Betting on You(22)
“Wrong,” I muttered, then added, “And you’re a ghoul, by the way.”
“I’ll take your flippant insult as your compliance.” And before I could say no, absolutely not, Charlie’s deep voice asked, “So what’re you going to give me when I win?”
This time I didn’t try to hide my irritated sigh. “No idea.” I took off my glasses and set them on the nightstand. “I’ve got sixty-eight dollars in my bank account and a visually impaired cat, so I’m afraid it’s slim pickings. But you’re not going to get it, so I’m not too concerned.”
He was back to crunching something again. “Let’s just say that when I believe what will happen happens, you have to be at my beck and call for an entire week. If I need a ride somewhere, you have to squeal up to my house as soon as I ring. If I need someone to swing into Baker’s and buy me a Snickers bar and a box of triple-XL condoms, you are my smiley little rubber Snickers wench. Work for you?”
“First of all, you’re disgusting and you wish.” I laughed in spite of myself because when he wasn’t being negative, he was funny in his own way. “But fine, because it’s NEVER. GOING. TO. HAPPEN. Instead, you’ll be scooping Mr. Squishy’s litter box every day. You’ll be my smiley little litter box wench.”
“Three things,” Charlie said. “First, I’m not worried about losing. Second, that is such an idiotic name for a cat. And third…”
He paused, not finishing his statement until I finally asked, “What’s the third?”
“The third is that of course you have a cat. I have never met anyone in my life who’s more of a ‘future cat lady’ than you.”
I turned off my lamp and closed my eyes. “I’m sure you mean that to be insulting, but I accept it as a compliment because cats are awesome; thank you, Charlie. And I’m going to sleep now. G’night.”
“Cats are the worst, actually.” He scoffed and said, “And g’night to you too, Glasses.”
As tired as I was, it took me forever to fall asleep after we hung up. There was some morsel of truth in Charlie’s notions about love.
Logically, I knew better.
But his example about chemistry had been true with my parents. No one cheated, but exposure to chemistry outside of their relationship had shown them that they no longer had it.
And it’d been true with Zack, though beer had played as big a part as chemistry.
I knew Charlie was wrong, but his words had given voice to that tiny part of me that questioned everything.
And that voice didn’t need any encouragement.
CHAPTER ELEVEN Bailey
I walked into the kitchen the next morning, starving and half-asleep and totally regretting my decision to ignore the alarm the first three times it went off. I had to be at Planet Funnn in thirty minutes for day two of training, so I was going to have to wolf down my bagel, throw my hair into a ponytail, and put on makeup when I got there.
“Good morning, my sole offspring,” my mom said, not looking up from the newspaper that was on the table. The room smelled like the Folgers coffee that she guzzled by the pot, and I wondered if we had enough almond milk for me to make it into a decent cold brew.
“Good morning, matriarch,” I muttered, opening the pantry and grabbing the package of everything bagels. I pulled one out and put it into the toaster, and I was reaching for a plate when IT happened.
Scott walked into the kitchen wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a faded white T-shirt that I could see a forest of chest hair through. “Well, good morning!”
“Oh my God.” I yanked down my sleep shirt (even though it went to my knees) and crossed my arms over my braless chest. “Um, I didn’t know—”
“It’s, uh—it’s okay.” He held up a hand and gave me the world’s most awkward smile, looking mortified. “I have a daughter your age so…”
He shrugged and looked like he wished the room would swallow him.
“You’re fine,” he mumbled. “I have to go shower anyway.”
And then he turned and walked right back out of the kitchen.
I think I stared at the spot where he’d appeared (and quickly disappeared) with my mouth hanging wide open, but I’m not sure. Time stopped and sounds got furry as the ramifications of everything slapped over me. He’d stayed the night. He had stayed the night… with my mom… in our apartment. Like he lived there. Like he belonged there.
What did it mean?
Surely this wasn’t just going to be a onetime thing, right? My heart raced as I wished so badly that it was, even though I knew better. Was he slowly moving in now—was that it? And shouldn’t my mother be worried about what this said to me about sex or something? Shouldn’t someone be protecting me from that kind of bullshit?
And side note: What did his having a daughter my age have to do with the fact that I wasn’t wearing pants—or a bra—in front of him in our kitchen? Did he really think the fact that he had offspring in my general age vicinity mattered? Since I wasn’t related to this jackass of a man in any way, shape, or form, I was going to have to disagree with him and say that it wasn’t okay for me—at seventeen—to be nipping out and bare-legged in front of his fortysomething ass.