Betting on You(91)

Had to run—just let yourself out.



What? I read it again, flipped the paper over, then wondered what that meant. Why would he leave without waking me up? And let yourself out didn’t exactly scream that he was buzzing over what’d happened with us the night before, or that he’d run to surprise me with chocolate doughnuts.

I sent him a text of my own.

I can’t believe you left me alone at your house, loser. ;)

I felt unsettled by his absence, but I was probably being paranoid.

I waited a few minutes, but when he didn’t respond, I put on my shoes and coat and I left. I had no interest in hanging out alone at Charlie’s mom’s apartment. It felt intrusive and uncomfortable, like I was just waiting to get caught where I didn’t belong.

But I realized when I exited the building—the building whose security door locked behind me—that I didn’t have a car. Holy crap—Charlie picked me up; how had I forgotten? I didn’t want to bug him, since I didn’t know where he’d gone, so I texted Nekesa instead.

Is there any way you can come pick me up? I know you’re grounded but if you tell your parents my car broke down…?

Nekesa: Your car broke down?

Me: No but it’s complicated.

Nekesa: Where are you?

Me: Charlie’s apartment.

Nekesa: Where is Charlie?

Me: No idea.

Nekesa: Oh God—I’m on my way. Drop me the address.

While I waited for Nekesa, my mind replayed the night over and over again. And I grew more and more conflicted. Because hadn’t we admitted our feelings? Hadn’t we moved toward something new?

So what did it mean that my texting buddy had yet to respond?

Quit being paranoid, I told myself.

After Nekesa picked me up, she drove to Starbucks so she could “breathe for an ungrounded five minutes” while I told her what was going on.

And tell her I did; I told her everything.

I told her about the proposal, about Charlie picking me up, about sweet blanket forts, and about making out.

After she choked on her coffee, she scratched her eyebrow and said, “But the only actual words you said were that you had more-than-coworkerly feelings, right?”

Oh God. Those really were the only words we’d said.

More than coworkerly. That was hardly a love confession.

Had I been so emotional that I’d interpreted something that was nothing to be something? My heart sank—shit, shit, shit—as I considered what she was saying.

But he’d been so sweet, and I’d felt so close to him; surely it meant more than just “non-coworkerly.” The kiss—hell, the kisses—definitely didn’t feel coworkerly.

Right?

I swallowed and said, “Right.”

She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth and said, “Is it possible he was literally talking about his funny ‘we’re only coworkers, not friends’ shtick?”

“No,” I said, doubting myself as I said it. “I mean… yes, it’s possible, but you weren’t there. The chemistry—”

“You were alone in the apartment, in the dark, lying together on a bed.” Nekesa raised her eyebrows and said, “He’s a guy, Bay. Sometimes they say things—”

“No.” No. I shook my head and said, “It wasn’t like that. He was the one who stopped things.”

“I’m just saying that you two might’ve seen the night differently, that’s all.”

I kept hearing her words on the way home—could she be right? Had we? Had it been something less meaningful to him than it’d been to me?

And why in the hell isn’t he texting me back?

As soon as she pulled up in front of my building, all thoughts of Charlie disappeared because it was time to go face reality.

God, I so didn’t want to do this.

I knew my mom well enough to know she was going to hug me and tell me that everything was going to be fine.

Because for her, it would be.

She was going to have a wonderful new husband.

Shit—what if Scott was inside? What if they wanted to sit down together and discuss it with me?

My stomach hurt.

And what if they’d already decided how our lives would look now?

“Thanks for getting me,” I said, unbuckling and opening my door. “God, you don’t know how badly I don’t want to go inside.”

“I get that,” she said, giving me an empathetic smile. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I went into the building, climbed the stairs as slowly as humanly possible, and took a deep breath before going into the apartment. I closed the door quietly behind me and said, “Mom?”

I dropped my bag in the entryway and slid off my shoes.

“Bay?” My mom’s voice sounded like she was in her room.

“Yeah.”

She came out of her bedroom—alone, thank God—and gave me a questioning look. I could read in her eyes that she didn’t know if I was mad or sad or normal. She said, “Hey.”

“I’m so sorry I left,” I said, overwhelmed with guilt as I looked at her face. That was the only proposal she was going to get from Scott, and I felt bad that I’d taken something from that. “I hope it didn’t ruin your night.”