Page 11 of The Wild Card
“You look nervous. Are you okay? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
She gives a small laugh. Again, not a real one. “You could say that.” Maybe she feels the tension in the car ratcheting up as I tighten my hands on the wheel because her eyes go wide and she places a small hand on my arm. “No! I mean, not likerealtrouble. I’m safe. Promise.”
That doesn’t exactly make me feel better. I do like her hand on my arm. Her skin is paler than mine, her fingertips soft. I’m not sure she realizes she’s gliding her palm slowly up and down my forearm, but it feels nice.
“It’s just …” Molly trails off and bites her lip, a movement I don’t mean to track but do anyway.
Straight, white teeth on her full pink bottom lip. Molly pulls her hand back to her lap, and I glance away, staring at the shopping center, reminding myself that Molly forgot me. And even if she hadn’t or if I decided I didn’t particularly care, Liza is still a fresh nightmare reminding me of my vow to steer clear of women for a while. How long’s it been since we broke up—a month? Two?
Probably too soon for me to even think about dating. Especially if we’re talking about Chase’s sister.
Wait—why am I thinking about dating Molly? Not recognizing me should put this whole idea to bed.
“I kind of need you to be my boyfriend,” Molly says.
“Explain,” I say, my voice coming out slightly strangled. With the tightness in my throat, I’m shocked the word came out at all.
Her head tilts even further, light-brown waves hiding most of her face. I clench the wheel harder, resisting the urge to brush her hair back so I can see her eyes.
“I had this job interview, and I really, really need this job.” She takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “It wasn’t going well, and I got the impression they wanted someone who wasn’t a flight risk. They wanted someone who was living here, a person they could count on.”
She smiles a little as she says this, but it’s the kind of smile with a bitter curl to the edges. I can’t help the surge of protectiveness making me want to help her fix whatever this is. Use Tank’s clout to get her whatever job she wants here in town, if that’s what she needs.
“So I lied.”
Never mind. My desire to help Molly just shriveled up and died on the vibe. Because lying is a particularly sore point rightnow with me. It’s less like poking a bruise and more like jabbing an open wound with a salted stick.
“You lied,” I repeat.
She nods slowly, more hair cascading in front of her face. Before she disappears, I can see that at least she has the decency to look sorry about it.
Not good enough.
“I told them I had a boyfriend who was local, who took me to the festival. Said he promised to win me a stuffed animal.” Her head tilts as she casts a quick look to the cramped backseat of my truck, where I buckled in the purple unicorn. I hadn’t even been thinking about it when I did it—not until the seatbelt clicked and Molly giggled.
I blame Jo. My niece has our whole family wrapped around her finger and doing all sorts of things we never would have imagined. Including stuffed animal safety.
Molly flicks her gaze to me, winces at whatever she sees there, and sighs, lifting one hand to the door handle. “It was stupid. So stupid. But I got desperate and panicked andpoof!—told what I thought would be an innocent little lie.”
No such thing, I think.
“And then they insisted I bring him to lunch,” she finishes, hazarding me another look. This time she doesn’t glance away. “Him, as in, my boyfriend.”
“So, you lied in a job interview.” Keeping her blue gaze locked on mine, she gives a small nod. “And you told them your nonexistent boyfriend would accompany you to lunch right now?” Another nod. “And you grabbed the first guy you saw?—”
“No,” she says firmly. “Not the first guy I saw. I grabbedyou. Specifically.”
I want to ask why. I deeply care about this answer. Or—I would care if it weren’t for the fact that Molly picked me out ofa crowdwithoutremembering me at all. Kind of negates the flattery of being the one guy she picked out of the crowd.
“Why me?” I should shut up, but I have to know. Was it my looks? It has to be that. Maybe I’m at a low, low point, but I could use some kind words right now.
“It was her, actually.” Molly’s grinning now, a smile so disarming I almost miss the way she jerks her head to indicate—oh.
“You chose me because I was holding a stuffed unicorn?”
That’s … just great. Awesome. A woman picks me out of a festival crowd not because of me, but because I’m holding a purple stuffed animal.
Figures.
