Faintly, I hear Erik Gunderson in the background say "Dayyuumm...."
I stay rooted to the spot waiting on his answer. We're both breathing heavy, and I know from past experience what Rick looks like when he wants to punch someone in the face. It's the same look he's giving me now.
"Why do you even care?" He finally asks with a snort. "If you're trying to get in her pants, you're wasting your time. That chick ain't given it up for
no
body." He looks around for support, trying to make our friends laugh but failing miserably.
"I'm sorry, but it seems like you're not hearing me. Stay. Away. From. Molly."
Finally, he gives a barely imperceptible nod.
I collect my stuff and strut away, conceited ass that I am.
***
"Mom, I have to talk to you about something," I mumble gruffly as I pull out the bar stool at the kitchen counter. My mom is standing at the stove with her back to me, stirring what smells like vegetable stir fry. She taps the wooden spoon on the pan and turns to face me, laying the spoon down. Wiping her hands on a towel, she comes over and leans her elbows on the counter.
"This sounds serious, is everything okay?"
Let's see, how do I put this...
"Oh man. I don't even know how to say this." I run my fingers through my shaggy hair as my mom leans over and grabs my forearm.
"Sweetheart, now you're scaring me. What is it? Tell mom."
"I don't want you to be pissed at me."
"Weston Richard McGrath, you tell me right now what is wrong or you're going to be in a shit storm of trouble young man."
I let out the long breath that I'd been holding and count to 3 before I say, "I have a date this weekend. I... I asked someone on a date."
My mom stares at me slack jawed.
Ah shit, I've rendered her speechless.
MOLLY
"Better to arrive late, than to arrive ugly!" - Darcy Gilmore, blogger
The rest of the week has crawled by at a snail's pace, and thank God it's finally Saturday night. Unfortunately, I'm freaking out. Today was the worst: I literally could not focus the entire day because of the text I received first thing when I woke up:
Weston:
i have practice but will text u after
And he did. All morning I waited for that promised text, shuffling around the house. I carried my phone around in the palm of my hand like it was my job. And when Weston's text finally came, unfortunately, I was sitting next to my mom on the couch.
Talk about embarrassing. Because you know moms want to talk about everything once they get a whiff of gossip. I ended up having to tell her every tiny detail leading up to this point.
Oh lord, I could throw up right now. I have managed to toss almost every article of clothing from my closet onto my floor in a fit of 'so many clothes and nothing to wear.'
Where is Jenna? She's supposed to be here helping me! It's 5:00 - Weston will be here in an hour. I race to the window and throw back the curtains. Great. Her car is in the driveway. Opening my bedroom door, I holler, "Jenna, get your butt up here! I need you!"
"Okay pretty girl, calm down," Jenna laughs as she trots down the hallway towards my room. She's got on bright green pants and a gray sweatshirt, and I notice she's dipped the ends of her long blonde locks in pink Kool-Aid. When the heck did she do that? I just saw her last night...
She stops in the threshold of my room eyeing the clothes that have been strewn everywhere, and her eyes get real wide. "What the...?"
I stand there helplessly, arms spread in desperation. "Help," I squeak out.
"Oh my god Molls, you have to get a grip. Let's start by putting this all away so I can at least see what you have to work with.
Ugh
, girl, you are crazy." Yeah, you heard right; the girl wearing neon pants is calling
me
crazy. She bends at the waist and starts picking up clothes, placing them back on the hangers that have been haphazardly thrown on the ground. "Hmm," She mumbles in thought. "This is kind of cute." She lays a striped navy tank top on my bed.
"Jenna, its cold out!" I whimper.
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Yes..."
"Then start helping me clean up this mess you made. Sheesh. What am I, your mother?"
"I'm sorry. I'm just so nervous." I start biting my thumb nail, and almost immediately Jenna slaps the hand out of my mouth and grabs me by the shoulders. She gives me a firm shake.
"You look at me.
Look
!" She points at her eyes with two fingers. "Luce, you're funny and gorgeous. That great hunk of a hockey star is
lucky
to be going out with you tonight. Now get it together before I slap you."
"Do I have to wear something so tight?" I start whining again as my best friend cleans my room.
"No, but you have to give him a little peek at the goods. Come on, get real. He's a guy, and you have a great rack."
"But what if we end up go-carting or something?"
