Page 94 of The Wild Card
I kiss her at each stoplight. It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever hoped for more reds.
As for me—I’m just happy it’s actuallytrue. Not an act.
“The real question,” Molly says as I’m pulling into a parking spot, “is what do we say to your familynow? I mean, we literally just told them days ago we were faking. What will they do if we shift gears so quickly?”
“They’ll probably celebrate, honestly.”
My guess is that most of the family could already tell I liked Molly and were just waiting for me to stop being stupid. Maybe hoping to force my hand with all their meddling.
The only one I’m not sure about is Chase. He might approve, but I honestly don’t know. I expected him to confront me at some point about all of this, but he still hasn’t. I’m not sure if Harper or even Molly told him not to talk to me, or if he just wants to make me sweat.
“You think they’ll approve?”
Molly sounds so unsure that I put the car in park and shift in my seat so I can cup her cheek.
“They already love you, Molly. Maybe more than me. We always want the best for each other and always support each other. But we also don’t necessarily want to make anythingeasyon anyone. As you’ve seen. If anything, they’ll givemea hard time for being an idiot. Which is … fair. I thought about asking you to date me for real that night at Dark Horse.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m an idiot.” This makes her laugh, and I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “But also because I was scared. I likedyou. But I didn’t anticipate getting into another relationship so soon after everything that happened with my ex. I thought maybe fake dating would be a way to see how things went with less risk.”
“And how did that go?” She’s smiling now, and I trace her bottom lip with my thumb.
“It wasn’t enough,” I tell her. “It was never going to be enough. Not with you.”
As though proving this point, Molly leans over and kisses me. Like the hours of kissing we already did tonight under the stars only left her hungrier for more.
A rap on Molly’s window has us pulling apart. An older woman in a housedress is frowning at us—specifically at me—through the window. Her white hair is in curlers, and she’s got a pink leash wrapped around the fist she used to knock on the window.
“This is public indecency!” she says.
“We’re both fully dressed, Mrs. Fleming,” I say. “We’re very decent. Publicly.” Molly presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle. “Have a nice night!”
Ms. Fleming peers inside the truck, then almost seems disappointed when she sees I’m telling the truth. Casting a last judgmental look over her shoulder, she ambles off down the sidewalk.
“Does she have an opossum on a leash?” Molly asks, staring after the woman.
“Absolutely. But if you ask, she’ll tell you it’s a special breed of hairless cat, known for fainting. Classic Sheet Cake. You’ll get used to it.” I pause. “Actually, no you won’t. But it’ll grow on you.”
Giving me a knowing smile, she says, “It already has.”
We walk upstairs slowly, and entering the loft feels oddly awkward now. Probably because now we’re not just roommateswho are fake dating. And we both already talked about the fact that neither of us has lived with a romantic partner. Leaning back against the kitchen island, I slip my hands into my pockets, watching Molly kick off her shoes, once again, not seeming to notice or care where they end up. Then she pauses in the center of the room, like she’s not sure what to do next.
I decide the best option is just to address it.
“Now that we’re actually together, my offer still stands to find a different place to stay. I don’t want to make things weird, or for this living arrangement to make you feel any kind of undue pressure.”
Molly shakes her head. “I’m still not kicking you out. Even if we’ve done all the relationship steps kind of … out of order. We’re writing our own rules, I guess.”
I like that. Writing our own rules.
Which gives me an idea.
“Hey, circling back to my family—how would you feel aboutnottelling them we’re actually together?”
Frowning, she says, “What? How would that work?”
I shrug. “We just don’t tell them it’s no longer fake. I mean, clearly, they’re going to do things like tonight. We’ll play along, but the joke’s on them because we aren’t actually playing.”
