Betting on You(78)

“Yeah, I know.”

“I just never imagined you being so… sweet.”

“I’m sweet, like, all the time.”

“Never, actually, but okay.”

“Show me my cat.”

“Fine.”

I hit the button, and a second later he was popping up on my phone.

“Hang on,” he said, and I felt like gasping all over again when I saw him standing in his bedroom in just a pair of shorts and no shirt. I’d always thought he looked like he might be shredded under his clothes, but hooooooly crap, the boy obviously took working out very seriously.

He ducked out of the frame for a second, and then he was back, pulling a shirt over his head. “Where’s my boy?”

I scooped up the cat and held him directly in front of the phone.

“Hey, little buddy,” Charlie said, and my heart pinched as I watched him grin at the kitten. Seeing Charlie’s face look like that felt like a reward or something. He kept talking to Puffball—cooing, really—and then he said, “Okay—put Glasses on the phone.”

I laughed and set down the cat, so Charlie and I were looking at each other.

“If you ever tell anyone what a pathetic fuck I am for that cat, I will kill you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “Just Dana.”

“Oh, yeah.” I watched as he sat down on his bed and said, “Did you set that up yet?”

“Okay—we just got home. But you have to talk to Eli first. If you don’t make that happen, you don’t get Dana.”

He gave me a smart-ass smirk and said, “I’ll text him in a sec.”

“Do you think I’ll like him?” I asked.

“Didn’t you talk to him at the party?”

“Yeah, but you really know him. Do you think he’s my type? Do you think we’ll have things in common?”

He narrowed his eyes, like he was thinking about it, and then he said, “Yeah, I actually do.”

“Sweet.”

“What about your friend?” Charlie raised his eyebrows and said, “I mean yes, we’re both pretty and funny and smart, but do we have other common interests?”

I rolled back over and said, “She’s totally sarcastic, like you, and she’s a volleyball player.”

“How would volleyball apply to me exactly?”

“Obviously you both like doing sporty things.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked amused. “Obviously?”

I rolled my eyes as my cheeks burned. “You have the chest of someone who enjoys sweating, and you know it.”

“Baybay,” he teased, leaning his face closer to the camera, “were you checking me out?”

God, had he always been that sexy? It was FaceTime, for God’s sake, and my breath hitched like he was going to lean in and kiss me. I cleared my throat and said, “I’m telling Dana you’re a conceited asshole. Goodbye.”

He laughed and said, “I’ll text you after I talk to Eli.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Charlie




“Sorry about my parents,” Dana said as she buckled her seat belt.

“No worries,” I replied, starting the car and putting it in reverse. Her perfume smelled good, and I wondered what it was. “They seem great.”

They did seem great, even though they’d interviewed me for ten minutes, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Dana’s parents. Honestly, I was dreading this entire double-date evening, even though Dana seemed pretty cool.

Why? Oh, yeah—because I was a fucking idiot.

I’d known that men and women couldn’t be friends. It was something I considered to be a universal truth. But somehow, with Bailey, lines got crossed. One minute we were just coworkers who irritated each other, and the next she was putting her hand in a fucking urinal for me.

We fell into the trap and became “friends” for a hot minute, but somewhere along the way—of course, you dumbass—I became obsessed with the way she blinked fast when she was surprised, the breathy sound of her laugh when she was sleepy, and the way she somehow knew when something was going to upset me, even before I did.

Somewhere between Omaha and Colorado I’d fallen truly, madly, fucking ridiculously hard for Bailey Mitchell. She was all I could think about, all the time, and sometimes it felt like I’d do anything—anything—just to make sure she was happy.

So yeah—it was kind of like a fucking slap when she mentioned setting me up with Dana, but that slap had been necessary. It was like the splash of cold water that reminded me I had no interest in anything more with her because more never lasted.

Everyone I’d ever known—every-fucking-one—had told me I was wrong. Every single person tried to convince me that true love and happily ever afters were a possibility.

But it was simply not true.

Yes, there was the obvious baggage in my life to which a therapist could attribute my beliefs: my parents fell out of love, every person I’d ever dated had fallen out of love, my grandparents had all split up—even my aunts and uncles had RIP’d their marriages.

Anyone related to me wasn’t a part of the HEA crowd.

You could argue with me all day about the merits of true love, but in my opinion, it wasn’t worth the risk.