Kissing In Cars (6 page)

I glanced sideways at Erin, who is standing there watching me struggle with the box and offering me no assistance. I roll my eyes. "I can't believe they
pay
you..."

"Ugh, I'm
so
bore
ddd
," she groans loudly, dragging out her sentence and leaning backwards. She lets her arms fall limply to her sides. "Ugh, I'm dyin
ggg
. What time is it?"

"We still have almost two hours left," I say, irritated. I take the sharp cutter out of my apron and slice the heavy box open, careful not to cut into the merchandise inside. Unlike that one time I cut into the box without thinking and ended up slicing a brand new ski coat right down the front.

That sucked.

I didn't have to pay for it or anything, but still.

"Who are you going to Fall Formal with this year?" Erin asks.

"I'm not."

"Not going? Or not having a date?" Really Erin?
Not having a date
? Way to pay attention in English class.

"I don't have a date, so technically I have no plans to go."

"So you don't have a dress?"

"Nope."

"Aww, that's so sad...." After she says this, I turn to face her and put my hand on my hip.

"Do I look sad to you," I ask as Erin stares at me blankly. Okay, not blankly exactly - she's actually looking at me like I'm a pitiful little critter. I let out a long sigh and ask, "Okay, well, who are
you
going to Fall Formal with?"

"Technically, he hasn't asked me yet, but I totally
know
he will..."

"Are you going to tell me or not, because we have stuff to do here."

"Derek Hanson. He winked at me yesterday."

"You think Derek Hanson is going to ask you to Fall Formal because he
winked
at you yesterday?"

"It was a suggestive wink with a lot of meaning. I could tell."

Really, what am I supposed to say to
that
? Suddenly, Erin claps her hands. "I know! Let's play a game!"

"Please, let's
not
."

Technically, she's supposed to be unloading a box of child's socks (you know, the kind that look all crazy and mismatched) but instead she's leaning up against a cleaning supply shelf and peeling open a new pack of gum. Noisily, she dislodges a square from its foil and pops it into her mouth. "Wow, this is minty."

"You
do
know we have to get this done before tomorrow, don't you," I ask, my question lingering in the air as it falls on deaf ears. Erin goes over to stand next to the stockroom door that separates the back storage area from the sales floor. She turns and grins. I can hear the chewing of her gum from the other side of the room - she sounds like my brother when he's gnawing away at a steak dinner.

Erin senses my sigh before I can even audibly get one out. "Calm down, would you? (Wow, am I that predictable?) It's not like you actually
need
this job if they fire you for not being productive." (Actually, Erin does have a point: that
is
technically true....) "So, like, here's what we're going to do, because if I don't do
something
fun I'm going to like,
die
of boredom."

"You could do some
work
...." Ignoring me, as usual, Erin pushes on.

"Okay, so like, the next guy that walks in that door, you have to —."

"- No freaking way, Erin.
No
!"

"Okay, I'll do it then."

"Do what?!" I damn near shout, exasperated.

"I'll flirt with the next guy that walks in that door. Even if he's, like,
super
old."

"That's the dumbest thing you've said all day. Plus, what if the next guy that walks in the door is a kid?"

"Well, if he's like, twelve then that would like, totally make his
whole
year."

"Oh my god you're so ridiculous..."

At that moment, the bell from the door jingles and I groan.

Lord help me.

I can hear the faint sound of Erin greeting the new customers, and resume unpacking the box of insulated Under Armour shirts that sits half empty on the floor. I look around for a clear surface, and remove a stack of resort maps. The shirts still have to be taken out of their clear plastic bags, put on hangers, and tagged.

Ugh, this is the part of the job that I hate.

Just then, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my apron. It's a text from Tasha.

how late do u work?

I reply:
done in 2 hrs. why?
and slip the phone back into my pocket. It buzzes again almost immediately.

Tasha
: scrimmage starts in 20 min.
She's talking about the hockey pre-season scrimmage the Ravens have this afternoon against the prep school in a nearby city, and Tasha just happens to be dating a guy from their team.

