Page 98 of Betting on You

No, it was much better to just lie there, wondering.Washe 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.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVECharlie

Generally speaking, I considered myself to be a smart dipshit.

I could ace a calculus test (when I wanted to) and get every answer right onJeopardy!, but I wasn’t always good at making mature decisions.

See: Bailey Mitchell.

I stared at the TV, but I wasn’t even listening to the episode ofSeinfeldthat was playing because my brain wouldn’t stop screaming,WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

The volume was so loud that I could hear nothing else.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Kissing Bailey under the guise of fake dating—that was fine. Fucking funny, actually, that she and I were able to derive a little salacious pleasure from our plan to sabotage Scott. That, my friend, was what you called bonus material.

But kissing her because I looked into her eyes and just wanted to?

Such total dipshittery.

Because nothing good could come of it. I was certain Bailey was lying on the pullout, losing her shit this very second. She would freak out, things would get awkward, and everything would change.

It was asinine that I’d been careful enough to label her “coworker” instead of friend, just to ensure there was a mutual understanding between us, yet stupid enough to try to absorb her sadness into my body through osmosis because I didn’t like hearing her sound unhappy.

But her face; God, her face had been too much.

She’d looked at me through teary eyes, and all at once I’d seen someone whose scrape I wanted to kiss better, the funny friend I needed to convince of her worth, and a stunner whose lips beckoned to me with promises of deep, satisfied sighs.

Combine that with the emotional punch of connecting with every fucking word she’d used to describe her feelings about her family life, and what else could I do but kiss her?

Thank God for Scott, trudging downstairs like an unwieldy bear at a sleeping campsite, because I didn’t know what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted. I couldn’t speak for Bailey, but I knewIhad lost total contact with my smart side. Dipshittery was in control, and I’d been a thousand percent focused on diving into the deep end and drowning myself in Bailey Mitchell.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I had no choice. I had to fix this.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXBailey

“You sure you don’t want to try?” Scott asked.

Scott and my mom were all smiles in their ski gear, and I told myself that her glowing face was all about this much-needed vacation, as opposed to a response to spending quality time with Scott.

“No, thanks,” I said, pointing toward the chalet café next to the lift. Charlie and I rode with them instead of going out on our own, aborting ghost town plans to make my mother happy, and we’d all had breakfast together at the Blue Moose before she and Scott changed into their gear. “I plan on reading by the fire with cocoa in my hands all day, only stopping to wave whenever you bunnies reload.”

“Charlie?” Scott raised his eyebrows. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Ugh—he reallywasa nice guy, asking even when Charlie was a total pain in his butt.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, his fingers clenching between mine as he held my hand. “But if someone doesn’t keep an eye on this one, God only knows what she’ll do.”

They headed out for the slopes, and we went inside. I had a huge knot in my stomach, worried things were going to be awkward with us after what’d happened on the pullout sofa. I still had no idea what to think about what I’d felt for him, but I would prefer figuring that out on my own while our friendship remained unchanged.

God,pleaselet things be normal.

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