Betting on You

“Glasses?”

I lay there on the pullout sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with liking him, right?”

“Who?”

“Scott.” Charlie’s voice was thick with sleepiness as he said, “It doesn’t change anything with your dad if you like him.”

“What? Charlie.” I sat up and looked in his direction, even though I couldn’t see more than his form in the dark. I didn’t want him to say that, because I was already struggling to keep my resolve in the whole get-rid-of-Scott plan. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be helping me sabotage his relationship?”

“Settle your ass down,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I am here to ruin his weekend—no worries. But, honestly, he’s a nice guy, and if you change your mind, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, I’m not.” I shook my head and tried to forget how much of a “nice guy” Scott was, because it didn’t matter—it wasn’t about that. My concern was about preserving the normalcy of my life, the comforting sameness of my family unit of two. “Changing my mind. I don’t care how nice he is. I don’t want him moving in and changing everything.”

“And that’s fine,” he said. “Now lie back down like a good girl.”

“Screw you,” I said as I did exactly what he said. I rolled onto my side. “So what’s the story with your parents, Charlie?”

I suddenly wanted to know more about my partner in crime. “I know the basics, that your mom’s boyfriend sucks and now they’re pregnant, but you never talk about it more than a generalization, whereas I complain all the time.”

“It’s boring shit,” he said, but his tone made me think he was trying hard to sound bored. “After the divorce, my parents absolutely focused on their futures, never looking back. My dad is remarried and expecting a baby with his wife, and my mom has been desperately trying to make that happen with Clark. And now they’re having a baby.”

I didn’t want to push, because the last thing I wanted to do was remind him of unhappiness, but suddenly I found myself thirsty for Charlie backstory. “Do you like your dad’s wife?”

“She seems nice enough, although I really only visit twice a year, so how the hell would I even know?”NôvelDrama.Org is the owner.

“Yeah, what’s with that?” I toed off my socks under the covers and said, “I don’t want to sound like a whiny little kid, but I don’t get our dads. Everyone in the world acts like it’s normal and fine, but to me, it seems absolutely bizarre that a parent would be cool living in an entirely different state than their kid.”

“But they have responsibilities, Bailey,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. “Careers and real estate and health club memberships that they can’t just cancel.”

“Such bullshit.” I snorted and pictured my dad’s golfing buddies. “I’m not asking to be the center of his world or anything, but shouldn’t it bother them, never seeing us? Shouldn’t it give them an uncomfortable little pain just under their breastbone, every time they picture our faces?”

“Glasses,” Charlie said, a sweet, sympathetic lilt in his deep voice. “Do you get a little pain under your breastbone every time you picture your dad’s face?”

We were rarely serious, so maybe it was tiredness that changed things for me. But instead of joking, I answered honestly.

“Every single time,” I said, feeling that melancholy creep in as I remembered the way my dad’s laugh sounded. He laughed like Santa, slow and deep and loud, and part of me wondered if he even knew what my laugh sounded like.

My throat was tight as I explained, “It’s almost like panic, like I’m afraid if I don’t see him soon, I’m going to forget what he looks like. Or he’s going to forget all about me.”

“Honey,” he said, and it made me blink back tears in the dark. Charlie calling me honey was sweet and reassuring and hit me so hard in that emotional soft spot that I had to pretend I hadn’t heard it.

“Stop, I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight.

That kind of sweetness could annihilate me.

“It’s okay to not be fine. When was the last time you talked to him?”

My heart felt like it was beating a little heavier, all of a sudden, as I focused on the big thing I’d been avoiding focusing on. “That’s the thing. Nekesa pointed out that I’m always the one who instigates, the one who calls and texts him first, so I decided to prove her wrong. I decided to wait until he reaches out to me.”

“Aw, shit,” he said. “How long has it been?”

I swallowed. “Four months and three days.”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt stupid. I knew Charlie didn’t judge me, but I judged me. I was a fucking senior, goddammit, and it was pathetic that I was homesick for my dad like a thumb-sucking kindergartner.

I closed my eyes, wanting to push back the emotions, but then Charlie was there. The pullout bed dipped, and then his arms were around me in such a Charlie way that I laughed out my shock. He threw a long leg over me and physically hauled my body closer so he could big spoon me while he murmured, “Like I can sleep with this bullshit going on over here.”

“Charlie.” I laughed. “Go sleep—I’m good.”

“Nope,” he said, tightening his grip. “You’re not good until Charlie spoons you for a solid ten, trust me.”

I started giggling. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your hair smells like balsam needles,” he said, inhaling deeply. “And despair.”

“You know what despair smells like?”

“Hell yes, I do.”

We got quiet then, but it was comfortable.

