17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Molly
“Neither of them have kissed you yet?” Juliet frowned as she perched on my desk a week after my date with Emmett.
They were at practice, and I was happy to have Juliet over as a distraction while I slogged through my manuscript. We were still adjusting to this new phase of our friendship where we didn’t see each other before or after work, and catching up with each other was long overdue.
I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. “Other than a kiss on the cheek and the forehead.” My whole body flamed, and I ran my finger along the rim of the desk, avoiding Juliet's eyes.
Preston and Emmett had helped me carry this desk home after I found it on the corner of the road. Coupled with a computer chair Emmett had in the study down the hall, now my room had a nice little office corner for me to work in.
I was supposed to be writing, but Juliet’s day off lined up with hockey practice so the house was empty, and I wasn’t about to turn her down when she asked if she could come over.
“That sounds so romantic.” She sighed and clasped her hands. “I kind of like how they’re taking it slow.”
I laughed.
“That sounded bitter.”
“I’m not bitter,” I said too quickly.
“Frustrated then.”
I puffed out a sigh and closed my laptop. Before Juliet got here, I had been struggling through a kiss scene, my irritation growing with each word. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I needed things to move along, or I was going to explode.
Living with—and pseudo dating—Preston and Emmett was killing me.
I was constantly on edge, turned on to the max.
But they knew I had vibrators in my drawer and something about that made me scared to use them.
Like what if Preston had his ear pressed to the wall, just waiting to hear a buzzing sound so he could make fun of me?
Horrifying.
I was un-kissed and crawling out of my skin because I hadn’t orgasmed in weeks. Writing a kissing scene was out of the question.
“How did the dates go otherwise?”
“They were perfect. The dates were radically different, but…perfect.” I filled her in on all the details, and she watched with rapt attention as I poured everything out.
My discomfort at the restaurant and the way Emmett reassured me I belonged there.
The way Preston avoided anything deep, but how we had so much fun together.
“You have no idea how jealous I am of you right now.”
“Juliet.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re marrying your literal Romeo.”
“I know, but two guys?”
“It isn’t real. It’s two guys, yeah, but it’s two guys who are taking me on fake dates. I’m still just as lonely and pathetic as I was at the start of this.”
She shook her head and hopped off my desk. “No, you’re not. You’re different. There’s a glow around you and you keep smiling even though you say you’re frustrated. I think you like the chase.”
“No. I hate it.”
She raised her brow and laughed. “You hated it when Preston wiped whipped cream off your mouth?”
I covered my face and peeked between my fingers as I whispered, “He licked it off his finger.”
“Molly! This is what I mean. You love it. You can barely contain that smile.”
I tried—and failed—to force the smile off my face. “Fine. What if I love it? It doesn’t mean anything. They’re not mine and once this book is done, what happens? I find my own place and they move on with their lives? They find the women they’re supposed to be with?”
I wanted to say more, but it was like the air was forced out of my lungs. I felt sick and had to lean on my desk.
“Molly? You feeling okay?”
I waved her away when she tried to feel my forehead. “I’m not sick. All this stupid love talk is making me confused, and it sucks.”
“It’s okay if it hurts,” she said softly. “It just means you aren’t as averse to love as you thought.”
I straightened up, shaking my head. “No, it means I was right about everything.”
“How so?”
There was no way I could explain it to her. She was blinded by her own experience and helplessly, hopelessly smitten with Romeo. “You’re in love. You wouldn’t understand.”
She laughed and patted my shoulders before heading to my door. “You’ll see.”
“Quit picking on me or I won’t help you move.” I tossed a balled-up piece of paper at her and she caught it, laughing harder.
“Are your guys coming with you to help?”
“They’re not my guys, and yes. They said they’ll come.”
Her smile widened, and she slapped my door frame like some frat boy. “Excellent.” Her eyes fell on the stack of books on my nightstand. “Where’d those come from?”
“Emmett’s a big romance reader—”
“Who would’ve guessed?” She flipped through the top one. “Oh, these are steamy.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning. I had been reading them to get a feel for how my story needed to flow. All it had done was convince me I was definitely in too far over my head.
“Sexy,” she murmured, straightening up the stack. “Don’t be so closed off. Okay, Molly?”
“Closed off to what?”
“Love,” she said, dragging it out to two syllables. “These guys are great. You’ve crushed on Preston forever. Emmett’s gorgeous and reads romance. I mean, come on. Hockey players who are in touch with their emotions? Yes, please.”
