Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Ah. So you’re a chicken.”
“Excuse me?” She spins on her heel. “Are you gaslighting me?”
I rear back, hands going in the air. “What? Whoa. No!” Is my mouth gaping open because I think it might be. Molly has me by the balls, and now I’m floundering. “I’m not an asshole. I’m just trying to be funny, I promise.”
She’s walking again, away from me, toward a gray sports car. It’s small and looks wicked fast, a new model I’ve only seen on television.
I let out a low whistle. “Dang, Molly. You don’t fuck around when it comes to cars, do you?”
Hands on her hips, she glares at me. “No. And I don’t fuck around with fuck boys either.”
“Fuck boys? What the hell is a fuck boy?” Is she talking about me?
“Are you being serious?”
“Yes, I’m being serious. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But it doesn’t sound as if she’s paying me a compliment. Not with the tone of her delivery.
Her phone gets pulled out of her back pocket, and I watch her furiously type. When her search yields its results, she holds it out of the sun and reads out loud. “This is from the Urban Dictionary.” Molly clears her throat. “A guy who dates a girl, or several, at a time with the sole intention of fucking them. Wants you to believe you are the only person he’s sleeping with but usually isn’t. A fuck boy is often a liar and can be identified by the following: One. Calls you babe so he doesn’t have to remember your name. Two. Hates condoms. Three. Good-looking or not, they think they are God’s gift to earth. Four. Tells you you’re the only person he’s talking to.”
I hold up my palm to stop her from reading more. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—who the hell wrote that?”
Molly shrugs, stuffing her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. “Someone brilliant.”
“You can’t honestly believe I’m a fuck boy. For one—I’m not trying to sleep with you. I’m trying to do the opposite.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Oh. So now she’s insulted that I don’t want to bang her? What the fuck?
“You have some nerve making assumptions about me.”
Another shrug. “You’re the one who has women chasing after him at small intimate gatherings.”
That makes me chuckle a little. Small intimate gatherings? Who talks like that?
“How is it my fault if I’m a magnet for women with questionable intentions? Not my fault—it’s also not my fault I have a job that makes me a target. I love what I do, I won’t apologize for it, but it’s also hard to do when I have fans trying to get through me to date my players. You think that part doesn’t suck?”
That gives her pause, and she makes no farther move to climb inside her fancy little sports car, one foot in, one foot on the ground.
Molly pivots, leaning her arms on the top of her driver’s side door, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Fine. I see your point.”
“So does this mean you’ll go to the awards show with me? Not for me, but for Tripp?”
She rolls her eyes. “Could we both not pretend Mr. Wallace isn’t playing matchmaker. He knows me well enough to know I’d eat you alive.”
Ha! “Please.” She’s a tiny thing, and I would bet a million dollars her bark is worse than her bite. My sister loves her roommate, Posey, and Posey has great taste—so Molly can’t be all that bad, can she? Not if she lets Posey have parties in her house on a Thursday night for no good reason. “You? Eat me alive?”
Molly ignores me and slides the rest of the way into her car, pulling the seat belt and buckling it, adjusting her mirrors.
“You almost had me feeling sympathetic.” She pops her sunglasses into place. “Almost.”
I stay rooted to my spot, watching as the minx starts her ignition and revs her engine, giving the gas a few pumps for dramatic purposes.
I catch her grinning at me in the rearview mirror, and I shift on my heels. “Cute. Very cute.”
And she is—cute, that is. Very, very cute.
An odd sensation lands in the pit of my stomach that feels a lot like rejection and excitement balled into one, both feelings I’m familiar with. However, typically when I’m being rejected, it’s during a business deal and not related to a woman.
There’s a first time for everything.
But how can I feel rejected by Molly when we’re not a thing? We’ve only just met, and it’s not as if I were asking her out on a date. I was asking her for one blasted favor.
I expect Molly to put the car in reverse and drive off without a backward glance, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sits in the car while it idols watching me through the mirror. Maybe she’s waiting for me to say something more? Maybe she’s waiting for me to stand behind a vehicle so she can run me over with it?