Jenna turns and levels me with a stare. Okay, never mind. "Wear a turtleneck on your own time, okay Gidget?" Newsflash: for those of you not familiar, Gidget was a television character in the 60s and she was kind of a giant nerd. "Here. We'll do these for sure." Jenna pulls out a pair of dark stretch skinny jeans. "If you're lucky he'll slap your ass a few times."
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out.
It doesn't take her long to pick out an entire ensemble, complete with shoes, a shirt and jewelry. Motioning to the vanity, she pats my desk chair. "Come on, let's get your hair and makeup done." With the determined expression on her face, she could pass for an army drill sergeant.
Thank god for best friends.
WESTON
I've been driving in the country for a few miles when I finally come to a really long driveway. From the road, I can make out a large stone house with a wraparound porch and a high peeked roof. The mailbox is on the opposite side of the street, and it's getting dark out already so I roll down my window to double check the house number: 932.
I let out a nervous breath.
Yup, this is definitely it.
I turn in. The whole driveway is blacktop and there are lamp posts lining the road about every seventy five feet. It's only early October, but someone has already tied corn stalks to the black light columns in preparation for fall, and a few of them have large pumpkins sitting next to them on the ground. I pull up to the turn around and sit facing a large red vinyl Wisconsin Badger flag that's flapping in the breeze off the basketball pole next to the garage: next to that hangs another red flag with a large number 19 on it.
Her brother Matthews' hockey number?
I reach forward and turn the volume down on the radio, then cut my engine. I give my legs and back a good stretch before I open the door, then stretch again once my feet hit the ground.
The walk up Molly's front door isn't long but by the time I reach it my palms are good and sweaty. I feel like I've just skated a few practice laps in the heat. Why am I so damn nervous? My hands are fidgety so I shove them inside my pockets.
Then I take them out.
Crap. What do I do while I'm standing here? I bounce a few times on the balls of my feet and loosen my shoulders like I'm preparing for a Mixed Martial Arts fight. Then I stop because shit, if someone's watching from a window they probably think I look like a complete jackass out here.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and raise my fist to knock.
Almost immediately, a dog starts barking wildly inside the house, and I can hear someone shouting for it to 'go lay down.'
The door opens.
A woman who is so obviously Molly's mom looks back at me with a pleasant smile on her face, and wow does she look like her daughter. On the taller side, and slender, with the same brownish red hair as Molly's (in a ponytail), she even has freckles on the bridge of her nose. She's very pretty. Not as pretty as Molly, obviously, but still... I would put her at MILF status for sure.
"Weston I presume?" she asks casually. That small smile still pinned to her lips, Mrs. Wakefield asses me, her eyes taking me in from head to toe until I can feel her staring holes into my tattoo covered arm. I resist the instinct to cross my arms. Still, her face remains impassive and if the sight of my tats offend her, she's hiding it well.
Cool.
"Yes ma'am, pleased to meet you." I stick my hand out for her to shake (which she does) and pray to god it isn't clammy. Damn, maybe I should have wiped them on my jeans first. "Is Molly home?"
Her mom chuckles softly, giving me another once-over and shaking her head from side to side as if she can't believe I'm standing in her foyer. "As if she'd miss this. Come on in." She motions me in with her hand and the door widens as she steps aside to let me in.
"Thanks." I don't know what else to say. "Those UW Wisconsin flags outside are great."
"Ah, yes, the flags. Mr. Wakefield had those made when Matthew, our son, signed his letter of intent to play for Madison a few years ago. But let's not talk about him: I hear you're a player yourself."
Player myself...? Oh! She means that I
hockey player,
not I play girls. "Yes ma'am. I'm a forward."
"We haven't been to any of the games at the high school lately, but we hear you're very good. Maybe we'll have to come cheer you on. Mr. Wakefield loves hockey, as you've probably guessed."
"Yes ma'am." Shit, I sound like a
freaking idiot
. "Sorry I keep repeating myself. I don't do this very often." Mrs. Wakefield cocks her head and smiles like she's talking to a child.
"Don't tell me you're nervous?"
"You have no idea."
"Well I won't torture you any longer. I'll go let Molly know you're here, even though I'm sure she's listening from upstairs." She pats me on the arm.
"Thank you Mrs.Wakefield," I say as she starts walking up the beige carpeted stairs. Then, as if she just can't help herself, she turns back and glances at me standing in her foyer. I swear she mumbles '
holy crap Molly'
but it's either my ego messing with my head or a case nerves.
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."