Betting on You(30)

My phone buzzed just as I was flipping for something to watch on Netflix.

Charlie: Did they say anything about me?

I texted: Scott thinks you’re a little smart-ass and is very glad I only like you as a friend.

Charlie: Coworker

I groaned in the darkness and responded: Oh yes, that’s right. How dare I presume, right?

Charlie: I’ll forgive the presumption.

Me: Oh, thank you.

Charlie: So let me ask you a question, Glasses. Obviously we’re both single right now—are you looking? Are you into anyone?

I didn’t know what to make of his question. It made sense that he’d wonder—I’d wondered the same thing about him—but I felt lame when I responded with:

I guess I’m open to looking, but I’m not into anyone right now. HBU?

Charlie: Same.

I remembered how happy he’d looked at the movie theater when I’d seen him the year before, and I texted: Are you still hung up on Movie Promposal Girl?

Charlie: Yes and no.

I couldn’t believe he’d actually answered the question in some kind of serious way. I typed: What does that mean?

Charlie: It means I’m not hung up on Bec—she looks happy with her douchebag and I’ve decided her eyelashes are too long, anyway. I mean, what kind of freak wakes up every morning looking like Clarice the Reindeer?

Me: Who?

Charlie: The reindeer who thinks Rudolph is cute. Her name is Clarice. Remember? Cuuuuuute??

I snorted. I would’ve assumed you were born far too jaded to enjoy holiday Claymation specials.

Charlie: Confession—I’m a sap for the holidays. I don’t know what it is, but I really get off on Christmas.

That made me laugh. Perhaps you should rephrase.

Charlie: As if anyone would misunderstand and think I spank to the holidays—come on, Glasses. BUT FINE. I thoroughly enjoy the season of giving.

I scrolled to comfort TV—Schitt’s Creek—and selected the turkey-hunting episode. Then I texted: So if you’re over her, what’s with the “yes and no”?

Charlie: I’m over HER, but I’m not over the shitty feelings about getting dumped. I don’t want Becca back, but I also don’t really want to get out there and do it all again.

I totally related to that, except I did want Zack back.

Our circumstances were completely different, though, because Zack and I should never have broken up. We had a stupid little inconsequential fight, and if he hadn’t gone to a party where there was a LOT of beer, we would’ve gotten back together the next morning and everything would’ve been fine.

But instead, he’d gotten so hammered that he made out with Allie Clark.

He came over the next day, begging me to forgive him because it was the keg’s fault, but I gave him the bird and kicked him out.

But it should’ve been temporary.

I’d known at the time that I was going to forgive him eventually. I just couldn’t right then. I was so angry. And disappointed, now that I look back on it.

But instead of coming back to beg my forgiveness one more time, Zack started seeing Courtney Sullivan. I knew it was a rebound thing and that he still loved me, and as soon as they broke up, we would get back together.

Only now he was seeing Kelsie.

I texted: I didn’t know you then—what happened?

Charlie: She decided that there was someone else that she felt a stronger connection with.

Me: UGH.

I couldn’t imagine getting dumped for someone else; it was bad enough just seeing Zack with someone else after our breakup.

Charlie: Right? Like it wasn’t about me, but just how hard she vibrated around someone or something. Bullshit answer.

I agreed, although a tiny part of me wondered if she’d been letting him down easy by saying that and the truth was actually that she’d hit her limit of Mr. Nothing’s dark sarcasm. Still, I was supportive and texted: Total bullshit answer.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN Bailey




The next few weeks fell into a pattern that pretty much just rotated between school, work, and Charlie. Charlie and I seemed to get scheduled every Tuesday and Thursday night, whereas Nekesa and Theo were the Monday/Wednesday team. The four of us worked together on weekends, which meant that Charlie pretty much texted me throughout the entire weekend shift about the Nekesa/Theo vibe.

Charlie: That is the TWELFTH time she’s touched his arm since we started.

Me: You’re a psycho.

Charlie: You need to count HIS touches, Glasses.

Me: Why would I do that?

Charlie: Data. It’s all about the data.

Me: What does that mean?

Charlie: If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. Just start counting.

And I did. Charlie always had me doing stupid things that were pointless and silly, things I never would’ve done and should’ve said no to, but it was easier to just play along with Charlie’s games.

“Salted Nut Roll,” Charlie said, staring at the shirtless man in swim trunks who was approaching the vending machine.

“Nope.” I looked at the dude’s chest hair and knew I was going to win this time. “He’s all about the Funyuns.”

I leaned on the counter of the registration desk, beside Charlie, straining to see.

Charlie had come up with a game—Vending Machine Bet—where we wagered on what the guests were going to purchase when we saw them approaching the machine.