Page 78 of Betting on You

“My mom issopissed,” I told him, my stomach heavy with dread and guilt as I kept seeing her angry face.

Ugh—herdisappointedface.

I walked over to where he stood, and after he closed the trunk, his big, warm hand found mine.

My eyes shot up, jolted by the feel of his fingers linking around mine, and he stepped a little closer. “I was thinking. It’s probably time we start this whole charade, right?”

Everything else faded away as I felt the skin of his palm press against me. My breath was shaky as I gulped down cold mountain air and thought,Ohmygod.

A car pulled into the lot, but I barely noticed because I was flustered by the intimacy of Charlie’s hand. The slide of his big fingers around mine, the heat of his skin; it felt far more risqué than just holding hands.

This was Charlie, and this was pretend, but the racing of my heart and the butterflies in my stomach meant a tiny part of my body had apparently missed the message.

“This is a little jarring, don’t you think?” I asked, looking up into his brown eyes under the golden glow of the streetlight. “It feels like I should be smacking your hand and telling you to knock it off.”

“Totally.” He laughed, and I liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned down at me, like we were the only two people in the world sharing this absurd joke. “I kind of thought you might junk-punch me out of habit.”

“I’ve never junk-punched you,” I said around a smile.

“I’ve never tried holding your hand before, though, so…”

“Fair,” I agreed, and it occurred to me at that moment that I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this… electricity. My head knew we were going to be pretending all weekend, but I hadn’t anticipated the sparks that would go off when he smiled at me like that.

This would take some getting used to.

“So what exactly did your mom say?” he asked.

Move on, Bay—this is Charlie.

“She was pretty heated.” I told him what she said, but instead of driving around, we decided to walk to the cute coffee shop we’d seen when we pulled into town. We grabbed our jackets out of the back seat and strolled, and even though it was a little chilly, it was one of those perfect autumn nights where as long as you were moving, it was comfortable.

“I’m starving,” Charlie said as we sat down at a table. “Maybe we should get food before we head back.”

“No. My mom said after they booked the trip that the kitchenwould be fully stocked and we can make whatever we want.” I took off the lid to let my mocha cool and said, “I don’t need to do something else to piss her off, so let’s just eat their food when we’re allowed to return.”

He wrapped his big hands around his cup and muttered, “Okay.”

“You’re not stressed about Scott, are you?” I asked. “I’m sure it’ll be fine once the shock wears off.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, unzipping his coat. “I just hope he’s not the level of asshole who ruins your mom’s vacation by being a pouty dick.”

“See, that’s what really stresses me out about our plan.” I slid the cup sleeve down as I tried coming to terms with the fact that there was really no way for us to disturb Scott without it affecting my mother’s trip too. “I don’t want my mom to be unhappy, and if my plans work, she’ll be unhappy in the short-term.”

“But,” he said, lifting his cup off the table and giving me a serious look, “ifshe’shappy, you’re not. Look out for number one, Glasses.”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like a mobster.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“Says you.” He took a gulp of his coffee, set down his cup, and said, “Let’s talk about our fake dating.”

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” I said, nerves fluttering in my stomach at the prospect. I sipped at my drink and asked, “Do you have a plan?”

“Not a plan, perse,” he said, “but an idea.”

He leaned closer, and it occurred to me that Enthusiastic Charlie was one of my favorite versions of him. His eyes were practically dancing as he said, “Here’s what I’m thinking. When Scott accepts that I’m here, we return to the condo. Shortly thereafter, when he’s dealing with the unfortunate existence of my presence, we hold hands. That will send up all the what-the-fuck flags, and that’s probably good for tonight.”

---