Page 93 of Betting on You

We loaded into his car, and he drove to the restaurant. I was quiet in the back as they talked about the chef who’d be cooking that night, and Charlie leaned closer and said, “Can I give you some kissing feedback?”

“No.”I felt my eyebrows screw together in irritation, both at the way my worries were ruining my fun and at the idea of Charlie criticizing the way I kissed.

But then—dammit—I needed to know. “Okay—what?”

“Be careful with that breathy little noise you make when a guy kisses you,” he said quietly, his voice making a tiny shiver slither down my spine. “It’s a little too sexy, and might give someone the wrong idea.”

“I’m sorry, but (a) I don’t make a breathy little noise, and (b) if I did, are you seriously slut-shaming the sound?”

He grinned so big, it was like a laugh. “Um, (c) yes, you do,and (d) not at all. It’s a fantastic sound that almost made me forget who I was kissing. But with great sexy sounds comes great responsibility.”

Almost made me forget who I was kissing.I didn’t like that phrase, even though it was how this was supposed to work. The whole thing was pretend, but for the love of God, no one wanted to hear that the person they were kissing liked forgetting who they were kissing.

I just said, “Got it.”

“By the way,” he went on, his voice rising to a normal volume, “I read about this gold-mining ghost town that’s only like an hour away. We should check it out tomorrow.”

“Ooh, for sure,” I said, torn between being disappointed by how easily he was able to move on and being a little excited about another day of exploring on our own.

“I was hoping you’d reconsider skiing,” Scott said, looking expectantly at me in the rearview mirror. “And go with us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I looked at his face in the mirror and felt like garbage. He was a decent guy, and I was trying to sabotage him, his relationship with my mom, and his vacation. Guilt gnawed at me as he looked at me like someone who was really trying.

Charlie gave me a look, eyebrows cocked to remind me I was supposed to be avoiding Scott’s attempt at father-daughter bonding. I inhaled through my nose and said, “Well, um, maybe Charlie and I can go there with you guys and hang out for part of the day, andthentake off for ghost towns?”

I saw Charlie slowly shaking his head in my peripheral vision, disappointed, as Scott beamed and said, “We’ll take it.”

“You’re so soft,” Charlie whispered, but I just ignored him and looked out the window.

How was I supposed to be mean to the guy all the time when he kept doing nice things?

Dinner was incredible.

The food at the old-school steakhouse was over-the-top (in a good way).

Bread and salad and spaghetti and steak and potatoes—it was like three entire meals in one, and I devoured it. My dad was the meat eater in our family, so aside from a random burger here and there, we didn’t eat a lot of beef anymore.

Hence my attempt to wolf down every last bite.

My mom and Scott had enough wine to make them happy and not exceptionally aware of Charlie’s and my presence.

Which was what made it so fun.

First, Charlie and I made wagers on what the people at the table beside us would order. I won the most points, which meant that when we got back to the condo, Charlie was going to have to do all the dishes I’d left in the sink. It seemed like a cruel thing to do on vacation, but bets were only bets if everyone was held accountable.

Charlie’s words, not mine.

After that, we fell into a game of making each other’s food unpalatable. We hadn’t intended for that to become an activity—it just happened organically. First, I told Charlie to try my twice-bakedpotatoes, but as I held my fork in front of his face, the potatoes fell into his prime rib’s au jus. As penance, I had to try a bite of lumpy au jus, which made me gag and made us both giggle.

Then I poured horseradish into his risotto and made him sample it, which led to more giggles as he shivered in disgust. By the time Scott paid the bill, my stomach hurt from quietly laughing so hard.

The four of us took a walk around Breckenridge after dinner, and I was happy Charlie was pouring the fake boyfriending on thick by putting his arm over my shoulders, mostly because his body was warm and mine was not.

“Do you always have to hang all over each other?” Scott asked, looking at Charlie but wearing a teasing grin for once. “I mean, last week you were just friends.”

I laughed because he was right, and so did Charlie as he said, “True, but once your eyes have been opened, you can’t unsee what you’ve seen.”

“Did you really just say that?” I teased. “That was, um… heavy…?”

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