“Love isn’t part of my story,” I argued, getting up to follow her to the door.
“It can be.”
“See you in a few days, Juliet.”
“Be open to love,” she sang like some fairytale princess.
I rolled my eyes.
She grinned and pulled me in for a hug. “Bye to you, too, Molly.”
I flipped my laptop open and sighed as Juliet’s words stuck with me.
People like her couldn’t understand people like me.
She grew up in a household with parents who loved each other.
Her parents were still nauseatingly enamored with each other.
But sometimes they laid it on a little too thick and I had a hard time believing they actually wanted each other.
No one could be that happy for that long.
They had to be faking most of it.
Maybe it was their way of coping.
“How’s work going?” Preston asked, peeking his head in my room.
I stuck out my tongue and groaned. “Horrible.”
“Want to take a break?”
My stomach flipped, and I got to my feet. I could definitely use a break. “What are we doing?”
“You’ll see,” he teased, grabbing my hand.
My stomach flipped again, but not back to how it was. It was a thrilling, spine-tingling flip as my mind raced with possibilities and ridiculous fantasies. I needed to take a break from Emmett’s books.
Preston tugged me down the hallway, skipping stairs as I held tight and laughed, thankful to be away from my computer. And maybe a little thankful to have Preston’s attention.
“Now will you tell me?” I asked.
Emmett came through the front door, carrying a full load of grocery bags. He smiled at me and my stomach flipped, this time in another totally new direction.
“Hi,” I breathed, unsure where to put my arms as Preston grabbed some bags from Emmett instead of answering my question.
“In the kitchen,” Preston said, leading the way.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I asked Emmett as he stepped back for me to go into the kitchen first.
He nodded, but Preston slammed a bag on the counter and finally clued me in. “We stopped at the store after practice. Want to make pizza with us? From scratch?”
“Pre-made dough,” Emmett corrected. “Not from scratch—”
Preston hip-bumped him. “Close enough, man.”
“Absolutely.” I peeked in the bags, seeing every topping known to humankind. “Are you sure you got enough?” I teased.
Preston grinned and snuck a kiss on my cheek. I looked at Emmett, astonished to see him smile at Preston’s antics. My cheek buzzed from the feel of Preston’s plush lips against my skin.
He busied himself with lining up three bare pizza crusts, whistling as he opened all the toppings and spread them out within reach on the island.
“What’s going on with him?” I whispered as Emmett reached around me to grab the cheese.
“I’m not really sure,” he said in a low voice that resonated in my belly. “Practice was really rough today. He’s been off his game. And then on our way home, he asked me to stop at the store.”
“And now he’s whistling?”
He put some music on and wiggled his hips as he walked over to the bags with the toppings still in them, oblivious to us staring at him.
“Is he losing his mind?” I whispered.
“Come on, guys.” Preston motioned for us to join him, ripping open a container of pepperoni.
I exchanged a look with Emmett and he shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think he’s genuinely happy to be home and making pizza from quasi-scratch.”
We joined him and Preston hunched over his dough, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth. I snuck a glance at his pizza and shared a confused look with Emmett.
“Why are you being so precise?”
“Pizzas should be perfect, Molls.”
Preston wasn’t detailed about anything, except maybe hockey. Every other area of his life was a haphazard mess that somehow came together in the end. It was as if all his organizational skills went into pizza making.
“Alright. Mine doesn’t look that good.”
He looked up from his precise spiral of pepperoni and barked out a laugh. “It’s great.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked, nervous to uncover an impending mental breakdown.
He looked at me, his amber eyes candidly warm. “I’ve been stressing so much about so many things. Hockey related things,” he added quickly. “But after I botched shot after shot after shot today, I decided to let it go.”
He sang along with the music and put the finishing touches on his pizza.
“I always forget how great your voice is.” I didn’t bother disguising my jealousy, and Preston laughed through the next line.
“I tried to get him to sing with me at a wedding this summer, but he was too scared to get on stage with me.” Emmett grinned and Preston threw an olive at him.
“I wasn’t going to ruin Mac Savage’s wedding because you think I can sing.”
“Save the olives for the pizza,” Emmett said, flinging a piece of pepperoni like a frisbee.
Preston caught the meat and popped it in his mouth as he danced over to the stove. “Let’s get these fuckers in the oven.”