“And let you threaten the sanctity of the bond between me and my vehicle?” he asked. “I don’t think so.”
I chuckled quietly, watching on the TV as Tom Hanks navigated New York in the fall, and asked, “What are you doing right now?”
“Watching Lawrence Welk and touching myself.”
“First of all, ewwwwww,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “Second of all, Lawrence Welk?”
“Stroking my beard, you pervert—get your mind out of the gutter.” He sounded like he was smiling when he said, “And I lost the remote, if you must know, and my TV always goes back to public television when I turn it on.”
“So you’re seriously lying there, watching an ancient show where a bunch of people stand around singing, because you’re too lazy to look for the controller?”
“Pretty much.”
“So when you say ‘stroking your beard,’ you actually mean that you’re touching your pathetic little chin hairs, right?”
“Now, come on, Bay, no need to get nasty,” he said, and I liked the way his voice sounded when I could tell he was smiling. “Those hairs are concrete evidence of an impending beard.”
“Doubtful,” I teased.
“Evidence of my manliness,” he replied.
“Facial hair is not evidence of manliness,” I corrected, “not that what you have on your chin even qualifies as such.”
“I cannot believe you’re so hateful about my beard,” he said, feigning outrage but failing because I heard the laugh that slipped out.
“I cannot believe you’re doubling down on calling that a beard.”
He asked, “Do you want me to shave it before tomorrow?”
That surprised me. “It’s your face, and you can do whatever you want.”
“But your vote is…？” he asked, and I wondered if he actually cared what my opinion was.
“Shave it,” I said, picturing his face. “It’s not that the hair is offensive, per se, but you have a nice face and the beard hides that.”
Silence and then… “Oh my God, you’re so in love with my face.”
“Shut up and stop making me queasy.” I leaned back against my headboard and said, “Objectively, you have a very nice face that other people probably enjoy.”
I heard him laugh again. “But not you.”
“God, no.” I actually thought it was funny that I was friends with someone so objectively attractive but so whatever to me. “Sometimes I squeeze my eyes shut when we’re together, just so I don’t have to see your eyes and cheeks and that atrocious nose.”
He laughed again. “Okay—confession.”
“Ugh—I hate those.”
“I know,” he said. “The worst.”
“Go ahead, though,” I pressed.
“Okay. So. When I saw you at the movies last year, before you opened your mouth and reminded me of what a pain in the ass you are, I thought you were hot.”
I coughed out a laugh. “Did you seriously just say that you thought I was hot until you remembered my personality? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Come on, Bay, you know what I mean.” His voice was a little crackly when he said, “I looked up, thought, Damn, she’s pretty, and then I was like, Oh, holy shit, it’s the whackjob from the plane but with normal hair.”
I did know what he meant. I’d felt the same way when I’d seen him. “Awwww—thank you, Charlie.”
“So…？”
Oh my God, he wanted me to return it. I admitted, “Okay. When we saw the promposal, I thought you looked kind of cute and kind of jacked. But only until you looked at me. Then I was like, Oh shit, oh shit, I need to run because I hate that guy.”
He chuckled, a deep, scratchy thing that made me want to make him laugh more often. “Oh, Glasses, you never hated me.”
I rolled onto my side and snuggled into my blanket. “Trust me, on that flight, I hated you with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.”
“For which you would’ve requested special sunscreen that was half-organic, half-regular.”
“Whatever.” I looked over at my suitcase and said, “So what are you doing when we get off the phone?”
“Laundry and packing,” he said. “Are you leaving your car at work while we’re gone?”
“No—Theo’s going to give Nekesa and me a ride in the morning.”
“Really,” he said, sounding smug.
“Shut it, they’re friends,” I defended, even as I knew they were getting too close.
“Sure they are,” he said. “I’m sure you saw the adorable winky faces she used when addressing Theo in the group chat.”
“I send winky faces to my mother,” I replied, even though the winky faces had totally been red flags to me. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it doesn’t.”
“Are you going to be this annoying on the drive to the mountains?” I asked.
“Probably?”
I let out a long sigh. “I’m hanging up. G’night, Charlie.”
He sighed, louder and longer than mine. “G’night, Bailey.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Charlie
I can’t believe I’m doing this, was all I could think—on repeat—the day Bailey and I were leaving for Breck.
The morning shift flew by with its usual boredom, but I couldn’t ignore the fucking annoying twirl of nerves rippling through me as I waited for her to change. Why had I agreed to this ridiculous plan?
Did it sound fun? Yes.
Did it sound like the kind of scenario that could go wrong in a thousand different ways?
Hell fucking yes.
And so the last thing I needed before jumping into a car with Bay for hours on end was Theo and his bullshit smile swaggering toward me.
“Holy shit, bro,” Theo said, grinning and shaking his head as I leaned against my car, which was parked under the canopy in front of the hotel. “This should be a slam dunk.”
“Huh?” I liked Theo, liked him as in I didn’t want a meteor to fall from the sky and crush him, but I didn’t particularly enjoy talking to the weasel. He was the stereotypical prep school kid who enjoyed stirring up trouble because he’d never had to face any consequences in his entire life.
He was wearing the required uniform that we all wore, but the dude accessorized with a pinkie ring, a huge watch, and shoes that had Saint Laurent scrawled across the side. If this were a movie, I’d say they’d been a little heavy-handed in costuming the prep school kid—no subtlety whatsoever.
Especially when he spoke like he’d never been unsure of himself a day in his life.
Wouldn’t that be fucking nice.
He came a little closer and lowered his voice. “The bet…？”
I was confused for a second and thought he knew about the bet Bailey and I had. But then…
SHIIIT.
“That was a joke,” I quickly snapped at him and his perfectly pomaded hair, as I suddenly remembered lunch on our first day at work, when Theo said something to me about Bailey being wound too tight for any guy to stand a chance with her. And then before I’d known what an actual sleaze he kind of was, I joked that I could do it.