Betting on You(77)

He did look at me then, but his expression was unreadable. “I guess I didn’t either.”

God, how was it possible that I missed my fake boyfriend already?

“So let’s set it up, then,” I said, remembering that forcing this was the best way to put our friendship back on solid ground, without any weird emotional tie-ups.

“Let’s,” he said. “We should do something stupid, like bowling.”

“Bowling’s not stupid,” I muttered. “I was in a Saturday-morning bowling league in elementary school, and it was the funnest.”

“A nerd says what?”

“Whatever,” I said, looking out the window. “I was on the Saturday Strikers, and we ruled.”

“I can’t hear through all the static of your lameness. Are we bowling or what?”

I shook my head and said, “We’re bowling.”

He glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “Now, you know you can’t kiss me when we’re on dates, right?”

I coughed out a laugh. “I am aware, yes.”

“I’m sure it’ll be tempting, now that you’ve tasted the Charlie Special, but—”

“Ewwwww—the Charlie Special sounds like a tongue sandwich on toasted bread,” I interrupted.

“Tasty,” he muttered.

“And you are the one who needs the kissing reminder, since you couldn’t keep your mouth off me over the weekend,” I teased, reaching into my bag for the SweeTarts.

“I really couldn’t,” he agreed, which made me look up from my bag in shock. His eyes were on the road, crinkled at the corners, when he grinned and admitted, “I fucking loved the kissing portion of our game.”

“Same,” I said, surprised by the honest admission from both of us.

He gave a nod. “Too bad you passed on the intensive training.”

“I think we had ample practice.”

He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Yeah, anything more intense probably would’ve killed me.”

I liked his face when he said that. It was soft and funny, like he was being candid about his own weakness. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I turned around and looked over the seat at the cat carrier. “Awww… Puffball’s asleep.”

“He had a rough weekend,” Charlie said with a little smile. “He needs his rest.”

When he finally pulled in front of our building, my mom and Scott were there, unloading their car. It was good, because I didn’t know how to not be awkward with the goodbye after everything.

But when Scott grabbed my stuff, my mom grabbed the cat, and we waved goodbye to Charlie as he drove away, I was instantly homesick for him as I watched his car disappear.

I wasn’t ready for our trip to be over.

When we got into the apartment, I ditched them as quickly as possible. Puffball and I took our things, went into my room, and closed the door, happy to be alone with our thoughts. Mr. Squishy kept meowing at my door—he knew something was up—but I ignored the old cat because I knew my mom would shower him with attention. I flopped onto my bed and pulled out my phone while the kitten walked around on top of my pillows.

I had a lot to tell Nekesa.

But before I’d even finished my first message, Charlie was calling.

I rolled onto my back as I answered, “Are you even home yet?”

“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear voices in the background. “I’m home, but I didn’t know the boyfriend was bringing his kids over. So I need to talk to you and my cat before I lose my shit.”

“Freaking boyfriend,” I said through gritted teeth, hating that that was what Charlie returned home to. After all of our talks in Colorado, I felt like I knew him better than I had before. Now I knew this bothered him—a lot—instead of assuming he didn’t care because he was a sarcastic dick about it. “Want to come over?”

“I think I owe Scott a few hours without me,” Charlie said. “He could’ve been a huge asshole to me during the trip, and he actually wasn’t.”

“God, I hate when you say things like that,” I said, mostly because I was feeling the same way about Scott.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I heard a door close, and now it was quieter. He said, “Let me talk to my cat.”

I reached a hand across the bed, grabbed the fluffball, and set him on my chest. “Say hello, Puffer.”

The cat raised his little face to the phone as I held it out, then rubbed his chin against it.

“Sorry—I don’t think he wants to talk right now,” I said, scratching the little guy’s head as he walked in circles on my chest.

“Put the phone to his ear,” Charlie said.

“Okay,” I said, and held up the phone. Charlie started talking, and even though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I could tell he was using that voice. And—seriously—the kitten started meowing, looking agitated and excited and like all he wanted was for Charlie to appear.

I took the phone back, laughing as the kitten started ramming his face into the space between my ear and the phone. “Oh my God, this guy loves you so much, it’s disgusting.”

“Will you FaceTime me? I miss him.”

That made my mouth fall open and I gasped. Loudly. “Charlie Sampson, you are absolutely a gooey, soft cinnamon bun for this puffball.”