Chapter 20
Collin
Confessing my feelings to Molly and waiting for her response is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
Which is saying something considering all the reckless and dangerous or even just risky actions I’ve taken in my life.
Jumping off bridges into Lake Travis with my brothers.
Accepting a dare to run across a driving range wearing only a mask and a men’s swim thong.
Stepping onto the football field in a sold-out pro stadium for the first time.
Signing the paperwork and the check to buy my gym.
Even deciding to sell the gym was scary.
But no—this definitely tops all the things. My mouth is dry. My heart is beating so fast it’s almost vibrating. My lungs have seized up so I can’t breathe.
This isn’t the first time I asked a woman to be in a committed relationship. Somehow, though, this feels like the only time it’s mattered. It’s faster than I usually move, but because I do tend to be slower to process, how quickly my feelings escalated makes them more real to me. More sure.
That might not make sense to someone else, but I feel the truth of it.
And it would be really nice if Molly would respond instead of blinking at me. Not simply because I’d like to resume kissing her. Though I’m not gonna lie—I would absolutely be up for more of that.
But I want an answer. I need to know I didn’t ruin things between us.
A few days ago, we worked out the details of a silly but workable plan for fake dating that served us both.
Things have been working fine—other than the fact that it’s increasingly not enough to let Molly think I’m just pretending.
Now I might have tossed a Molotov cocktail, blowing it all up.
And let’s not forget we’re currently roommates. Sharing Tank’s loft is gonna be awkward if she says no.
Could we even go back to the idea of pretending if she says no?
Molly’s face is still almost too close for me to see her in focus, but I don’t want to move, afraid I might scare her off.
“You … you want to date me for real?” she finally asks.
It’s hard to decipher her tone because she spoke in a whisper. Shock? Disbelief? Horror? Awe? Confusion? I’m not sure why most of my best guesses are negative.
But because I’m not done with stupid utterances or stepping out onto figurative limbs tonight, I triple and quadruple down.
“I don’t just want to date you. I want you to be my girlfriend. Full stop.” When Molly stares at me like I’ve confessed to having a third arm or something, I quickly add, “But if you want to just casually date first and see—”
She shakes her head as she interrupts me. “I don’t want to date you.”
I’m not sure if she’s rejecting the whole thing or just the idea of dating as a trial of some kind. I’m tempted to roll it all back but … I meant what I said.
And if Molly doesn’t want to be my girlfriend, I will honor the fake thing. Even if it kills me.
Which it honestly might.
Because I don’t remember feeling this way about a woman—ever.
Molly is gorgeous and fun and genuine. She’s sweet but feisty, and when I’m around her, the voices of doubt always clamoring to be heard go quiet.
I’m not thinking about where I stand in relation to my siblings or anyone else.
I’m not feeling lost and out of place. Even in this short period of time, it’s like she gets me in a way no one else—aside from my dad—does.
I really wish Jerry Maguire hadn’t made the You complete me line into something of a cliche, because I feel that way around Molly—complete. Whole. Comfortable and satisfied.
Is this fast? Sure. But despite all my hesitations, worries, and reasons to take things slow rather than fast, the more time I spend with her, the more right it feels.
Unless she doesn’t feel the same. In that case, I fear my rightness meter is broken.
“Did you mean you don’t want to date me, period, or what? Just tell me,” I plead, not even caring how desperate I sound.
And then Molly leans forward and places the sweetest, softest, sexiest closed-mouth kiss on my lips.
She pulls away but doesn’t go far, keeping her forehead pressed to mine as she says, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. I thought you’d never ask but sure hoped you would.”
Some indeterminate time later, after our kissing was interrupted by the cow apparently now named Cookie heckling us with a very insistent series of moos, Molly and I head back to the loft. The whole drive, we keep our fingers linked. We also keep grinning at each other like idiots. Happy idiots.
I kiss her at each stoplight. It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever hoped for more reds.
As for me—I’m just happy it’s actually true. Not an act.