Me
: there's no way I'll make it. it'll b over long b4 i get done if its just a scrimmage.

Tasha
: ok. will save seat just in case.

Me: thnx.
Even though I know there's no way I'd make it, and really no way I'd go even if I could. Besides, what I what hardly matters since I'm stuck here at work until my shift ends.

For the next two hours, I stay in the back room and unpack boxes. Shirts, socks, and even a box of ski masks. Since its getting closer to October, the weather might be warm enough to sit at the lake for the day, but ski season will be upon us in a matter of weeks. Erin doesn't help at all, of course, but rather she's been up front accosting the few customers that actually wander in. One couple comes in to pre-order ski jackets, and some poor random man comes in to pick up the snowboard bindings he had tightened (I'm really grateful I wasn't up front for
tha
t little exchange if Erin's still playing her "boredom buster").

By the time 5:00 rolls around, my stomach is growling.

I text Jenna:
im starving
.

Stuffing the phone in my messenger bag, I head out to my Jeep and sit waiting in the parking lot at the base of the grassy ski hill. I haven't even put the key in the ignition yet, because if Jenna texts me back and wants to grab something to eat with me, then I'll have to turn an entirely different direction once I get out of the parking lot.

So I wait.

My phone buzzes.

Jenna:
we literally just ate. still @ mcdonalds. want me to grab something with you anyways?

I type back:
no worries. running to grab mongolian, its been an age.

Jenna:
no value menu?one dollar, hollar!

Me:
i'll just go sit in a corner somewhere. alone...

Jenna
: don't talk to any perverts.

Me
: darn I was planning on it.

S
ighing, I start my ignition and quickly lean over to feel around inside my bag to see if there's a book I can read while sitting at the restaurant. Kyoto Grill is one of my new favorite places to eat; basically you build your own stir-fry and slap everything you picked out to eat onto a 500 degree stone. The only problem I have is the bowl they give you to fill is
never
big enough! I literally have to pile all the ingredients on my bowl until it resembles a mini-mountain. Then, my vegetables always topple off before I make it to the chef, and that's pretty embarrassing. But the food is fantastic (in my opinion) not to mention healthy, and since the place is relatively new it's never crowded.

On a few occasions I've been the only patron there.

So not twenty five minutes later, I'm all set in a corner booth at Kyoto: a steaming hot plate of stir-fry, a somewhat racy teen romance (that Jenna borrowed to me, of course), and my iPod. I set my phone on the table and put in my ear buds, deciding that maybe a mellow playlist would be best - after all, I can't really read if I've got Drake blasting in my ears.

I take a few bites of my dinner, which is a combination of noodles and vegetables that taste amazing, and open my book to the ear-marked page. I don't read very often, but this book has managed to keep my interest. Then again, give me the name of one teenage girl who can resist a story about a good girl secretly crushing on the schools bad boy... Clever girl that I am, the irony isn't lost on me.

My phone buzzes.

Jenna:
find a pervert with a long noodle?

Me
: lol. leave me alone i'm eating.

Jenna
: don't choke. and text me so I know you survived.

Me:
Yes mom :p

Jenna
: don't talk 2 stranglers.

Jenna
: dammit autocorrect! *strangers.

Giggling, I stuff my mouth with a fork full of rice noodles. They're so delicious I close my eyes and moan out loud - every bite is totally worth the torture of a day spent working with Erin. In my opinion, it's a reward that's been truly earned.

And I mean to savor it.

As I start the beginning of a new chapter in my book, the steady stream of music pumps from the iPod, through my ear buds, and into my ears. I casually bop along to the rhythm of "You should have (kissed me)" by Glorianna. I just can
not
get enough of this romantic playful song, even though it's an older song. I'm the type of person who, when they really like a tune, they listen to it over and over, and that's why I've listened to this one...oh...about a thousand times.

I adjust the volume on my iPod, turning it down a tad. It's at that moment that I look up and almost choke on my food.

