Page 39 of Pity Present
Yes.“No.”
“Then do you think you might help me?”
No.“Maybe.” I don’t for one minute think that Molly is stupid enough to give Kyle a second chance, but what I do think is that this scenario might be interesting for my readers. Empowering even, when they see how Molly shuts Kyle down. Suddenly, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing that for myself.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MOLLY
I can’t believe Blake asked Krista to go to the hot tub with him. It’s almost cruel hownotinto me he is. I can’t seem to stop thinking about his arms around me, his requests to double on the zipline, and then dumping me to hot tub with Krista. First Kyle, then Blake. I should seek professional help because my man-picker is definitely broken, and I deserve better than both of them.
After Blake and Krista left, I thought Thor would ask me if I wanted to do something. That would almost be expected, right? Except he didn’t. Instead, after we walked back to the lodge together, he awkwardly announced, “I guess I’ll see you tonight.” And then he walked away.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open like a mounted fish. What’s wrong with me? Not to be conceited, but I’m not hideous. I’m accomplished and possess the ability to hold an intelligent conversation. You’d think that would be enough to attract moderate interest from the opposite sex.
I hurry up to my room and peel off my outerwear. Then I stand in front of the mirror and give myself a once-over. Helmet head aside, I decide I’m practically gorgeous. Curvy in all theright places, with icy blue eyes that aren’t at all common in women who have nearly black hair.
Picking up the phone on the nightstand, I call downstairs and ask the front desk, “Is there a shuttle going into town soon?”
“There’s one in twenty minutes,” the woman tells me.
That’s it, I’m going to go back into Elk Lake to see if Bride’s Paradise carries dresses sexier than the ones I already bought. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures. And after today’s trouncing of my self-esteem, I feel borderline frantic to find someone worthy of me.
After changing into a dry pair of jeans, I get my purse and head to the lobby. I expect to see Paul waiting, but there’s a younger guy driving today. “Hello,” I say. “Are you going into town?”
He nods once. “Yup. You ready to go?”
“Yup.” Getting into the car, I ask, “I’m the only one?”
“Looks that way.”
Ah, a man of few words. I can work with that. “I’m Molly, by the way.”
“Hey.” That’s it. I covertly lean down and sniff my armpit. Nope, I’m fine. Then why is it this guy won’t even tell me his name?
I remain silent until I reach my destination, then I get out of the car without saying goodbye. As I walk into Bride’s Paradise, I realize I might be taking the driver’s silence too much to heart, but honestly, I’m really starting to wonder if the world perceives me way differently than I imagine they do. I thought I hadn’t been dating because I wasn’t interested in dating, but maybe it’s because no one wants to go out with me. How depressing.
The bell over the door rings as I walk through it, and Melissa looks up from what she’s doing. “Molly, hi!” she greets enthusiastically. “How did the mixer go last night?”
Taking off my coat, I tell her, “Not well. Not only did I run into my ex, but the guy I thought I could be interested in friend-zoned me immediately. There was one other guy who seemed like adecent prospect, but I think he’s interested in the same woman the guy I’m interested in is.”
“Yikes.” Melissa shakes her head sadly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” I tell her. “So much so I’ve come back looking for a real showstopper.”
Melissa absentmindedly rubs her pregnant belly. “How do you feel about going backless?” she asks.
“Cold,” I respond. “But if that’s the sexiest you’ve got, I’m willing to give it a try.”
Walking across the room, she pulls out a silvery blue silk dress that looks more like a nightgown than real clothes. “This isn’t for everyone, but I think you can pull it off.”
I’m not sure why she thinks that, but I’m desperate enough to try anything. “I’ll need a size ten,” I tell her.
Rifling through the rack, she says, “I’ve got an eight and a twelve. Let’s try them both.”
Following her into the dressing room, I decide that if either of them is going to work, it’s going to be the twelve. I haven’t worn a size eight since high school. After Melissa hangs the dresses on a hook in my cubicle, she says, “I’ll go out and see if I can find some other options.”
I take off my clothes before putting on the larger of the two dresses. It’s so big I look like I’m wearing a fancy potato sack. Taking it off, I try on the size eight. In a word, it’s snug, but not unattractively so.
