Molly's Mr. Wrong. Jeannie Watt

in front of her. There were remarks written on the top one, but nothing like what she’d done to Finn. “But you haven’t dropped it yet?” When she looked back up at him, she saw him watching her carefully.

      “Tomorrow. Just thought I’d let you know.” He smiled tightly and then pushed off the door frame and walked back down the hall, leaving Molly staring at the empty space he’d just filled. For a moment she sat stone still, then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her glasses so she didn’t trip over anything and started after Finn. He was already on his way out the main exit, so she hurried her steps, finally giving up and calling his name after pushing through the glass-and-steel doors.

      He slowed down, then stopped and turned. Now she’d done it. She’d engaged and she had to follow through.

      Drawing in a deep breath that wasn’t nearly as calming as she’d hoped it would be, she started toward him. “I think we should talk about this.”

      “No offense, Molly, but there’s not a lot to say.”

      Molly stopped a few feet away from him. “I want you to know that I wasn’t engaging in some sort of petty revenge when I marked your paper.”

      He said nothing as he studied her with those striking hazel eyes, but if he hoped to fluster her, it wasn’t going to work. Much.

      All right. It wasn’t going to work in any way that showed.

      “I didn’t say one thing on your paper that wasn’t true, but... I was a bit overzealous with my pen.”

      “Yet there was no petty revenge involved.” Finn sauntered forward as he spoke. A slow, almost predatory movement, as if he were a big cat moving in on his prey. Molly’s prey days were over, so she took a step forward, too. A brisk no-nonsense step that brought them almost chest to chest. Miscalculation on her part, but she wasn’t going to have him in the power role.

      And she wasn’t going to react to the heat coming off his body or the fact that his scent now seemed to surround her and certain parts of her body were taking notice. That was what the Finns of the world, the Blakes of the world, banked on.

      “Perhaps a little.” She’d almost stuttered. Damn. The old Molly was starting to take over now that they were so close, and she would not have that. She pushed her glasses up a little higher, straightened her back. Finn’s gaze narrowed, as if he was wondering what she was doing.

      “And you have me pegged as a dumb athlete who was handed a diploma he didn’t deserve.”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “I’m not talking about what you said, Molly. I’m asking about what you think.” His voice went down a notch. “Is that 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?

      For a moment she thought he was going to address the remark, but instead he shook his head as if she were beyond help and got into the truck, closing the door and leaving Molly feeling worse than when she’d left her office. She turned and started back across the parking lot as students began to leave the building in small groups. Art class was over. Behind her, Finn’s truck fired up. There was nothing to do but close up her office, get into her car, curse the fates for the fact that she lived next to his grandfather and plot how never to see him again.

      He’d been the jerk in high school, but she’d been the jerk just now.

      * * *

      OKAY. MOLLY HAD surprised him. Finn was going to give her points for that, even if she had pissed him off. And she wasn’t exactly the meek girl he’d taken on the mercy date at the behest of his mom ten or so years ago. She’d just freaking called him a chicken.

      And dyslexia?

      Yeah, right.

      Finn’s mouth tightened as he wheeled out of the parking lot. He’d decided to try a few classes to better his life, not to make it worse. The satisfaction he got from finding out he could still do math—that he really liked to do math—was deeply overshadowed by the fact that he sucked at English. That he’d been passed along by his teachers. No...that wasn’t what bothered him most. It was the fact that it had been so clear to Molly that had happened. And meanwhile the thought had never crossed his mind.

      When Finn got home, he paced through the house. Normally, in his old life, he would have gone to McElroy’s, but after last night, he didn’t think that strategy was going to work like it used to. The last thing he wanted was to become a bar fixture like Wyatt. Times had changed. Everything around him seemed to have changed.

      And his house was ridiculously empty when he walked inside and let the door swing shut behind him.

      Son of a bitch. He was losing it. That was what was happening. He needed to get a grip and make some decisions here.

      He’d make decisions in the morning.

      Finn put on a pot