Standing in the entry of the dining room holding a plate of his own, is Weston. Only I can't figure out if he's some figment of my imagination I've conjured up because I can't stop thinking about him - or if he's really standing there. I almost rub my eyes in disbelief but stop myself.

Unfortunately, I'm not hallucinating.

Fortunately
I don't think he sees me yet, so I slouch down holding the book up to my face, hoping to conceal the fact that I'm both chewing and swallowing frantically. Why does this damn book have a young couple holding hands on the cover of it?
Curse
Jenna and her smut.

I literally have noodles hanging from my mouth, and I can't suck them in fast enough.

Shit, shit, double shit. This is humiliating.

Well, not like I've never been humiliated before. I mean, I could tell you about the one time on April Fool's Day a few years back when Jenna cut boob holes in the front of my gym shirt, like Regina George from Mean Girls - but
ugh
! Never mind. That is so not my point here.

"Hey. Mind if I keep you company?"

Please god let the earth just open up and swallow me whole
, I pray. Like, as in
right
freaking now. Seriously.

I look up to see Weston standing there in his masculine glory staring down at me with expectation in his eyes - one hand holding his dinner and one hand stuffed in the pocket of his black Adidas athletic pants. His hair is wet, presumably from the shower he took after his game.

There is a red gash in his bottom lip that's obviously new.

Holy shit is it hot.

Stop staring at his lips, Molly. Stop it.

I must have hesitated far too long because those amazing lips hitch up into a small smile and he shrugs, "It's cool. I didn't mean to bother you." He says the words but makes no effort to walk away.

"No, no. It's fine. You surprised me that's all." I shut the book and slam it down onto the table, pushing it upside down to the corner of the table. "I usually have the place to myself."

"Yeah?" That one uttered word has a lilt to it that sends heat racing through my body in places that have long been dormant. I resist the urge to visibly shiver as I invite him to share my booth.

"Yeah. Here, sit."

Weston slides into the booth with a gracefulness you wouldn't expect from a guy his size. Setting his plate down, he unrolls his utensils from the paper napkin - than its fork on the left side of the plate, knife on the right. He shocks me even further by laying the napkin across one knee.

My, my, such good table manners.

He clears his throat, than says "I don't think we've ever really been introduced. I'm Wes." He is holding his hand across the table for me to shake, and I stare at it like he intends to shock me with a Taser. Large and calloused, this is the hand of a guy who's seen his share of hard work.

I unintentionally slide my hand slowly into his palm, sending a ripple of sensations coursing through my body. His hand is steady and warm, and suddenly I'm in no rush to leave.

"I'm Molly." My voice is soft, just above a whisper.

"Hi, Molly," His voice is like satin sliding across my skin.

Say my name again, please.... Just once more....

I don't think I've ever met a boy with a voice this baritone and erotic. Take Bryan Bossner for example: at 17 years old, his voice still cracks if he's shouting in gym class. Suddenly it's makes more sense to me why girls always seem to be fawning over Weston McGrath - it's not because of the hockey, and it's not because he's so damn good looking. Nope. It's because his voice could charm the pants off a nun.

I mean, if nuns
wore
pants.

Finally releasing my hand, Weston points at his ears. "What are you listening to?" He is already digging into his pasta, which has steam rising from it.

"Huh? Oh my gosh!" How rude of me! Quickly I remove my ear buds and wind them around my iPod, setting them on top of my book.

He chuckles, low and deep in this chest and I can't help it - I shiver.

"Cold?"

Oh my god, shoot me now
.

"Um, sort of. I left my sweater in the car." To validate my lie, I rub my hands up and down my arms a few times and say "
Brrr
...."

I am such an idiot
. The action must have drawn Weston's attention to my shirt, which is a navy tee bearing the resorts logo where I work. He raises his eyebrows.

"You work at Mount Olympia?"

I nod. "Yup. In the gift shop. Nothing all that exciting, but I do get a lift ticket every season for half off, so...."

"No shit. You board?"

"Why, do you consider yourself
boring
?" I tease.

He screws his face up and looks at me like I've lost my mind. "No Molly, I meant do you snowboard."