Sitting relaxed behind the wheel, Charlie grinned wildly, like he was having the best time messing with me. His eyes were warm and all over me—my face, my outfit, my legs, and back up again—and the appreciative gaze brought out the butterflies in my stomach.
Then he said, “Holy shit, you wore exactly what I told you to wear. You are such a good girl.”
I reached for the seat belt after I slammed my door, the butterflies calming as he looked away from me and into his rearview mirror. “Do you really want to cause me to go back inside and change?”
“I’ll shut up,” he said, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the spot. “But it looks good. You look really nice.”
“Did you just compliment me?” I asked, buckling up.
“Weird, right?”
“I don’t know how to deal with it, honestly.” And I also didn’t know how to deal with him looking like that. I’d known T-shirt Charlie, hoodie Charlie, and flight suit Charlie, but this Charlie…
Whoa. He was wearing a plaid button-down—was that Ralph Lauren?—a nice watch, jeans, and really good shoes.
But that wasn’t the whoa.
The whoa was the combination of the smell of his soap and the way his thick hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. The close proximity of Charlie trying put him on another level I wasn’t used to dealing with.
Like, Charlie Sampson was cute, but Party Charlie was hot.
He glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Well, don’t get weird on me. The outfit looks good, but the fact that you probably have everything in your purse lined up by shape takes away a lot of the attractiveness.”
“There it is.” I pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. “So what’s your ex’s name again?”
“Huh?” He glanced over again, then returned his gaze to the road. “Oh. Becca.”
“Becca.” I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my lipstick. “Are you guys civil to each other?”
He made a scoffing sound and switched lanes. “For God’s sake, I’m not some melodramatic puffball. Of course we’re civil.”
I looked at his face, which was all seriousness as he drove down Maple Street. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Really.”
“Yes.” He shook his head like I was a moron. “Knock off your bullshit. I treat her exactly the same as I treat you.”
“Oh, so you’re kind of a sarcastic prick, but funny enough to make it acceptable.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Got it.” I put on lipstick, flipped the visor back up, and turned toward Charlie. “And what are your friends like? Loud? Quiet? Funny? Snobby?”
“My friends are pretty chill. And funny.”
I don’t know why, but I nervously asked him, “Do you think they’ll like me?”
He gave me a quick glance and looked like he wanted to laugh; it was in the squint of his eyes when he said, “You might’ve changed on the outside, but you’re kind of still the brace face from the airport, aren’t you?”
“No, I most definitely am not,” I said defensively, irritated that he was mocking my moment of insecurity. “But you, Charlie—you are absolutely still the know-it-all jackass that I met in Fairbanks.”
“Whoa,” he said, and now he did cough out a little laugh as he slowed for a stoplight. “Calm down. I liked the brace face.”
“And now you’re lying,” I said, turning in my seat to face him better. “Because we’ve already established that we hated each other.”
His eyes moved from my face to my hair and back to my face again before he said, “How could I forget?”
“I mean,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ears and thinking back to that day, “I was just a nice girl, trying to safely maneuver my first solo flight, and there you were, being a jerk and macking on a girl in the security line like a mini–Hugh Hefner.”
“First of all, ‘macking’？” he said, hitting the gas after the light turned green. “Do better, Glasses.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Second of all, Hugh Hefner was an asshole. Young Charlie, on the other hand, had enough game for Grace Bassett to make the first move with that airport kiss.”
“Really?” I didn’t hide the sarcasm in my voice. “I don’t believe it.”
“Trust me, she begged for that kiss.”
“That’s what you want me to think.”
“Touché.”
When Charlie pulled to a stop in front of a nice-looking cookie-cutter split-entry house at the top of a cul-de-sac, I got a few butterflies. There were three cars in the driveway and a few on the street, so though it didn’t appear to be a huge party, it was bigger than my usual four-friend get-togethers.
It was like Charlie knew I was nervous, though, because as he pulled a little roll of TUMS out of his pocket and popped two into his mouth, he said reassuringly, “I’ll make it fun—I promise.”
We got out of the car and walked toward the porch, and I wondered what he’d be like at the party. Who was Charlie Sampson with his friends?
“It’ll be quick and painless. Don’t worry.” We went up the two porch steps, and Charlie pushed open the front door like he’d been there a hundred times. There was loud music playing—“Nobody Knows” by the Driver Era （I loved the X album）—with people floating around everywhere.
I followed him inside, taking a deep breath and reminding myself that this didn’t matter. I didn’t know anyone at that party, so they could all hate me and it wouldn’t even count.
We walked by two guys on a couch, listening to a pretty blonde tell them something that appeared to be fascinating. A group of people on my right huddled around the dining room table, which was covered in cards and beer cans, as others watched whatever game they were playing with deep interest. We wove through more people standing around laughing or caught in light conversation. Following Charlie, I quickly eyed the kitchen, my hungry stomach wondering if that’s where the snacks or chips or some kind of delicious dips resided, before figuring this wasn’t a party where casserole dishes filled with any sort of seven-layer jalape?o popper dip existed.
It was exactly what you’d expect from a party, yet it wasn’t out of control.
But it was early.
People glanced at us as we passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that all eyes were on us. I tucked my hair behind my ears, tugged at the hem of my sweater. Yes, I was starting to feel a bit insecure, which was probably why Charlie leaned closer and murmured into my ear, “Let’s go in the kitchen.”
It was in the kitchen—I was right; ZERO dips—where a tall blond guy said, “Fucking finally, Sampson. I was starting to think you were blowing us off.”
Charlie gestured toward me. “I had to pick up Bailey first.”
“Finally we meet Bailey.” The blond guy, who was leaning casually against the counter, flashed me a nice grin. “I’m Adam—I’m sure he’s told you all about me—and this is Evan and Eli.”