Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
What is this girl up to?
I narrow my eyes slightly, doubt settling.
“Um. Are we talking about Hudson?” Anna chimes in.
Great, now I have both of them ganging up on me. It’s two against one, and I’m a goalie without pads. Fantastic.
“Yup.” Molly casts a glance my way. “Hudson.”
I don’t understand what’s happening. Anna gave Molly a way to attack me, but she didn’t. No one here knows about the bet. It would be the perfect moment for her to take me down without her brother or anyone on the team ever knowing.
I’m waiting for the punchline, but it’s not coming. This is uncharted territory.
It’s unsettling. Like catching Coach Robert smile.
Lost in my thoughts, I only pick up bits and pieces of the conversation taking place. From what I do manage to hear, Molly is basically making me sound like the next Gretzky. I feel like a deer staring down a hunter. Any second now, she’ll pull the trigger.
My dad beams at her words. “We’re so proud of him. He’s worked so hard to get here.”
“Absolutely,” Molly agrees, smiling warmly.
She’s never nice to me. Never. Is this reverse psychology? Am I supposed to insult her back?
It feels like I’m in a fever dream. Like I’ve wandered into an alternate reality where Molly Sinclair is my biggest fan. Or maybe I’m on a hidden camera show where everyone’s in on the joke except me.
The whole meal is a blur. She spends appetizers raving about my playing style, the main course ranting about how the Saints need to bump up my salary ASAP, and dessert bellowing about the media’s antics.
If this is Molly’s way of catching me off guard, it’s working.
I’m officially off-balance.
It can’t possibly be real, but when my parents get up to leave, I hang back, needing to know why. Why she’s doing this. Why the Molly I know—the one who could slice me in two with her words—has suddenly turned into my biggest cheerleader.
As soon as my family is out of earshot, I block her path to the exit, my voice low. “All right, Hex. What’s your game here?”
Molly tilts her head, her smile softening into something I can’t quite read. “Maybe I just wanted to be nice for a change.”
I snort. “You? Nice? Forgive me if I’m not buying it.”
Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow just a fraction. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Being nice might actually suit you.”
And there it is.
A spark of the Molly I know. The Molly who doesn’t just push my buttons but installs new ones just to press them.
I sit back, crossing my arms. “If this is you being nice, I think I liked you better when you were mean.”
I don’t mean it, though. I’m just . . . uncomfortable. Like I’m stuck in limbo, unsure how to process the past ninety minutes. I feel like I’ve missed some pivotal moment when Molly decided she doesn’t actually hate me.
And if I’m really being honest, I want to know how—so I can do it again. Over and over.
You are so fucked, Wilde.
“Duly noted,” Molly says, securing her bag over her shoulder. “Next time, I’ll let your mom know all about how you chewed out that poor referee last week.”
“Wait—what?” I start, but she’s already halfway out the door, leaving me sitting there, stunned and—dammit—grinning like an idiot.
Because, for all her jabs, I can’t help but like that she keeps me guessing.
Molly takes the long way, weaving through crowds because she’s too short to notice the exit on the other end. I take that door and round to the front, where I wait for her to make her way outside the place, my back against the brick wall.
When she finally bursts through the door, she spots me, and a scowl immediately forms on her lips.
I move to stand in front of her. “Seriously, Hex. What was that?”
Molly arches an eyebrow. “What was what?”
The woman doesn’t even realize what she’s done to me. That I’m practically glitching inside, trying to figure out her endgame.
Maybe this is her latest tactic—kill me with kindness and watch me squirm.
“You. Being nice. Praising me like I’m some kind of saint.” I throw my hands up, frustrated. “What’s your angle?”
Molly takes a deep breath. She opens her mouth, closes it, and then shakes her head, starting up again. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I don’t budge. “Try me.”
She looks down. “I always wanted parents like yours. I just wanted to be part of a family for a minute.”
It feels like a slap in the face. I’m stunned. Taken completely off guard. For once, I can’t think of a single thing to say. She’s knocked the wind out of me.
“They’re so proud of you.” Her gaze drifts down to her hands. To where’s she’s twisting her fingers together. “So supportive.”
I stare at her, her soft words doing something unfamiliar to me. “They’re my parents,” I say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s their job.”