Page 99 of Betting on You

Charlie’s phone rang when we got to the front of the line, and when he looked at the display, he said, “It’s my mom. Would you mind ordering for me so I can take it?”

I made sure my face remained cool as I said, “Sure.”

“What can I get for you?” asked the barista in the ski cap.

I placed our order and went to the other end of the counter, but I kept stealing glances at Charlie, who’d moved to stand beside the windows at the front of the store.

Wasit his mom, or was it the ex that wouldn’t leave him alone?

And why did the thought of it being his ex make the knot of nerves in my stomach feel even heavier? She had nothing to do with me.

That thought made me pull out my phone and check my messages—still nothing from Zack—before putting it back into my bag.

A few minutes later I watched Charlie put his phone into his pocket before he came over and stood beside me. “Sorry aboutthat. Apparently she just realized that she isn’t sure who my friend Bailey is, so she’s melting down about my safety.”

“Is it okay now?” I asked, remembering the way he’d sounded when discussing his family.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, grabbing our drinks as the barista set them down. “I told her you’re an uptight rule-follower, so now she’s thrilled.”

I gave him an eye roll and turned, heading straight for the big fireside sofa.

“You seriously want to read all day?” he asked, setting his mug on the end table before taking off his jacket.

“It sounds amazing to me, but if you’d rather do something else…” I shrugged and trailed off as I set down my mug and plopped onto the couch.

His eyes narrowed. “What is up with you today? Since when do you want to do whatever I want to do?”

I shrugged again. “I’m just trying to compromise since it’s our last day.”

“You’re freaked out about the bed kiss,” he said, smirking like it was amusing to him.

“No, I’m not,” I said, not really knowing how to act. It was good that he didn’t seem freaked, but then again, shouldn’t he seemsomethingabout it?

“Oh, yes, you are—don’t lie tome, Glasses, come on.” He propped his feet on the coffee table and said, “Admit it.”

“Okay.” I pushed my glasses up my nose and turned my body so I was facing him. “Idofeel a little…confusedby the kiss.”

“Well,” he said, still looking unaffected. “Sometimes shit happens.”

He looked so casual, so not concerned about it, that I wondered if the emotions had been all in my head. “Seriously?Shit happensis your analysis?”

His smirk disappeared and he swallowed, looking… something. Uncomfortable, maybe? Nervous? He picked up his coffee and said, without looking at me, “Christ, why do we have to analyze it at all?”

“We don’t,” I said, desperately wishing to know thetruthabout how he felt. “?‘Shit happens’ says it all. Everything that needs to be said has been covered with the brilliant ‘shit happens.’?”

That made him look at me, but his expression was unreadable, aside from the tiny motion of his jaw flexing.

“What?” I asked, regretting my sharp tone because thatdefinitelywasn’t going to restore normality with us. I forced myself to mimic one of his sarcastic little smiles, desperate to diffuse the tension, and said, “Quit staring at me, weirdo.”

“Sorry.” His dark eyes moved over my face, and a smirk appeared for the briefest of seconds before he raised his coffee to his mouth. “Now start reading that book to me.”

“What?”

He took a drink, his eyes a little crinkly with mischief, before he leaned forward to set his cup on the coffee table. “I didn’t bring a book, so you’re going to have to read aloud.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” He glanced down at my book. “Are you ashamed of what you’re reading?”

---