Page 23 of Molly's Mr. Wrong
Finn ignored the coffee and leaned back against the counter. “If this is about school, this isn’t the place.”
“Where is the place?”
“There isn’t one.”
Molly jammed her hands in the back pockets of her loose pants, shifting them down a half inch or so, exposing skin below her shortish T-shirt. Finn’s eyes followed the motion and she assumed he couldn’t help himself. He was a guy, after all, and while she might not be his usual type of woman, she was a woman.
“You haven’t dropped my class yet.”
“Haven’t had time.”
“Don’t drop it.” She couldn’t read the expression that crossed his face, so she forged on. “You looked up dyslexia, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“What do you think?”
“That this is none of your business.”
Unfortunately, he had a point. It wasn’t her business—except for the part where she felt guilty about driving him away from a class that could have helped him. So...maybe the full truth was in order.
“I feel bad about what happened.”
“Guess you’ll have to live with that.” He spoke matter-of-factly, rather than bitterly, which gave her the impetus to move forward, both mentally and physically. She took a step toward him, lowering her voice as she said, “I’m sorry I called you chicken. I was trying to keep you from quitting.”
“What made you think that would work?”
“Gut instinct, I guess.”
He gave her a long, appraising look and Molly did her best not to swallow drily. He was so damned good-looking and this was not the time to be noticing that. “That kind of stuff works on a playground.”
“I’ve found it works elsewhere, too.”
“Have you?”
Molly crossed her arms over her chest. Mistake, because the hem of her shirt rose higher and Finn’s gaze again dropped lower, his eyes widening when he saw that Molly wore navel jewelry. Somehow she managed to keep from tugging her shirt down, but it was perhaps one of the most difficult things she’d done in the past week or so.
“If you take the class, I can help you work on organization. Adjust assignments.”
Finn tore his eyes away from the simple bar that adorned her midsection. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“Differentiating.”
“Will I know what I’m supposed to know when I get done with the class? Or will you just pass me along?”
Molly ignored the jab. “You’ll have more skills than when you started.”
“That might be handy.”
“What degree are you considering?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Some degrees take more than basic English.”
“Degrees I will probably avoid.”
The sound of laughter filtered in from the living room and Molly took a step back. When had she gotten so close?
