Betting on You(52)

Let the games begin.

I reached into my pocket for the TUMS and popped a few into my mouth. I saw Bailey’s eyebrow lift, which made my mother’s anxious voice—Find your calm, Charlie—swim in my head.

“You do realize that if Mr. Cleveland sees you parked here, he’ll lose his shit,” she said, opening up the passenger-side door and climbing into my car.

“I’m not worried about Cleveland. I dare him to censure us.”

“Wow.” She reached for the seat belt, her ponytail brushing her shoulders. “Are you a badass?”

“Obviously. You haven’t realized that by now?”

“Somehow I missed it,” she mused. And I relaxed a little.

“I don’t see how.” Good. This felt very normal for us.

“Are we getting snacks before we get on the interstate?”

“Duh.” I put the car in drive and floored it out of the parking lot. “Are we getting snacks—as if that’s even a question. What kind of a moron do you think I am?”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Bailey




“Okay—I’m exiting here,” Charlie said.

“Whatever.” I shrugged. “Get gas wherever you want; see if I care.”

“I will,” Charlie said, his mouth twitching into an almost smile. “Just wanted to warn you, in case you need to stretch or something.”

“No, I’m good, but thanks.” I sat straight up, moved my purse, then slid my feet back into my shoes. “Maybe you should stretch.”

“As if, Glasses. Come on.”

We’d been driving for six-ish hours, and we’d created a ridiculous game that was going to get me killed. Every time we stopped, we raced to the bathrooms. Literally. Whoever could sprint to the bathroom, use the facilities, wash their hands, and be the first to get back and touch the car was the big winner.

That person didn’t have to pay for gas or snacks, and they also got to drive and control the radio.

Unfortunately for me, he’d won at each stop.

And last time my foot had gotten stuck in the dangling seat belt I’d yanked off the minute we’d stopped, leaving me with a hole in my leggings and a bloody knee as I’d chased Charlie into the gas station.

It was a little unfair because he had no qualms about yelling “Look out, look out” and basically running over people, whereas I couldn’t bring myself to keep up the sprint when faced with oncoming foot traffic.

This time was going to be it, though. This time I would win.

“Okay—three gas stations up ahead. Which one do you want?”

“Don’t,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t give me the pity choice. Just because I have yet to win doesn’t mean you need to feel sorry for me.”

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, coughing out a laugh as his eyes stayed on the road. “But I do feel sorry for you. That’s a nasty strawberry on your knee.”

“That you poured hand sanitizer on!”

“To keep away infection,” he said, smiling, and I let it go. He’d been kind of sweet after the fall. I could tell he felt really bad. It was a little bit adorable.

“Eddy’s Hot Stop,” I said. “Go, asshole.”

“Atta girl,” he said around a laugh as he hit the blinker.

I don’t know why, but there was something about the way he said “Atta girl” that made me feel warm everywhere.

I stared out the window as he turned into the lot and headed for a gas pump. The rule was that no one could start until the car was put in park.

“You look tense,” he said, slowly cruising toward the covered fuel pumps. “You all right there, buddy?”

“Don’t distract me,” I said, glancing over at him.

Which was a mistake, because he was grinning as if he’d never seen anything more amusing than me, poised and ready to jump from the car. “Wanna know why you’ll never win this game?” he asked.

“Oh, but I will,” I replied, biting the inside of my cheek so I didn’t smile back at him.

“It’s because you lack the killer instinct.”

“I do not,” I said, leaning forward as he started slowing.

“Yes, you do,” he said, and even without looking I could hear the smart-ass grin in his voice. “If you run into the bathroom and there’s one open stall and two of you ladies, are you going to push the other chick out of the way?”

Of course I wouldn’t. But I said, “If it means beating you, then yes.”

“Liar,” he drawled, and the way he said it brought my eyes back to his face again.

There was a challenge in his dark eyes as they met mine, in the wicked smile that turned up his mouth. If it were anyone else, looking at me like that, I would call it wildly flirtatious.

But this was Charlie.

This was just the thrill of competition.

Right?

He jammed the shifter into park, and our doors flew open. We each leaped from the car and full-out sprinted toward the gas station doors, and for once I was a hair ahead of him.

“I’m right at your heels, Glasses,” he said, trying to distract me.

“Shut up.” I pushed the door with both hands, not yielding at all as I ran into the convenience store. The people in line at the counter looked at us as we flew past, but I kept my focus on the bathrooms.