Page 81 of Betting on You

He was surprisingly capable in a kitchen.

Make a sauce, whisk out the tomato paste, do the conversion of how much jarred minced garlic equals a clove; he was a professional.

I pretty much only made microwave things and frozen pizza at my house.

When we drained the pasta and had everything ready to serve,Charlie moved in close. He tugged on a strand of my hair with his right hand, smiling down at me like we shared a secret, and warmth spread through me.

The coziness of the condo, the smell of the marinara, the grin in his eyes as we conspired together—it all linked up to make the moment feel like hot chocolate after a day in the snow.

“Shall we serve?” he asked, letting go of my curl to reach for the sauce.

Lksjflskjfksljfklsdjfklsd,I thought, my breath stopping in my chest.

“We shall,” I replied, feeling buzzy from his touch as I grabbed the big bowl of noodles and followed him toward the table on wobbly legs.

I don’t know what I’d expected, but dinner was okay. Yes, I got a stomach knot every time Scott teased my mom or called me Bay, but between Charlie’s ridiculous stories and my mother’s hilarious responses, that nonsense was kept to a minimum and the meal was actually kind of nice.

Weird, right?

Somewhere around eleven, my mom made up the pullout sofa for Charlie and we all went to our respective beds. I’d just turned off the light to go to sleep when my phone buzzed.

Charlie: When are we going to start dating?

I stared at the phone in the darkness and wondered what it would feel like to have Charlie Sampson say thatfor real.Obviously, I didn’t want that, but still… I couldn’t stop myself from imagining it.

Because Charlie’s emotional contradictions…intriguedme.

He teased relentlessly and was the funniest person I’d ever met,yet I knew for a fact that he listened to Conan Gray and Gracie Abrams on repeat all the time (I had his Spotify password).

He was brazen and outgoing with his friends, yet sweetly vulnerable when discussing himself.

And even though he was cynical Mr. Nothing, I was starting to suspect that his cynicism existed not because he wasunfeeling but because he felt things so deeply. His family issues, his ex-girlfriend—he hated love because he hated the way his love for them had felt.

When Charlie got that horrible, awful look on his face when he talked about Becca, I couldn’t help but imagine what it must’ve felt like—for Becca—to have all that emotion pointed in her direction.

To have Charlie Sampson look at you the way he’d looked at her at the party?

Dear God, the swoon.

I looked down at the phone in my hand, at his question, and my brain returned from its brief excursion to Charlietown. Ahem.

When are we going to start dating?

The thought of doing it—fake dating—still made me nervous, but I texted:I suppose tomorrow—we’re only here for a few days, right?

Charlie: Agreed. And we should get it rolling first thing—no reason to wait, right?

Me: What do you have planned? Feeding each other breakfast?

Charlie: That’s EXACTLY what I have planned, only I’ll be sitting on your lap.

That made me snort.YOU will be on MY lap?

Charlie: It’s more interesting that way.

Me: True.

Charlie: After that I thought I could just carry you around all day like you’re a baby who doesn’t know how to walk.

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