Page 36 of The Wild Card
I snort. “No one’s actually seen it. I don’t think it exists. Wolf probably has a trailer or hunting camp way back in the woods—not a bunker. And though he is generally a safe person, I don’t want you accepting an invitation to whatever his bunker actually is.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Molly’s voice is quiet, carrying a hesitation that cracks me open. “And don’t just say because you’re friends with my brother.”
Her brother definitely has nothing to do with my growing affection for Molly. In fact, I can almost imagine his face if he walked in right now and saw me rubbing his sister’s feet.
Based on his earlier texts, I have a feeling he might object. Even if I think he’s overreacting.
As for therealreason I’m currently giving her a mini spa treatment, well, I plead the fifth. I’m not willing to answer that question, nor any of the otherwhysfor things I’ve done today. I’d prefer to not think about them too deeply. Between that and the field Tank showed me earlier, my mind is too full.
I shove all thoughts and worries aside and consider Molly’s question. And what I’m hearing underneath it.
“Are people not normally nice to you, Molly?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light and gentle.
“No, they are,” she says quickly. Too quickly. When I make a small hmm in response, she leans forward and pokes me in the shoulder. “People are nice to me. Totally.”
Again, and maybe it’s the late hour, but I feel like I’m reading the subtext of words as though they’re painted on a billboard. Who would be mean to this woman? From what I’ve seen of her today, she’s bright and fun and kind. Beautiful. The kind of person who lights up a room with only her presence.
Or maybe she just has that effect onme.
“Butsomeoneisn’t.” Because my hands are on her feet, I can feel her whole body stiffen. “Who? Is it an ex?”
An easy guess. And it will give my simmering anger somewhere to go, thinking of some awful ex with a very punchable face. I mean, not that I would punch anyone. Probably.
She’s quiet for a long moment. I don’t make eye contact, and keep gently rubbing her feet, careful to avoid the angry red blisters.
“My dad,” she says softly, and my fingers instantly stop moving on her feet. I force them to start again, massaging a little gentler than before.
I hazard a glance at Molly’s face, but her gaze is pinned on her hands clasped in her lap. “Your dad isn’t nice to you?”
Without getting too worked up, I try to think back through things Chase has said about their father. Not much, which may actually say a lot.
Chase never likes going home for holidays, and when he does, he only talks about Molly. Maybe a little about his mom, but I can’t actually remember. I met their father at Chase and Harper’s wedding, and he seemed stiff. Standoffish. A little judgy.
Then again, he did get knocked into the pool by a goat, so … being a little out of sorts is understandable.
Though I think he was like thatbeforethe goat.
Molly sighs. “My dad has a very rigid way of thinking, that’s all. He wanted Chase and me to be different kinds of people.”
“How could anyone want either of you to be different people?” I shouldn’t interrupt—I can tell she has more to say. But I can’t help the words that fly out of my mouth.
Molly’s smile is faint, and she’s still looking at her lap instead of at me. “You barely know me.”
“Not true.” I give her arches a little squeeze. “I know your brother pretty well. I got to be your boyfriend for a whole afternoon and am now up close and personal with your feet. I mean, how many people can say they’ve rubbed these feet?”
I realize only after I ask the question, of course, that I don’twantto know. I’m repeatedly getting worked up and jealous over Molly with no right to do so.
Molly is gorgeous and fun. I’m sure she’s had dozens of boyfriends.
I amnother boyfriend.
And yet thinking about some other guy taking care of her or touching her has me hot under the collar, as Tank would say.
My dad’s corny expressions have taken firm root in my head and are harder to shake than fleas from a dog—and there’s another one.
Despite the ridiculous sayings, Tank has done so much for me. Forallof us. And all on his own after Mom died.
I think about the field he showed me earlier, and how he just knew that I wasn’t happy with my life. He basically gave me a blank canvas and said,Here, son! You get to choose what’s next! I believe in you!
