Page 18 of Molly's Mr. Wrong
“I’m not talking about what you said, Molly. I’m asking about what you think.” His voice went down a notch. “Isthat what you think?”
Molly couldn’t help it—she glanced down, her gaze fixing on the gray cotton T-shirt that covered his flat abs...he’d been an athlete and it looked as if he still was—then forced her chin back up, meeting his eyes. “The idea had crossed my mind.”
“Points for honesty.”
She pulled in a breath. Big mistake. The heady scent of the man about two inches away from her once again filled her nostrils and she felt herself leaning forward, even closer to him, which was nuts, since she was already way too close for comfort.
“But I don’t think that’s the problem.”
She felt him go still, she was that close.
“What,” he asked softly, “do you think the problem is?”
She raised her chin, shaking back her hair in the process. “Have you ever been checked for dyslexia?”
“Dyslexia?” He frowned. “I don’t turn letters around.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Yeah? What else is it?” Finn took a step back, finally freeing up the space around her, and folded his arms over his chest.
“It has to do with organizing thoughts and finding the right word and translating what happens inside your brain onto paper.”
“I see.”
He was now officially closed off, his expression stony, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her.
“There’s a lot of information about it, if you look into it.”
“Yes...but will I be able to read it?” He was being sarcastic. Before she could answer, he said, “Thank you for the helpful suggestion, Molly. And the diagnosis.”
“I’m not diagnosing you. I’m offering up a suggestion as to what you might look into to—”
“Explain my shortcomings?” he asked mildly.
“If you want to put it that way.”
He put his hand on the truck’s door handle. “Well...your duty is done. Thank you.”
“I think you should continue the class.”
“I don’t see a lot of point in taking it.”
“I’ll...”
Molly’s voice trailed off and Finn’s expression shifted. “What, Molly?” One corner of his perfect mouth curved into a wry expression that was somehow both cold and amused. “Be gentle with me?”
The way he said it brought more color to her cheeks. “Yes. I will.”
“Thanks for the offer, but no.”
“I’ll...help you.” What on earth was she saying?
“No. Thank you.”
He pulled the truck door open and Molly heard the word, “Chicken?” emerge from her lips. Finn stopped dead and turned back.
Had she really just said that?
