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Molly frowns. “Definitely not. We both, uh, have certain tastes …”
I cock my head, trying to pick where the hell that could be going. Are they into BDSM or some shit?
“Oldermen,” Molly slurs. “Guys our own age don’t interest us.”
“Ah.” I should have guessed that.
He huffs and looks away. “I thought older guys didn’t play games, butclearly, I was wrong.”
I set my jaw. “I don’t know how else to tell you. I’m sorry I hurt you—I knew you were interested, but I never picked up that it was anything more than friendly flirting between us. That’s on me. But, Mols, I’m in a relationship now. That’s not changing in a hurry. I’m sorry, darlin’, but sitting there and giving me the puppy dog eyes isn’t going to work. I hate that you’re hurting—you’re a good guy, and you deserve better—but I’m not going to be the one to give that to you.”
He swallows roughly, bottom lip quivering. “Do you know what it feels like to never be the first choice?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I’ve never wanted to be someone’s first choice.”
“It’s horrible.”
I empathize, but I’m not giving in. “Again, I’m sorry. But I didn’t come over here to make it harder on you. I came over here to let you know that whatever you think we had is over. I think it’s best that we both act like strangers moving forward.”
Molly splutters, taking an unsteady step toward me. “What, you’re not even allowed to be friends with me now? Did your boyfriend say that?”
“Nope. He feels for you, actually. I’m the one who made the call. You’ll hate me for it now, but it’ll be better for you one day.”
“You want me to cut you out of my life completely?” His eyes flood with tears.
I hold strong against them, even though seeing anyone in pain makes me immediately want to protect them. “Yes.”
“Ford—”
“That’s enough, Molly. See you around.”
I turn to leave, but before I know what’s happening, Molly grips my shoulder, spins me back to him, and all but throws himself in my arms.
A muffledoomphleaves me as his mouth covers mine, and it takes a solid second for my brain to catch up. I shove him away, slightly harder than I mean to. Molly stumbles back into someone, who drops their glass, and the loud shattering cuts off conversation around us.
We suddenly have the attention of everyone nearby.
“Thefuck!” I shout, and he jumps. “Notokay.”
Molly’s whole face floods red, small frame trembling. He glances around like he’s not sure where he is, then lets out a strangledoh, fuckand bolts. The people around me are deathly silent, and I have no idea if they’re judging me or Molly, but I can feel the weight of it in their staring.
I’m standing there for way too long, trying to work out whether to go after him and make sure he’s okay, whether to find Keller and Will and give them the heads-up, or to find Orson and remind myself thathe’smy priority and I can’t fix everything.
My brain is working sluggishly through all the alcohol I’ve drunk, and instead of buzzing high on such a fun night, I just feel sick.
Going after Molly isn’t the right call—I know that, even if I’m worried for him andsoangry—so I turn to go and find his dad when I look up and lock eyes with Orson.
My gut bottoms out.
One look at his tense expression tells me he saw everything.
Shit.
I take a step closer, prepared to explain exactly what went down, when Orson turns on his heel and walks away from me. My heart drops through my gut as I watch the top of his stupid mustard costume hurry toward the front entrance and leave.
This overwhelming darkness settles down on me hard and fast as I keep replaying the look on Orson’s face. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, fists tight at his sides.
The alcohol-fueled anger from Molly’s kiss ignites.
