Page 43 of Beautiful Collide

But Molly?

She’s anything but easy or predictable.

She’s chaos.

And for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about her.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping me out of my thoughts. I grab it, squinting at the screen.

Mason:Wilde, where were you this morning? Waiting for the tornado to carry you here?

Of course, the team caught wind of how Molly and I holed up in the gas station (minus the sex), and they haven’t stopped reminding me since.

Aiden:Late again? Shocker.

Dane:Do we need to chip you like a lost dog, Wilde?

I groan, scrolling through the avalanche of messages. The team group chat is relentless.

Mason:Seriously, though, how can one person always be late? Do you have a clock allergy or something?

Aiden:Coach is gonna have your ass if you don’t fix this pattern, dude.

Dane:Fixing it would require effort. Doubt he’s capable.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to reply. What’s the point? Anything I say will just fuel the fire. Instead, I toss my phone onto the bed and let out a frustrated sigh.

I close my eyes, but the image of Molly in the gas station flashes behind my lids. The way she kissed me, how she’d melted against me before pulling away the following morning like none of it mattered.

And maybe it doesn’t matter. Perhaps it shouldn’t.

But I can’t shake the thought that it felt like it did for a few minutes last night.

And that terrifies me.

SEASON THREE

11

Hudson

The arena is stillquiet since the doors aren’t officially open to the public. A small crowd hangs out by the front entrance, but it doesn’t affect me since I’m driving to the back.

I pull my car past the security checkpoint and toward the team parking lot. It looks like I’m one of the last to arrive.

This is not a surprise, considering my life always goes to hell this time of year. My family needs me more in the fall, which affects my schedule.

At least the sky is clear this year, and there’s no tornado in sight.

Just as I’m about to pull into my spot, a very familiar car beats me to it, parking exactly where I was supposed to go.

Hex.

Of course, it’s her.

Ever since that night at the gas station, it feels like she’s everywhere. At the rink. At events. And unfortunately, in my dreams.

What the hell is she doing in my spot?

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