4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Molly
“Preston,” I breathed, covering my hot, mortified face.
He crouched next to me, tugging my hands away. “Molls, what’s wrong?”
I groaned. Where to start? And how much did I want him to know?
Lucas came and got Henry right after the game, and I was about to leave when the weight of the day hit me.
I might have pulled myself out of the panic attack at Lynn’s office, but I still couldn’t escape the heaviness of having my manuscript rejected.
The hockey game had only been a distraction and now I was faced with the emotions I had pressed down in my attempt to make everything seem fine for Lucas.
“Molly,” Preston began, tucking my hair behind my ear.
He was so close to my face, his brown eyes so kind.
Could he be the solution to my problem? One kiss from him.
Those lips—no! I couldn’t look at Preston’s lips, no matter how much that damn book had romance on my mind.
I had known him my entire life. He was off limits.
Lucas would kill both of us. And there was no way he saw me as someone he would ever kiss.
Preston was a playboy of the highest degree.
A new woman adorned his arm at every social event.
If anyone had ever been seen with him twice, it would have made the local news.
Preston was known for his one-night stands and was the player most targeted with fan-made posters propositioning him to live up to his reputation.
Just because he found me in this hallway without anyone by his side didn’t mean there wasn’t a woman waiting for him outside.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” I wiped the back of my hand across my nose.
“You look super fine,” he teased.
I smirked and sniffled. “I know you have plans—”
“I don’t have plans.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a game night. I saw the woman you were making googly eyes at during the game. You have plans.”
“I don’t always leave with someone.”
“Are you sure? Can you make it home by yourself?”
He pressed his hand to his heart and scoffed. “You wound me, Molly Tyler.”
“Good,” I grumbled. “You could use some humbling.”
His eyes shone impishly. “I said you wounded me. I’m still just as arrogant as I was when I woke up this morning.”
I laughed through my tears and leaned my head against the wall. “Oh good. The universe will stay balanced another night.”
“Ready to tell me what’s wrong?”
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the way the dim lighting softened all his features, or the way his eyes searched mine, like they weren’t going to stop until I gave up my secrets, or the way my heart felt so safe in his presence.
Whatever it was, I sucked in a deep breath and pressed my eyes shut and opened my mouth.
“I had a meeting with Lynn today. She rejected my manuscript.”
“What a fucking wench,” he muttered, no hesitation as his brows furrowed tightly.
“Come on, Preston.”
“Seriously. I’ve read your writing. She’s wrong.”
I shook my head, a deep pit of sadness dragging me into it. “This wasn’t a thriller. It was a romance, and she said that it sounded like it was written by an alien trying to figure out human mating rituals.”
Preston opened his mouth, but hesitated, looking confused for a split second before throwing his head back and barking out a laugh that reverberated along the halls. “She really said that?”
“It’s not funny, Preston.” I pushed his shoulder, but he didn’t budge.
He caught my hand in his and laced his fingers through mine. And somehow, despite the sinking feeling of dread threatening to pull me under, my stomach flipped at his touch, and I yanked my hand away.
He frowned and pivoted so he was sitting right next to me, both of us with our backs to the wall. “Molls, she was wrong. Your writing is great—”
“Not my romance writing.”
“Let me read some.”
I shook my head, my cheeks heating. “Absolutely not.”
“Romance is easy. Fun. You know fun. I doubt it’s that bad—”
“It’s not that.”
He turned, searching my face for a long time while I fought the urge to squirm. “You haven’t been in a relationship with a lot of people. Is it just a lack of experience?” His mouth ticked up and my stomach surprised me, swooshing like I was on a rollercoaster. “Need to interview me?”
I closed my eyes again, not sure I could keep looking at him if I wanted to tell him everything.
“What is it, Molly?” He grabbed my hand again, lacing his long, warm fingers with mine, and this time I didn’t pull away.
“It’s not just that I haven’t been in a lot of relationships—”
“You haven’t been in a relationship with anyone, have you?” he asked softly. No accusations. No teasing. Just awareness.
“It’s worse than that,” I whispered, peeking one eye open.
“Oh?” He tilted his head, looking so adorable I could imagine kissing him.
So safe.
So much like someone I could see myself being with if love had been in the cards for me.
“I’ve never kissed anyone,” I admitted, my voice so small I wasn’t sure if he heard me.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he smiled. “I can fix that. Right now, even.”
“You would do that? For me?” I whispered, feeling so weak I had to press my hand to the cold wall to steady myself—and I was sitting down.
“I would do anything for you, Molls.” It was something friends said to each other, but his voice wasn’t friendly. It was rough and deep, like the words were clawing their way out of him.
Did he want to kiss me?
That was ridiculous.
He was just being nice and helping me out.
But then he leaned in, his hand brushing against my cheek before cradling my face. My heart thundered so loud he had to hear it. We inched closer, our noses almost touching—
“Nope,” a deep voice echoed down the hallway, just as my lips were about to figure out why everyone was so obsessed with swapping spit.