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
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
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