Page 43 of Betting on You

Bailey wasn’t like other people.

So even though I knew she’d likely drive me fucking nuts at the party, why was I looking forward to it?

CHAPTER EIGHTEENBailey

When Charlie texted me Friday night to let me know he was at my house, I messaged my mom,Hanging out with Charlie at his friend’s house, and walked outside. I didn’t even have to wonder where Charlie was parked because he started honking.

Loudly.

Incessantly.

I rolled my eyes and ran over to his black Honda something, pulled open the door, and climbed inside. “You are a jackass.”

Sitting relaxed behind the wheel, Charlie grinned wildly, like he was having thebesttime messing with me. His eyes were warm and all over me—my face, my outfit, my legs, and back up again—and the appreciative gaze brought out the butterflies in my stomach.

Then he said, “Holy shit, you woreexactlywhat I told you to wear. You are such a good girl.”

I reached for the seat belt after I slammed my door, the butterfliescalming as he looked away from me and into his rearview mirror. “Do you really want to cause me to go back inside and change?”

“I’ll shut up,” he said, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the spot. “But it looks good. You look really nice.”

“Did you just compliment me?” I asked, buckling up.

“Weird, right?”

“I don’t know how to deal with it, honestly.” And I also didn’t know how to deal with him looking like that. I’d known T-shirt Charlie, hoodie Charlie, and flight suit Charlie, but this Charlie…

Whoa.He was wearing a plaid button-down—was that Ralph Lauren?—a nice watch, jeans, andreallygood shoes.

But that wasn’t thewhoa.

Thewhoawas the combination of the smell of his soap and the way his thick hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. The close proximity of Charlietryingput him on another level I wasn’t used to dealing with.

Like, Charlie Sampson was cute, but Party Charlie washot.

He glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Well, don’t get weird on me. The outfit looks good, but the fact that you probably have everything in your purse lined up by shape takes away a lot of the attractiveness.”

“There it is.” I pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. “So what’s your ex’s name again?”

“Huh?” He glanced over again, then returned his gaze to the road. “Oh. Becca.”

“Becca.” I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out my lipstick. “Are you guys civil to each other?”

He made a scoffing sound and switched lanes. “For God’s sake, I’m not some melodramatic puffball. Of course we’re civil.”

I looked at his face, which was all seriousness as he drove down Maple Street. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

“Yes.” He shook his head like I was a moron. “Knock off your bullshit. I treat her exactly the same as I treat you.”

“Oh, so you’re kind of a sarcastic prick, but funny enough to make it acceptable.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Got it.” I put on lipstick, flipped the visor back up, and turned toward Charlie. “And what are your friends like? Loud? Quiet? Funny? Snobby?”

---