I lay there, sad and relaxed in his arms, and I didn’t want to speak or move or do anything to change the moment. My heart was racing because he was holding me, and that response seemed to be my new normal, but better than electricity was the way I felt insulated in Charlie’s concern, blanketed in his warm support.

I almost thought he was asleep until Charlie said, “I’m sorry your dad’s a selfish asshole.”

“He’s not, though,” I said, letting my eyes close, suddenly exhausted. “He’s just really busy.”

“You deserve better,” he said, sounding offended on my behalf.

“So do you,” I said, meaning it. I turned over, so I could see his face, and I almost wished I hadn’t, because his smart-ass mask was nowhere to be found. He looked sweet—vulnerable—and a rush of fondness went through me. “You’re not nearly the jerk you purport yourself to be.”

I saw his throat move around a swallow before he said in a gravelly voice, “Trust me, I am.”

“Charlie,” I said, smiling as I looked at his face. Those dark eyes, slashing brows, that prominent nose—I loved his face. I mean, I liked his face. My heart was in my throat as my gaze moved all over him, traveling everywhere. I didn’t dare bring my eyes back to his, yet I couldn’t keep them away.

He was looking at me, his gaze intense as if he’d been waiting for me to see him. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as those dark-as-night eyes dipped to my lips, and then his face was moving closer to mine.

I felt light-headed as I watched him because I knew—I just knew—that this was no longer a game of pretend.

And it didn’t make sense, but I didn’t want it to.

This was Charlie’s mouth coming down on mine. This was my lips, opening for him in the yawning darkness of the living room. My shaking hands moved up to his shoulders as I felt his big, warm hands on my hips, and my breathing went choppy as his went deep.

My mind went wild as he kissed me, playing a montage of Colorado Charlie memories that made me feel things for him. The way he’d grinned when we sprinted through multiple gas stations. The vulnerability he’d shown about whatever anxiety issues he was dealing with.

His calm Is that a goose question while Scott wielded footwear.

And the way he’d pulled me into his arms when I was sad—oh God.

He lifted his mouth for a second—only a breath away—and said, “Bay.”

But he didn’t just say it. His voice was deep and hot, and he spoke my name as if it were a curse or an exaltation, something that moved him, for better or worse.

He angled his head, his fingers clenching against me in a way that made me feel the heat of his hands through my flannel pants, and then he sent full-sex kisses into my mouth. I felt like my heart was going to explode as he fed me long, hot, deep tastes that made my toes curl under my blanket.

I gripped his shoulders harder, needing, which made him lift his head again. He didn’t say anything this time as he looked down at me, and it didn’t feel like he needed to. The eye contact was somehow sweet, questioning, and hot, all at once.

His mouth lowered, but before our lips touched, Charlie’s head jerked up. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” I hadn’t heard anything, but I was also wildly disoriented, as if just regaining consciousness after a year in a coma, so I probably wouldn’t have heard a freight train.

His eyes met mine, and I wished I could see what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

“Shit!” Charlie leaped off the pullout and fell to the floor, then scrambled over to the floor bed and covered himself with the blanket.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps on the stairs.

I lay there, my eyes squeezed shut as I pretended to be asleep, and Scott came down the stairs. I listened as he lumbered into the kitchen, and I heard him open a cupboard and turn on the sink. It felt like an eternity as he shuffled around in there.

Hurry the hell up!

Meanwhile, my brain was starting to chant on an endless loop, What the hell just happened what the hell just happened WHAT IN THE LITERAL HELL JUST HAPPENED ON THE PULLOUT?

Scott came out of the kitchen, and my heart actually started pounding harder when I heard him go up the stairs and close the door.

I held my breath and waited.

Was Charlie going to come back?

“Holy shit, that was close,” Charlie said from the floor on the other side of the room. “He would’ve flipped if he’d come down a minute earlier.”

“Yeah,” I said, unsure of what I should say. He sounded… normal, which was good, because I could easily picture him freaking out about this, and that was the last thing I wanted.

However, did I want him to be unaffected after what’d just happened?

I didn’t think so, because I was unbelievably affected.

“I’m turning on the TV,” he said, and I could hear the covers rustling. “If that’s okay.”

“Um. Yeah,” I said, pulling the covers up to my chin. Is he not going to say anything at all? That was strange, right? It was bizarre to behave as if that didn’t just happen, right?

Of course, there was no way I was going to bring it up.

No, it was much better to just lie there, wondering. Was he unaffected, or was he affected and unhappy about it? Was he regretting it? Was he chocking it up to additional practice time?

I rolled onto my side, so I was facing away from Charlie’s floor bed, and clenched my teeth to stop myself from sighing.

Because I knew without a doubt that I was going to be awake all night, neurotically wondering what the hell had just happened.