Betting on You
: Chapter 31

I woke to the smell—and sounds—of breakfast.

Opening my eyes, I blinked, reached for my glasses, and got my bearings.

Living room pullout sofa—got it.

I looked to my left, but Charlie wasn’t over there, on the floor, where he’d spent the night. The cushions and bedding were all stacked up in the corner like he’d never been there.

I grabbed my phone—seven thirty.

No text from Zack, not that I was checking.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I heard. I turned to my right, and there was Scott, sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” I said, giving ol’ Scott a smile. It was hard to be irritated by his presence at breakfast when he’d procured the vacation for us and also rescued us from a killing-by-goose.

“Your mom and Charlie are making breakfast, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“I could eat,” I lied, pushing my hair out of my face. I wasn’t a breakfast person at all, so I’d just be happy if I could replace some liquified caffeine for now. I got up and went into the kitchen, and as soon as I hit the doorway, I wanted to laugh.

My mom was sitting on a stool, talking about the Kansas City Chiefs’ defense, and Charlie was making scrambled eggs.

“Good morning,” my mom said, smiling.

“Wow,” Charlie said, his eyes almost twinkling as he looked at me. “Good morning, Bedhead.”

I flipped him off.

He laughed.

My mom smiled and said, “There’s Frapp in the fridge.”

“Oh, God bless you,” I replied.

“So, Emily—do you think they even have a shot if he’s out all season?” Charlie stirred the eggs and talked football with my mother, who was a die-hard Chiefs fan. “I mean…”

I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of mocha Frappuccino, unable to believe I’d just heard Charlie call my mom Emily. When exactly had they become best friends? It was a little adorable, but it made me uneasy.

I didn’t want my clueless mother to form a bond with my fake boyfriend.

That couldn’t end well, right?

“I mean, he’s just one guy, so of course they have a shot, but it’ll be a lot harder without him,” my mom said.

I couldn’t watch them for another minute because it made me feel too guilty.

The Frappuccino lid came off with a click as I said, “I’m going to go shower.”

“But breakfast is almost ready,” my mom said.

She knew I never ate breakfast, so she was saying that just to make sure I didn’t hurt Charlie’s feelings by not eating his food. I cleared my throat and said, “I’m not hungry yet.”

“But Charlie made this entire spread,” she said, looking at Charlie like he was Santa Claus.

“I’ll for sure have some when I’m done,” I reassured her.

“Go fix that hair,” Charlie teased, and I liked the relaxed expression on his face. But I also wondered how he was so comfortable hanging out with my mom and making breakfast.

I worried about it as I showered, but I pretty much worried about everything while I showered. I worried about the “plan”—now that we were here, would it actually work? And if it did, would it result in my mom being devasted?

And what was happening with Charlie? There had been multiple moments with him yesterday, and I wasn’t sure if it was just me, overthinking, or if it was something more?

“No.” I said it out loud in the shower as I poured shampoo into my palm because no way. There was nothing going on between me and Charlie aside from complex emotions that had everything to do with each of our individual battles and nothing whatsoever to do with “us” as a whole.

He wouldn’t even use the word “friend” in regards to me, for God’s sake; he definitely wasn’t feeling something romantic.

By the time I convinced myself to chill and go back downstairs, things weren’t so relaxed anymore. The three of them were sitting at the table, my mom and Scott eating breakfast while Charlie talked about his mom’s boyfriend (and Scott’s face got red).

“He’s not a bad guy,” Charlie said, lifting his coffee mug to his mouth. “But shouldn’t he be at his own place with his own kids, instead of crashing at my mom’s every night?”

Holy shit. I couldn’t believe he said that.

“Any eggs left?” I asked as I walked into the room. “I’m starving.”

My mom looked incredibly happy to see me, Charlie gave me an amused grin, and Scott looked ready to fight.

“I’m on it,” Charlie said, taking a gulp of his coffee and standing. “They’ve eaten already, but I was waiting for you.”

We went into the kitchen, and the minute we crossed through the doorway, I heard Scott loud-whisper to my mom, “I do not like that kid.”

“Oh, he wasn’t talking about you,” my mom defended, her voice in that motherly singsong tone that was good at soothing tempers. “I asked him about his mom, and he was answering. That’s it.”

I glanced at Charlie, who winked at me. Then his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit before he quietly said, “Wait. C’mere.”

“What?” I asked, stepping closer to him even though I wasn’t sure why. I lowered my voice and said, “What are you doing?”

He gave me a look, his head motioning with a tiny nod toward the dining room table, and I realized what he was doing the minute he put his hands on my waist. We were technically in the kitchen, but the open floor plan had a wide entryway that left the majority of the area visible.

