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)
However, in this situation, it’s best to play it cool.
With a guy like Weston McGrath—a guy who has groupies—the only females who are going to stand out are those who can resist him. Give him a challenge. Play hard to get.
Weston eyes my food thoughtfully and points to my plate. “Just so you know, anything you don’t eat by the time I’m done with my food, I’m going to try to steal.” He says this very matter-of-factly.
“That’s the best you’ve got? You’re only going to try to steal it?” As these coy words are rolling off my tongue, my eyes drift. I notice that one of his bottom teeth is chipped, and my eyes linger once again on that cut on his lip. It’s swollen, and there is dry blood in the corner of his mouth.
Without realizing it, my tongue darts out and I run it slowly over my bottom lip.
He studies me with his head cocked and doesn’t say anything for a few heartbeats.
He shakes his head and blinks. “So…the song you were listening to…”
His persistence is irritating—and also incredibly adorable.
“I’m beginning to feel like this is a battle of wills.” I set down my fork. “Fine, you big baby. I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t know it.” I finger the tablecloth and feel my face getting hot.
I know what you’re thinking: Why is she making this such a big deal? Um, because I’m listening to a song about love and kissing and now he wants me to blurt it out. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. Well, a perverse part of me does…the part that wants to stand up, walk over to his side of the booth, and crawl onto his lap.
Holy crap, where did that come from? I’m not sure how I feel about this saucy Molly Wakefield taking control of my body.
Newsflash: my hormones seem to have kicked in and are full-fledged raging. Well, I better cool it down, because despite his intensity, he’s not even really flirting.
Inhaling, I quickly blurt out, “Youshouldhavekissedme.”
“What? Wait. What?” His eyebrows shoot up into his shaggy hairline and the play of expressions on his gorgeous face is priceless. It ranges somewhere between I can’t believe my luck and Get me the hell out of here.
I laugh. “The song is called ‘You Should Have Kissed Me’. It’s by Gloriana. Seriously, get your mind out of the gutter.” Actually, the name of the song is “(Kissed You) Good Night”, but I don’t mention liking my title for the song better as I twirl some noodles around my fork and blow on them.
“I hate to break it to you, Molly, but my mind is pretty deep in the gutter.” Weston winks at me. “I dumped it back there on my way into the building.”
He winks again.
Okay. Definitely flirting.
Do people still swoon, or am I laying on the drama a little too heavily? Because dear Lord, right now I could pass out and die.
Then I have this sudden random thought: if I were delusional, like Erin from work, that wink would constitute an invitation to the Fall Formal dance. I almost giggle out loud at the thought but catch myself and just do a generic eye roll instead.
“So wait, wait, wait—the song is about making out?” Weston stuffs more noodles into his face and waggles his eyebrows. “Tell me more.”
“Yes. No… It’s basically about…” I pause to think about this and screw my face up in thought. “Hmm…it’s basically about a girl arriving home from a date that she thought went great, but her date doesn’t kiss her goodnight, and naturally she wonders why.”
“Naturally,” Weston interjects airily.
I ignore him and continue, warming up to my topic. “The girl watches him through her curtains as he sits in his car. He can’t decide if he should go back or not, but then he finally runs back up to the house.”
“And then what? They make out?” He sounds like an excited little kid, and at the same time I can feel him looking at my lips. The scrutiny is intense, and I resist the urge to lick them again.
I’m tempted—so very tempted—just to see what would happen.
“Well, yeah, I guess. But not like that…”
He puts down his fork and stares at me. “Okay. Like how, then?”
He’s completely serious.
I wave my hand around in the air, trying to conjure up an explanation. No words come out. I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with Weston McGrath, of all people, and the very first time we formally meet to boot.
“Look, just forget it.”
“Hell no I won’t forget it! Are you trying to drive me nuts? You know what? Here, give me your iPod. I’ll just listen to it myself.” He doesn’t wait for me to hand it to him. Nope. The brute leans across the table and snatches the iPod, which is dwarfed by his large hands.