Betting on You(66)
I scooped a few eggs out of the skillet and onto my plate. “I’m sorry—what?”
“Think about it,” he said, and when I glanced up at him, he was still grinning that stupid grin. “The only time people ever kiss is when it matters, right? There’s never any practice, any training to get better; it’s a failed system. But you and I—we can become fucking Olympic-level kissers, Bay, because we have the opportunity to train.”
I set down the big spoon and picked up the plate, unsure if I was understanding his meaning. Did he want to practice kissing? Together?? I forced my voice to sound super casual and said, “You have got to be kidding.”
“Listen.” He straightened and grabbed my plate in his two big hands, his dark eyes bright on mine. “Wouldn’t it be cool to try new things and get honest feedback? You can bite down on my bottom lip and lick the corner of my mouth—potential new sexpot move—and I can tell you, Nah that feels weird or Holy shit you just changed the game.”
I looked at him and blinked. Was there a carbon monoxide leak in the condo? Because he was saying ridiculous things, and those ridiculous things were making me flushed and light-headed. Lick the corner of my mouth. I cleared my throat and attempted to sound matter-of-fact when I said, “Absolutely not.”
“You’re not listening. I can attempt to tie your tongue into a knot with my tongue, and you can tell me if it feels like I’m trying to eat your mouth or if it makes you tingly.” Charlie was getting amped up about the idea, his eyes alive like when he was coming up with new games at work. “Please tell me you’ll consider this attempt at bettering ourselves, Baybay.”
Tie your tongue into a knot with my tongue. I looked at his mouth.
Cleared my throat.
“Never call me that again,” I said, doing my best to seem calm and cool when I felt like I was slipping underwater, getting pulled down by this wickedly strong chemistry I was suddenly having with him.
I let my eyes run all over his face—dark eyes, long lashes, strong nose, stubborn chin—but I couldn’t seem to find Mr. Nothing. All I saw, when he gave me that playful half smile, was the Charlie who knew how to make marinara and talk football with my mom.
And kiss like he knew very, VERY dark secrets.
Fuck.
Get a grip, Bailey.
I pressed my lips together and forced myself to ignore the chemistry and focus on his words. Bettering ourselves. I could tell he thought it was a great idea, but he was out of his mind. I was okay with fake dating, but I was not going to let him use me to make him a better kisser for other girls.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Actually, what was wrong with me for caring?
“My apologies,” he said, looking anything but apologetic.
“And I will not be using you for ‘kissing practice.’?”
His mouth dropped open like he hadn’t even considered the idea that I’d refuse. “Why not?”
“Why not?” I asked incredulously. “Because the whole point of kissing is sharing it with the person you care about. If I’m concerned about improving my game, I’ll practice with someone I’m into when the time is right, thank you.”
Zack, perhaps.
Yes, Zack.
Of course Zack.
“Oh, Glasses,” he said, looking disappointed in my answer. “You’re wasting an incredible opportunity with that wide-eyed idealism of yours.”
“Says you,” I replied, unsure why I felt disappointed.
“You’re going to regret it, but whatever.” Charlie straightened, seeming entirely unaffected by everything, and asked, “Do you want some bacon?”
Wow—he was just so quick to move on, wasn’t he? I rubbed my lips together—coffee and toothpaste—and said, “Yes, please.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Charlie
Bailey and I spent the day hiking while her mom and Scott went skiing. Scott seemed irritated that we were going out on our own instead of hanging with them, but I held Bailey’s hand and supported her I-have-no-interest-in-learning-to-ski agenda.
“Look at this,” she said, leaning down over a stream. She cupped her hands together, dipped them into the creek, then lifted the cold water to her mouth. “Drinking in the wild like a true mountain man.”
“You do realize that a mountain lion could’ve totally crapped in the snow, which melted and sent that fecal water downstream and into your hands?” I asked, in awe of her ability to not think about how disgusting that was.
She shrugged, grinning up at me. “It’s cold and delicious. I’m thirsty, so I’m good with poop water.”
I shook my head, equal parts horrified and impressed. Because as uptight as Bailey was about some things, she was so fucking chill about others.
I was constantly surprised by her willingness to roll with the punches.
Which was probably where the kissing idea came from. It was immature as hell, because nothing said middle school quite like “Let’s practice kissing,” but that kitchen kiss was fucking addictive and I’d been desperate for my next fix.
Kissing Bailey was supposed to be like everything else was with her. Entertaining, a contest of wills, a back-and-forth that was oddly satisfying; those are things I would say when describing our friendship.