Page 93 of The Wild Card
Collin hums. “Again with the deep thoughts. You might be right. Whatever the reason, I don’t want to hide my feelings. I don’t want to pretend I’m pretending. Because I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend. I want to be yourrealone. What do you say, Molly—do you want to stop pretending and be my girlfriend?”
CHAPTER 20
Collin
Confessingmy feelings to Molly and waiting for her response is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
Which is saying something considering all the reckless and dangerous or even just risky actions I’ve taken in my life. Jumping off bridges into Lake Travis with my brothers. Accepting a dare to run across a driving range wearing only a mask and a men’s swim thong. Stepping onto the football field in a sold-out pro stadium for the first time. Signing the paperwork and the check to buy my gym. Even deciding to sell the gym was scary.
But no—this definitely tops all the things. My mouth is dry. My heart is beating so fast it’s almost vibrating. My lungs have seized up so I can’t breathe.
This isn’t the first time I asked a woman to be in a committed relationship. Somehow, though, this feels like the only time it’smattered. It’s faster than I usually move, but because I dotend to be slower to process, how quickly my feelings escalated makes them more real to me. More sure.
That might not make sense to someone else, but I feel the truth of it.
And it would be really nice if Molly would respond instead of blinking at me. Not simply because I’d like to resume kissing her. Though I’m not gonna lie—I wouldabsolutelybe up for more of that.
But I want an answer. I need to know I didn’t ruin things between us. A few days ago, we worked out the details of a silly but workable plan for fake dating that served us both. Things have been working fine—other than the fact that it’s increasingly not enough to let Molly think I’m just pretending.
Now I might have tossed a Molotov cocktail, blowing it all up.
And let’s not forget we’re currently roommates. Sharing Tank’s loft is gonna be awkward if she says no.
Could we even go back to the idea of pretending if she says no?
Molly’s face is still almost too close for me to see her in focus, but I don’t want to move, afraid I might scare her off.
“You … you want to date me for real?” she finally asks.
It’s hard to decipher her tone because she spoke in a whisper. Shock? Disbelief? Horror? Awe? Confusion? I’m not sure why most of my best guesses are negative.
But because I’m not done with stupid utterances or stepping out onto figurative limbs tonight, I triple and quadruple down.
“I don’t just want todateyou. I want you to be my girlfriend. Full stop.” When Molly stares at me like I’ve confessed to having a third arm or something, I quickly add, “But if you want to just casually date first and see?—”
She shakes her head as she interrupts me. “I don’t want to date you.”
I’m not sure if she’s rejecting the whole thing or just the idea of dating as a trial of some kind. I’m tempted to roll it all back but … I meant what I said.
And if Molly doesn’t want to be my girlfriend, I will honor the fake thing. Even if it kills me.
Which it honestly might.
Because I don’t remember feeling this way about a woman—ever. Molly is gorgeous and fun and genuine. She’s sweet but feisty, and when I’m around her, the voices of doubt always clamoring to be heard go quiet. I’m not thinking about where I stand in relation to my siblings or anyone else. I’m not feeling lost and out of place. Even in this short period of time, it’s like she gets me in a way no one else—aside from my dad—does.
I really wishJerry Maguirehadn’t made theYou complete meline into something of a cliche, because I feel that way around Molly—complete. Whole. Comfortable and satisfied.
Is this fast? Sure. But despite all my hesitations, worries, and reasons to take things slow rather than fast, the more time I spend with her, the more right it feels.
Unless she doesn’t feel the same. In that case, I fear myrightnessmeter is broken.
“Did you mean you don’t want to date me, period, or what? Just tell me,” I plead, not even caring how desperate I sound.
And then Molly leans forward and places the sweetest, softest, sexiest closed-mouth kiss on my lips.
She pulls away but doesn’t go far, keeping her forehead pressed to mine as she says, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. I thought you’d never ask but sure hoped you would.”
Some indeterminate time later, after our kissing was interrupted by the cow apparently now named Cookie heckling us with a very insistent series of moos, Molly and I head back to the loft. The whole drive, we keep our fingers linked. We also keep grinning at each other like idiots. Happy idiots.
