Betting on You(58)
I watched her face as she tried working through it, and I hated the twisting guilt I felt at the sight of her jaw clenched.
“I mean, he’s here now—can’t we find a way to make it work?”
She gave her head another angry shake, like she couldn’t believe this was happening. “File that under things Bailey and Charlie were counting on.”
Not wrong, I thought.
“Okay.” She dropped her arms to her sides and said, “Here’s the plan. You’re going to get out of here, and I will tell Scott when he gets back.”
“So… do you want us to just wait in the car, then?” I asked.
“Bailey, I don’t care where you wait,” she said, mom-glaring me so hard that I felt her stare in my guilty soul. Her teeth were clenched as she said, “Do you know how mad I am at you right now?”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I said lamely, wishing there was a way for her not to get hurt by this.
“That means nothing today.” Her eyes roamed all over the condo, like she was looking for an answer, and then she said, “Just go drive around or something.”
“We can do that,” I said, nodding, anxious to please her.
“And then I’ll text you when you’re good to come back,” she said. “Not that I’m looking forward to that enjoyable reunion.”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“Spare me,” she said, still looking mad but intent on her plan. “Now get out of here.”
I wanted to cry—seriously—because I hated her being mad at me.
Especially when I knew I deserved it. I left, feeling like a trash human, and Charlie was standing behind his car with the trunk open when I crossed the street.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“My mom is so pissed,” I told him, my stomach heavy with dread and guilt as I kept seeing her angry face.
Ugh—her disappointed face.
I walked over to where he stood, and after he closed the trunk, his big, warm hand found mine.
My eyes shot up, jolted by the feel of his fingers linking around mine, and he stepped a little closer. “I was thinking. It’s probably time we start this whole charade, right?”
Everything else faded away as I felt the skin of his palm press against me. My breath was shaky as I gulped down cold mountain air and thought, Ohmygod.
A car pulled into the lot, but I barely noticed because I was flustered by the intimacy of Charlie’s hand. The slide of his big fingers around mine, the heat of his skin; it felt far more risqué than just holding hands.
This was Charlie, and this was pretend, but the racing of my heart and the butterflies in my stomach meant a tiny part of my body had apparently missed the message.
“This is a little jarring, don’t you think?” I asked, looking up into his brown eyes under the golden glow of the streetlight. “It feels like I should be smacking your hand and telling you to knock it off.”
“Totally.” He laughed, and I liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned down at me, like we were the only two people in the world sharing this absurd joke. “I kind of thought you might junk-punch me out of habit.”
“I’ve never junk-punched you,” I said around a smile.
“I’ve never tried holding your hand before, though, so…”
“Fair,” I agreed, and it occurred to me at that moment that I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this… electricity. My head knew we were going to be pretending all weekend, but I hadn’t anticipated the sparks that would go off when he smiled at me like that.
This would take some getting used to.
“So what exactly did your mom say?” he asked.
Move on, Bay—this is Charlie.
“She was pretty heated.” I told him what she said, but instead of driving around, we decided to walk to the cute coffee shop we’d seen when we pulled into town. We grabbed our jackets out of the back seat and strolled, and even though it was a little chilly, it was one of those perfect autumn nights where as long as you were moving, it was comfortable.
“I’m starving,” Charlie said as we sat down at a table. “Maybe we should get food before we head back.”
“No. My mom said after they booked the trip that the kitchen would be fully stocked and we can make whatever we want.” I took off the lid to let my mocha cool and said, “I don’t need to do something else to piss her off, so let’s just eat their food when we’re allowed to return.”
He wrapped his big hands around his cup and muttered, “Okay.”
“You’re not stressed about Scott, are you?” I asked. “I’m sure it’ll be fine once the shock wears off.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, unzipping his coat. “I just hope he’s not the level of asshole who ruins your mom’s vacation by being a pouty dick.”
“See, that’s what really stresses me out about our plan.” I slid the cup sleeve down as I tried coming to terms with the fact that there was really no way for us to disturb Scott without it affecting my mother’s trip too. “I don’t want my mom to be unhappy, and if my plans work, she’ll be unhappy in the short-term.”
“But,” he said, lifting his cup off the table and giving me a serious look, “if she’s happy, you’re not. Look out for number one, Glasses.”