Page 7 of Betting on You

I waited for a snarky comment from the seat to my left, andwhen it didn’t come, I took a bite of the lasagna and looked at him. He was texting, his attention hyperfocused on his phone, and I could see from the contact picture that it was his girlfriend.

I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to date him. Even though he was relatively attractive, he dripped with cynical sarcasm. Which made me curious about her. What was the girl like who loved Mr. Nothing? She was pretty—what I’d seen of her—but her taste was obviously questionable.

Before I could stop myself, I asked him, “Does she live in Alaska?”

He looked up from his phone, and a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “Who?”

I pointed my fork at the screen. “Your girlfriend.”

He gave me side-eye and set his phone next to the food on his tray. “If you must know, Miss Nosy, she does. She’s a Fairbanks girl.”

“Oh.” I felt bad for him—a little—because leaving someone you love behind felt like utter shit.

“But she’s not my girlfriend.” He cut into his chicken, took a bite, and moaned—while staring directly into my eyes like a sociopath—“Oh my God, this questionable meat is so delicious!”

I just sighed.

He grinned, pleased with himself, and said, “I live in Nebraska and spent the summer in Alaska with my cousins. I hung out with her a lot, but I’m not really into the long-distance thing.”

I swallowed and pictured him kissing the face off Fairbanks Girl. “Does she know that?”

He shrugged and said, “She will.”

What a jerk.The poor girl had probably cried all the way home, devastated to see him go, while he shrugged and said,She will.I took another bite and couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Are you at least going to tell her?”

That made one of his dark eyebrows go up. “What are you—worried about her or something?”

It was my turn to shrug, even though I kind of wanted to rage in Fairbank Girl’s stead. “I just think leaving her hanging is a garbage thing to do.”

“Really.” He picked up his soda and took a long drink before asking, “What wouldyoudo?”

I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Well, um, I’d be forthright, for starters. I’d tell her—”

“Did you just say ‘forthright’?” He grinned like I was hilarious as he set his plastic cup on the tray. “Who says that? I mean, my grandma probably does, but no one under the age of—”

“Forget it,” I interrupted, amazed that the annoyance I felt for this boy kept cranking up to newer and more intense levels.

“Oh, come on. Please continue.” He reined in his smile, but his eyes were still twinkling. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, I swear. Please—tell me what you’d do. I really want to know.”

“Nope.”

“Pleeeease?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Fine. I would tell her what you said about not wanting to do the long-distance thing, but I’d sayit nicely enough where we could still be friends. After all, you’ll probably go back to your cousins’ house again someday, right?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back so he could reach into the pocket of his jeans and pull out a…TUM?

Is that a TUM?What was he, a sixty-year-old grandfather of five? And he was making fun of me for seeming “old.”

He popped it into his mouth while I asked him, “So wouldn’t it be nice if you could be her friend when you fly into Fairbanks, instead of the jerk who broke her heart?”

His mouth went up a little—only on one side—and his eyes narrowed. He stared at me for a long moment, chewing the antacid tablet, and then he said, “Guys and girls can’t be friends.”

And he said it as if it was a definitive, indisputable fact.

---