“The real question,” Molly says as I’m pulling into a parking spot, “is what do we say to your family now? I mean, we literally just told them days ago we were faking. What will they do if we shift gears so quickly?”
“They’ll probably celebrate, honestly.”
My guess is that most of the family could already tell I liked Molly and were just waiting for me to stop being stupid. Maybe hoping to force my hand with all their meddling.
The only one I’m not sure about is Chase. He might approve, but I honestly don’t know. I expected him to confront me at some point about all of this, but he still hasn’t. I’m not sure if Harper or even Molly told him not to talk to me, or if he just wants to make me sweat.
“You think they’ll approve?”
Molly sounds so unsure that I put the car in park and shift in my seat so I can cup her cheek.
“They already love you, Molly. Maybe more than me. We always want the best for each other and always support each other. But we also don’t necessarily want to make anything easy on anyone.
As you’ve seen. If anything, they’ll give me a hard time for being an idiot.
Which is … fair. I thought about asking you to date me for real that night at Dark Horse. ”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m an idiot.” This makes her laugh, and I stroke my thumb over her cheek.
“But also because I was scared. I liked you. But I didn’t anticipate getting into another relationship so soon after everything that happened with my ex.
I thought maybe fake dating would be a way to see how things went with less risk. ”
“And how did that go?” She’s smiling now, and I trace her bottom lip with my thumb.
“It wasn’t enough,” I tell her. “It was never going to be enough. Not with you.”
As though proving this point, Molly leans over and kisses me. Like the hours of kissing we already did tonight under the stars only left her hungrier for more.
A rap on Molly’s window has us pulling apart. An older woman in a housedress is frowning at us—specifically at me—through the window. Her white hair is in curlers, and she’s got a pink leash wrapped around the fist she used to knock on the window.
“This is public indecency!” she says.
“We’re both fully dressed, Mrs. Fleming,” I say. “We’re very decent. Publicly.” Molly presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle. “Have a nice night!”
Ms. Fleming peers inside the truck, then almost seems disappointed when she sees I’m telling the truth. Casting a last judgmental look over her shoulder, she ambles off down the sidewalk.
“Does she have an opossum on a leash?” Molly asks, staring after the woman.
“Absolutely. But if you ask, she’ll tell you it’s a special breed of hairless cat, known for fainting. Classic Sheet Cake. You’ll get used to it.” I pause. “Actually, no you won’t. But it’ll grow on you.”
Giving me a knowing smile, she says, “It already has.”
We walk upstairs slowly, and entering the loft feels oddly awkward now.
Probably because now we’re not just roommates who are fake dating.
And we both already talked about the fact that neither of us has lived with a romantic partner.
Leaning back against the kitchen island, I slip my hands into my pockets, watching Molly kick off her shoes, once again, not seeming to notice or care where they end up.
Then she pauses in the center of the room, like she’s not sure what to do next.
I decide the best option is just to address it.
“Now that we’re actually together, my offer still stands to find a different place to stay. I don’t want to make things weird, or for this living arrangement to make you feel any kind of undue pressure.”
Molly shakes her head. “I’m still not kicking you out. Even if we’ve done all the relationship steps kind of … out of order. We’re writing our own rules, I guess.”
I like that. Writing our own rules.
Which gives me an idea.
“Hey, circling back to my family—how would you feel about not telling them we’re actually together?”
Frowning, she says, “What? How would that work?”
I shrug. “We just don’t tell them it’s no longer fake. I mean, clearly, they’re going to do things like tonight. We’ll play along, but the joke’s on them because we aren’t actually playing.”
“Isn’t this just more lying?”
“I consider it more like payback. Except for Jo—I think we should tell her. And if she doesn’t keep the secret, oh well. But somehow, I think she’d be totally willing to play along.”
Molly hesitates for a moment, then grins. “This is absolutely diabolical, Mr. Biceps.”
“Darlin’,” I say, crossing the room to kiss her because I just can’t get enough, “welcome to the Graham Fam.”