Page 85 of Betting on You

Nowmyeyebrows went down. “What doesthatmean?”

“It means I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor while I get the bed.”

“Oh my God, that’s so sexist,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “If I were a dude, I bet you’d let me have the floor.”

“It’s not sexist. It’s friendist,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Come again?”

“You’re such a pervert, Glasses.”

“Charlie.”

“I just mean that you’re my friend,” he said in an irritated voice, “and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. So you should get the bed.”

“But if I were yourdudefriend—”

“Fine—sleep on the floor, dude,” he said, annoyed. “Good night.”

“Wait.”

“I thought so,” he said, wearing a smug smile.

“First of all, thank you for recognizing that we are, in fact, friends,” I said, unsure why his usage of the f-word in regards to me felt like something big, “and second—maybe we should rock-paper-scissor for it.”

“Dear God, ‘friend’ is easier to say than ‘coworker’—settle your ass down.”

“Whatever you say,” I said in a singsong voice, unwilling to let it go.

“And think about this for a second,” Charlie said. “What will your mom—and King Dipshit—think of me if they come down here for a glass of water, and they see that I didn’t give you the bed?”

Ooh—he definitely had a point. “They’ll think you’re a jerk.”

“And the trip was bought for you, not me,” he added.

“Also true,” I agreed.

“So this is your bed, Mitchell, and I’ll make myself a floor pallet.”

He stood, and my eyes froze on his pajama pants.

“What?” he asked dryly, like he had no idea why I was staring.

“Nothing,” I said, pressing my lips together and shaking my head. “I just, um, really like your pants.”

Charlie was wearing pink flannel pajama pants that had red hearts all over them. The pattern might’ve been alittleunorthodox for men’s pj’s, but it was the fact that he was six and a half feet tall and they were at least four inches too short for him that made itquitethe look.

“They were a gift from my little sister,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “So if you mock them, you’re a monster.”

“Not mocking,” I said, trying my hardest not to laugh while also finding it really freaking sweet that he wore pants his sister gave him. “They’re actually incredibly sexy. Showsjustenough ankle to tease yet stay classy.”

“Oh, I know.” He put his hands on his hips as if to strike a pose. “My heart pants bringallthe girls to the yard.”

“Sure they do.” My eyes moved up to his shirt, and his chest in that Henley actuallywassexy. It was just a faded old shirt, butthe soft fabric clung to his obviously defined and surprisingly wide chest, and I couldn’t stop stealing glances at it.

It was just so… broad.

And solid.

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