“You think I like you, Molloy?” “I know you do,” I breathed, heart galloping recklessly in my chest. Reaching down with his free hand, he tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear and whispered, “You think I want you?” The air left my lungs in an audible whoosh. I was staring into the face of danger. This boy possessed all of the terrible traits that mothers warned their daughters about. Every bad, wrong, and dirty teenage-boy characteristic wrapped up in a perfect, fucked-up package. Physically, he trumped me in every way. Taller. Stronger. Darker. Meaner… Still, I wanted him to come closer.
