to touch it again. Is that so wrong?
"Well. I kind of let the cat out of the bag about you having a date tonight..." she says slowly with her hands spread wide as if to say 'hey, what do you expect.' I can tell she doesn't want me to be embarrassed, but Whoops! Too late!
I throw my hands up groaning. "You 'kind of' told him I had a date? Great. Just great."
"Is that a bad thing?" Weston asks. In his mind, he's probably thinking 'sweet, this is great news!' Imagine, getting to meet the Matthew Wakefield, local hero: finishing out his collegiate career at a Big Ten school and recently becoming the third overall pick in the NHL Draft (to the Anaheim Ducks), Matthew was the fifth American selected in the first round (normally its lots of Canadians or Russians that go first).
He is a local legend.
I mean, kids from our hometown rarely go on to play professional sports. To say that I am dreading - yes, dreading - having to introduce my egotistical brother to my date would be a gross understatement.
Matthew is a total asshat.
"Let's see, how do I put this...?" I arch my fingers into a steeple and look up at the ceiling. "He will be waiting for us when we get back. Well actually no. I shouldn't say us...I should say you. Matthew will be waiting for you. "
My mom giggles nervously.
"Sweet."
Like I said - I will never understand guys.
Chapter Twelve
WESTON
"I'm not always sarcastic. Sometimes I'm asleep." - Weston
If you're thinking I got my hair cut because I'm going on this date, you'd be correct. Actually, as soon as I told my mom I had a date she kind of had a mini-spaz attack then immediately insisted I get "cleaned up for that nice looking girl from the hockey game." Of course, this was all done after lecturing me on prioritizing my life and activities, which go something like this:
1. Family. Followed very closely by
2. School. Got to always be thinking of that scholarship...Then of course
3. Hockey.
And coming in a very far distant last place after about thirty things in front of it: Girls.
And speaking of girls... I get an eyeful of Molly's backside as she hoists herself up into the shiny black truck as I shut the door behind her; I am a gentleman, after all. Jogging around to the driver's side I hop up into the cab myself, and immediately begin strapping on my seatbelt. Safety first people, safety first...
"Who's....?" Molly is looking around the inside of my dad's Hummer with a furrow to her brow.
"My dads'. Is this okay? I didn't want to make it awkward by showing up on my bike. I don't want your parents to have any objections." I look over and can't help but think she looks great sitting beside me.
When did all this happen? Since when do I lay up at night thinking about the same girl and watching for her in the halls at school? And when did I get so mushy? Changing my ride, holding doors open and getting my hair cut? Am I out of my damn mind? Romance is for saps and pussies, and I'm neither.
"That was very thoughtful, thank you. It would have sucked if they made me stay home," Molly says relaxing her elbow on the center council. Her body is naturally leaning towards me and is just close enough to catch a whiff of her...not perfume. Something else. Subtly, I inhale the smell of citrus. Or strawberries.
Her shoulders are bare and she has a jacket or shawl or whatever wadded up on her lap. It would be so easy to lean in just a little farther and plant one on her glossy pink lips. The corners of her mouth are pulled into a nervous smile, and what I wouldn't give to suck on that pouty lower lip.
Instead, I turn the key and start the ignition, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
MOLLY
"So. Where are we headed?" I ask, trying to come off as nonchalant. I was going to say 'where are you taking me?' but that just makes me think 'take me,' which makes me think of sex and making out, and who can concentrate with those thoughts on the brain?
Not me.
"You ate, right?" He glances over with his dark eyebrows raised, his hands clutching the steering wheel.
"Yes, just like you instructed me to," I say, teasing him with a smile on my face. He had been very clear in his text: make sure you eat b4 I pick u up.
"Good, because there's no human food where we're going." A wry smile crosses his lips, sending a shiver through my body. I take a deep breath and look out the window at the landscape going by to distract myself. Soon, Weston is no the interstate and we're headed east.
"Are we going into the City?"
&nbs
p; "Stop asking questions and being so nosey."
I let out an exaggerated huff and fidget with the black jacket in my lap. I've been instructed by Jenna not to wear it: it's for emergency cold temperatures ONLY. And I quote: "You listen and you listen good Molly Wakefield (she points at me like she's a trial lawyer and I'm on the witness stand). I busted my ass getting you ready for the date of our life - I mean your life - do not ruin this outfit by wearing a jacket. This jacket is for Emergency. Use. Only. (she gripped the jacket, shaking it at me in her clutched hand with every annunciated word). How do you expect Weston to lust after you if you cover up your girl bits? Now. I'm going to slowly hand it over, but not willingly..."
