Betting on You(26)

But just as I thought that, I remembered the brownie batter party that didn’t happen last night. Instead of my mom and me, hanging out together the way we always had since she’d split with my dad, Scott’s ass had been on our couch and he’d put my mother to bed before I’d even gotten home.

And it wasn’t about the brownies—I wasn’t that selfish.

It was about what had survived the divorce. Our family had imploded, but my mom and I having brownie parties still felt like some descendant of that, some tiny fragment that had survived the crash. Connecting me to the family we used to be.

I was fine with her dating—I didn’t want her to be alone forever—but Scott was an imminent threat to all the brownie parties I held on to for dear life.

“Will you help me? Like, for real, not being a smart-ass?”

Charlie looked surprised for a second, and then he shrugged like he didn’t care. “Sure. I was going to hit Zio’s on my way home, so if you want to tag along, we can map out your annoy-him-until-he-leaves strategy.”

“My mom and Scott are ordering pizza, so I should probably—”

“Cancel with them and go with me.” He looked down at me with raised eyebrows. “Duh.”

“How would this help?” I asked, noticing that he really did have a nice face in spite of his Mr. Nothing disposition. Man, would I love to put mascara on lashes that long. It just wasn’t fair that he was born that way.

“Chaos. Tension,” he replied, reaching out a hand and patting down the curl on the right side of my part that had been wildly uncooperative that day. “Throwing a wrench into their we-happy-three plans.”

“Okay.” I smacked his hand before pulling out my phone to text my mom. I said to him as I opened my contacts, “Just let me drop off Nekesa first.”

“Theo,” Charlie said, his eyes on me, “do you think you can give Nekesa a ride home so Bay and I can go strategize her destroy-the-boy plan?”

“Of course,” Theo said, looking like he didn’t mind a bit.

Charlie murmured “Of course” at a volume that only I could hear.

“Thanks,” Nekesa said, also looking like she had no regrets about being rerouted to Hot Theo.

Shit, maybe Charlie was right about them.



* * *



I followed Charlie downtown and parked at a meter spot, and by the time I got inside the restaurant, he already had menus and a table.

“So.” I sat down, pulled off my cross-body bag, and said, “Do you think this can actually work?”

“Doing anything is better than doing nothing, right?” he asked, crumpling his straw wrapper into a perfect tiny ball before flicking it in my direction.

“I suppose,” I said, still unsure if that was actually true. Unsure what I was even doing here with him.

A waiter came over and took our orders, and then we got right to it. Charlie was full of ideas on how I could make our apartment an “inhospitable environment” for my mother’s boyfriend, and we wolfed down pizza while I rejected each and every ridiculous idea.

“I can’t do that,” I said, full-on cackling when he suggested I start hiding Scott’s stuff. Charlie had a way of being cynically dark and absurdly funny, all at the same time, and apparently that was my sense of humor’s sweet spot. Most of the time I wasn’t sure if he was serious or kidding, but the sarcasm in his deep voice made it funny, regardless. I shook my head and pulled a piece of pepperoni off my slice. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, picking up the red Coca-Cola cup that was half-full of Mountain Dew. “If he loses his glasses every time he comes over, he might stop coming over, right?”

“Seems oversimplified,” I said, wishing it wasn’t.

“What is happening on your plate right now?” Charlie asked, setting down his soda and gesturing with both hands. His eyes were narrowed, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but his lips were turned up just a little when he said, “That is pizza desecration. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“No, it’s not.” I looked down at the pile of toppings and said, “I eat it all. I just like to eat the cheese and toppings first, then the crust.”

“Why?” He reminded me of Airport Charlie as he gave his head a disgusted shake and added, “Seriously.”

I sighed. “Do you really want to know, or do you just want to mock me?”

He reached out a big hand and grabbed one of my black olives. “Both.”

“Okay.” I smacked his hand and said, “If you eat it all together, you don’t really taste the crust because of the topping flavors. This way, you get to enjoy the flavors of beef and pepperoni and olives and onions, and then you get to enjoy the texture and yeasty flavor of the crust.”

His mouth slid into a small grin that almost looked appreciative. His dark eyes were kind of twinkly when he said, “It looks disgusting, but what you said kind of makes sense.”

I lifted my chin, feeling somehow vindicated. “I know. Right? Try it with your pizza.”

“Try—”

“But drink water first.” I slid his water closer to him and said, “Palate cleanser.”

His eyes were a little squinty—I sensed a laugh in there—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he did exactly what I said. He took a big drink from his water, slammed down the cup, then gave me ridiculous eye contact—like we were in a staring contest—as he first took a bite of his topping, then his crust.