Page 11 of Betting on You

“Can I also get two large Cokes?”

“Of course,” the snack attendant said.

And as soon as he stepped over to the popcorn machine, Mr. Nothing nudged my arm with his and said, “You’re not getting a halfsy Coke?”

“Not today,” I said, even though Ireallywanted one. I knew he’d think he was right about the whole “labor-intensive” thing if I ordered one, so Ihadto deny myself.

“I like your hair, by the way,” he said, gesturing to my head.

“Thank you,” I replied, shocked that he would say something complimentary tome.

“Last time I saw you, it was so…” He trailed off, making big eyes while holding his hands out on each side of his head as if to intimate how huge my hair had been.

Of course. There it was.

When I’d met him at the airport, my hair had still been like Mia Thermopolis’s at the beginning ofThe Princess Diaries: long, black, frizzy, and out of control. High school had happened, thank God, and now I had a shoulder-length bob that I flat-ironed until it was smooth.

But it was sohimto remember and mention just how bad it’d been.

“Here you go,” said the concession dude, handing over my snacks while I handed over the money.Finally. I didn’t want to spend another minute talking to Mr. Nothing.

I turned and gave him a smile. “Well, that’s me—until next time, I guess.”

“Sure.”

I walked away, and just as I was about to open the door to the theater with my elbow, I heard, “Hey. Glasses.”

I turned around. “Yeah?”

He had a serious expression on his face, his dark eyes lacking the devious twinkle that’d been there every time I’d ever looked at him. He asked me, “How many solo flights have you taken since we met?”

I swallowed and hated him a tiny bit at that moment for reminding me. Mr. Nothing had totally been right; I’d flown to Fairbanks—alone—four times since the split. I was definitely a member of the custody kids now, a club I’d never wanted to join. “Four.”

He gave a nod, and it felt like something passed between us before he said, “Later, Glasses.”

“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat before muttering under my breath, “God, I hope not.”

CHAPTER FIVECharlie

I watched her go and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

She was an uptight weirdo that I’d been stuck with on a flight a couple of years ago, yet for some reason, it’d been good to see her. What wasthatabout? She seemed just as high-maintenance as before, just as easy to rattle, yet I was somehow disappointed when she walked away.

I pictured the crinkle of irritation I continuously brought to her forehead and realized that,shit—I knew what it was.

She was an open book.

Yes, she was a stranger, but for some reason, when I looked at her, I could just tell what she was thinking. Most of it was annoying and in desperate need of a shake-up, but I liked the lack of a firewall around her thoughts.

Of course, that was probably because my inner circle consisted of multiple people who were heavy into mind games. There wasmy mom, in an eternal battle with herself overWho to Piss Off—Kids or Boyfriend; my dad, who no longer battled at all but simply took sides with his new wife no matter what (while spinning his decisions as “good parenting”); my sister, who loved all of these new players in our life but tried to hide it from me because she knew I didnot.

Add Becca to that—I never had a cluewhatshe was thinking—and it made sense why Glasses’s open face was so fucking refreshing.

“Can I help you?”

I looked away from the door she’d disappeared through and back at the snack dude.

“Ah, yeah. Two popcorns, please.” I paid for the snacks, and as I waited for them, my phone buzzed.

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