Page 97 of Betting on You

He was looking at me, his gaze intense as if he’d been waiting for me to see him. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as those dark-as-night eyes dipped to my lips, and then his face was moving closer to mine.

I felt light-headed as I watched him because I knew—I justknew—that this was no longer a game of pretend.

And it didn’t make sense, but I didn’t want it to.

This wasCharlie’smouth coming down on mine. This wasmylips, opening for him in the yawning darkness of the living room. My shaking hands moved up to his shoulders as I felt his big, warm hands on my hips, and my breathing went choppy as his went deep.

My mind went wild as he kissed me, playing a montage of Colorado Charlie memories that made mefeelthings for him. The way he’d grinned when we sprinted through multiple gas stations. The vulnerability he’d shown about whatever anxiety issues he was dealing with.

His calmIs that a goosequestion while Scott wielded footwear.

And the way he’d pulled me into his arms when I was sad—oh God.

He lifted his mouth for a second—only a breath away—and said, “Bay.”

But he didn’t just say it. His voice was deep and hot, and he spoke my name as if it were a curse or an exaltation, something that moved him, for better or worse.

He angled his head, his fingers clenching against me in a way that made me feel the heat of his hands through my flannel pants, and then he sent full-sex kisses into my mouth. I felt like my heart was going to explode as he fed me long, hot, deep tastes that made my toes curl under my blanket.

I gripped his shoulders harder, needing, which made him lift his head again. He didn’t say anything this time as he looked downat me, and it didn’t feel like he needed to. The eye contact was somehow sweet, questioning, and hot, all at once.

His mouth lowered, but before our lips touched, Charlie’s head jerked up. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” I hadn’t heard anything, but I was also wildly disoriented, as if just regaining consciousness after a year in a coma, so I probably wouldn’t have heard a freight train.

His eyes met mine, and I wished I could see what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

“Shit!”Charlie leaped off the pullout and fell to the floor, then scrambled over to the floor bed and covered himself with the blanket.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps on the stairs.

I lay there, my eyes squeezed shut as I pretended to be asleep, and Scott came down the stairs. I listened as he lumbered into the kitchen, and I heard him open a cupboard and turn on the sink. It felt like an eternity as he shuffled around in there.

Hurry the hell up!

Meanwhile, my brain was starting to chant on an endless loop,What the hell just happened what the hell just happened WHAT IN THE LITERAL HELL JUST HAPPENED ON THE PULLOUT?

Scott came out of the kitchen, and my heart actually started poundingharderwhen I heard him go up the stairs and close the door.

I held my breath and waited.

Was Charlie going to come back?

“Holy shit, that was close,” Charlie said from the floor on the other side of the room. “He would’ve flipped if he’d come down a minute earlier.”

“Yeah,” I said, unsure of what I should say. He sounded…normal, which was good, because I could easily picture him freaking out about this, and that was the last thing I wanted.

However, did I want him to beunaffectedafter what’d just happened?

I didn’t think so, because I was unbelievablyaffected.

“I’m turning on the TV,” he said, and I could hear the covers rustling. “If that’s okay.”

“Um. Yeah,” I said, pulling the covers up to my chin.Is he not going to say anything at all?That was strange, right? It was bizarre to behave as if that didn’t just happen, right?

Of course, there was no wayIwas going to bring it up.

---