Of course, that lecture only led me to believe Jenna might be a tad bit unstable...
"Sorry, I can't help it. I have an active imagination. I'm sitting over here in my little corner hoping you're not taking me out of town to murder me..."
Weston laughs, the glorious sound filling the cab of the truck. "Trust me on this; I'd rather be doing other things to you." The comment rolls off his tongue airily. "Oh shit, did I say that out loud?"
I'm silent for a few heartbeats, my mind racking for something to say. Finally I shrug and say, "Well I guess that's good to know."
We both laugh.
"Molly, that was possibly the coolest way any chick could have responded."
I throw my hands up. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it wasn't pervy, but I'm willing to overlook it. I mean, you did get your hair cut for me and all..." I tease him and he has the decency to blush. Even in the dim light I can see the color rising on his neck.
He looks more like a boy than the cocky guy that struts around school like he owns it.
A loud chirping sound fills the cab of the truck and we both realize Weston's phone is ringing. Like a gentleman he ignores it, and for some reason, this pleases me. He seems like the kind of guy that wouldn't think twice about taking a phone call while he's on a date. Cause normally, it just seems like he doesn't....give a shit.
"Don't you at least want to see who that was?" I ask, smiling.
"No. The only person I want to talk to is sitting right next to me." He smiles over at me and his face transforms. His teeth are bright white against his freshly shaved skin. His eyebrows are dark and frame his eyes...Making me want to slide over and kiss his face all over.
Oh crap.
Newsflash: guys just can't go around saying romantic shit like that! 'The only person I want to talk to is sitting right next to me?!' Now what the hell am I supposed to say? Do you think that's a tad too upfront for our age - or too honest? I glance out the window, trying to conjure up some semblance of an intelligent response. Someone help me! Where is Jenna when I need her?
On second thought, her advice would probably be terrible. And probably... slutty.
Which... at this juncture doesn't seem like such a bad idea after all.
If I'm being honest.
Heat rises in my face, and I look back at Weston who has his eyes on the road.
Good boy.
I slowly let my eyes graze his body, starting with the hard thighs in the dark dress pants he's wearing. Even though I can't actually see them, I know the abs under that bright aqua polo shirt are flat. Flat and chiseled - at least in my vivid imagination they are. Flat, chiseled and sweaty... I swallow hard and bit my lower lip. He has both hands clutching the wheel, and I study his tattoos. Well, in general now I'm just checking out his arms... the muscles in his forearms flex and when he turns his head towards me our eyes meet.
I smile shyly, embarrassed to be caught checking him out.
Weston clears his throat loudly, and with a slight adolescent squeak, he manages, "So, uh... Did you have fun at the game this week?"
Oh thank god he's asking questions. I thought this was going to be awkward.
"Honestly, it was so intense. I was practically chewing on my blanket."
"Really?" He seem surprised, although I'm not sure why.
"Are you kidding me? When Cole Murdock scored on that trick shot during the 4th quarter by coming straight up the middle, I almost wet myself." I can't keep the enthusiasm out of my voice, and of course I would say something like that out loud...
Weston makes a "Pfft" sound and scoffs, trying not to sound impressed by my jargon, but lips don't lie: he is all smiles. "Please, that was such a rookie move. Anyone could have pulled that off. Besides, Murdock is a puss...Uhh..." his voice trails off.
"I'm sorry, what were you about to call him? Cole Murdock is a what...?" I cup my hand around my ear and lean in like I'm hard of hearing. Chuckling, I flop back against the seat again and fold my arms across my chest, smirking with satisfaction. "Nice one Weston." He looks at me and his eyes flicker to my boobs, which are currently being plumped up further by my arms. He's totally getting an eyeful.
Whoops.
"You can call me Wes, you know."
Hmmm. "What if I don't want to?" I ask boldly with a slight flirty lilt to my voice. Great, next I'll be twirling my hair around my finger and giggling at him. "I like the name Weston. It suits you."
"Honestly, you can call me anything you want..."
"Aww, I bet you say that to all the girls." Flirt, flirt, flirt my subconscious shouts at me.
This earns me a queer look, and he tips his head sideways as he looks out the front windshield at the road ahead of him. "Um, yeah... No. There are no other girls. Nice try though."
WESTON
It's really hard to concentrate with Molly sitting there flirting, looking all cute and shit and ten kinds of sexy. Her tan boobs are pushed up in that white strapless top, and this fantasy of pulling over onto the side of the road and trailing wet kisses up and down her neck is seriously fucking with my head. I can barely keep my eyes on the road so I clutch the steering wheel tighter. She seriously needs to stop talking because everything coming out of her pert little mouth is rendering me practically senseless.
I can barely form an intelligible sentence.
What the fuck?
Molly and I continue to talk easily but my responses... Er, I can't tell you what is coming out of my mouth at this moment. Mostly grunting and lots of "Uh huh, yeah" because I can't focus on the conversation. My sole goal is to get us to our destination in one piece.
As I sit there, once again my mind wanders to the fact that Molly isn't dating anyone. Why is she single? Jeez, I've never met anyone so funny, smart, and cute...Trust me when I say this: a lot of girls cross my path on a regular basis - girls who want to be with me because I'm an athlete, and not much else. They know I'm headed to a Division One school, probably the pros after that, and they want to say they've screwed me. It wouldn't matter if I wasn't good looking: take Rick for example. In my opinion, his face is fucked up and that dude can still get a blow job any time of the day.
There's just something about Molly.
Something...different.
Like, she's got class. Plus, as an added bonus: Molly knows more shit about hockey than most guys who sit at my lunch table. Talk about a complete turn on. I almost came in my pants when she said 'trick shot.'
Her voice breaks into my thoughts as I turn into a parking lot, and I realize I've been daydreaming far too long.
"The Shedd Aquarium?! Weston, this is... incredible!" She's got this doe eyed expression across her face as I pull into the Aquariums parking structure and roll down my window as I pull up to the automated teller. I push the large round green button for a parking stub, and once I have it I slap it on my dash.
Soon we're approaching the building and I bust ahead so I can hold the door for Molly. She's got her jacket on and damn if I don't mourn the loss of her bare shoulders.
Chapter Thirteen
MOLLY
"You want my advice? Beause I'm gonna give it to you anyways. If you want this guy, you just have to kiss the shit out of the dumb bastard." - Jenna
We're walking past the Moon Jellyfish exhibition when Weston suggests we stop and sit
on the bench seated in front of the wall size aquarium. The room where the exhibit is housed is actually dark and the tank in front of us is dark too. Only the soft blue glow from the jellyfish lights up the room.
There is an unoccupied bench directly in front of the huge reservoir of sea life, so that's where we sit. Pulsing and drifting in a weightless dance, the Moon Jellyfish look like ghosts with their translucent bodies lite by a black light. Soft music is being pumped into the room, and I have to admit, this has been the perfect date.
I am aware of Weston's soft breathing beside me and the heat from his large body. Our thighs and hips are touching and every cell in my body is humming from the contact.
We sit for several minutes without speaking, content to sit and watch hundreds of glowing sea creatures dance a water ballet in front of us. The sight is breathtaking.
"What are you thinking about right now?" Weston's voice breaks the silence, and it's so random I throw my head back and laugh. The sound echoes off the walls in the hollow cavernous room, and I have to admit that even to my own ears it sound throaty and kind of....erotic.
"I thought guys hated that question. That's right up there with 'do these jeans make me look fat."
"Yeah, I guess I never got that memo. Maybe I shouldn't have asked." Then he gives me a sideways glance. "So...."
"Oh okay - You want me to play along, I see. What am I thinking about...what am I thinking about...." I tap on my chin, pretending to ponder my answer. "Well, I was thinking about how the jellyfish look like floating ballerinas." I laugh again at his scrunched up expression. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Well, no, actually. That answer sucked."
"Did it leave you unfulfilled," I tease.
"Uh, yeah it did."
My mom and I always say we're 'unfulfilled' when we spend a whole day shopping and leave a mall without having purchased anything fun. I remember this one time, we spent an entire day going to garage sales, and all I spent was six dollars on an old chandelier I spray painted for my bedroom, and two bucks on a pair of jeans. Ugh, did I feel empty inside that day. I chuckle at my own fond memory.