We were totally in their line of sight but conceivably unaware that we were being seen, so if they stopped arguing and glanced toward the kitchen, they would see our fake datery.

Of course, all I could focus on was the heat of Charlie’s fingers as he lightly squeezed my waist. My breath felt trapped in my throat as I looked at his mouth and he whispered, “We should kiss.”

“What?” I hissed in a whisper, my cheeks growing hot. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, if you’re scared you’ll fall for me, I get it,” he whispered back, his mouth curling into a cocky grin. “But he’s gonna lose his shit and it will be puh-fucking-erfect.”

He was right about Scott, given what’d just happened in the dining room. The timing was perfect. I knew that, but every single nerve ending inside me was shorting out at the thought of kissing Charlie, of Charlie Sampson kissing me.

I raised my arms to his shoulders, wanting to be brave enough to go big even as a thousand butterflies went wild in my stomach. Nervousness shot through me, but I calmly said, “Let’s do it, Sampson.”

His mouth came down on mine, and my brain did a quick inventory of the sensory details; the faint pressure of his fingertips as they slid to my lower back, the sound of a fork scraping over a plate at the table, and the smell of bacon on the stove. I sucked in a breath, ready for a big, huge, real-life-looking kiss.

But first Charlie fed me an appetizer.

His eyes stayed open, crinkled at the corners as we shared laughing eye contact over this secret, and his teeth clamped onto my bottom lip. I swear I felt the reverberation of that nibble in every nerve ending of my body before he opened my mouth with his, angled his head, and gave me a full-scale kiss; closed eyes, shared breath, warm lips.

I forgot everything—breathing, pretending, thinking—as he kissed me like it was the break of dawn and he’d dreamed about me all night long. This is Charlie was the only conscious thought that crossed my mind, but the words failed to remind me we were only fake kissing when I could hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

It sounded just like my unsteady breathing, and something about that similarity curled my toes and made me clutch at his shoulders.

When he pulled back and looked down at my face, I blinked fast, trying to catch up. Where am I again? Everything swirled around me, nerves and pleasure and What the fuck and doubt, until his mouth slid into a naughty grin.

Such a naughty grin.

“Holy shit, Glasses,” he said, his hands squeezing my waist as his dark eyes were wholly squinting with his smile. “I am an incredibly good kisser—not to be cocky but it’s just a fact—and take it from me, you are very talented.”

My knees felt weak, and I wasn’t sure I could keep my eyes open as I looked up at his flirty gaze. Finally replaceing my voice, I managed, “I’m not sure if I should thank you or slug you for that glowing critique.”

“I thought you were getting eggs,” Scott barked from the other room, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Charlie.

“We are,” Charlie said to Scott while still giving me that impressed grin.

I glanced over at the table and—holy shit—my mom and Scott were both staring at us in shock. My mom’s mouth was literally hanging open, and Scott looked like he’d just figured out that the butler did it.

I grabbed a clean plate from the drying rack with unsteady hands and said quickly, “I just need to warm them up in the microwave.”

Charlie ignored them and said to me, “Holy shit, Mitchell—do you realize what this means?”

I gave him a They’re looking at us face and moved away from him, needing distance as I walked over to the skillet, which was out of their line of sight. “I’m afraid you’re going to tell me.”

He came over, leaned against the refrigerator with that long, tall body of his, crossed his arms, and said, “We can totally use this weekend to hone our craft because we’re emotionally unaffected by each other.”

I felt my eyebrows go down but quickly erased that tell, not wanting him to know what I was thinking. But… emotionally unaffected by each other? Had he been in the same kiss as me? Because I was a lot of things at that moment, but unaffected was not one of them.

I scooped a few eggs out of the skillet and onto my plate. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Think about it,” he said, and when I glanced up at him, he was still grinning that stupid grin. “The only time people ever kiss is when it matters, right? There’s never any practice, any training to get better; it’s a failed system. But you and I—we can become fucking Olympic-level kissers, Bay, because we have the opportunity to train.”

I set down the big spoon and picked up the plate, unsure if I was understanding his meaning. Did he want to practice kissing? Together?? I forced my voice to sound super casual and said, “You have got to be kidding.”

“Listen.” He straightened and grabbed my plate in his two big hands, his dark eyes bright on mine. “Wouldn’t it be cool to try new things and get honest feedback? You can bite down on my bottom lip and lick the corner of my mouth—potential new sexpot move—and I can tell you, Nah that feels weird or Holy shit you just changed the game.”

I looked at him and blinked. Was there a carbon monoxide leak in the condo? Because he was saying ridiculous things, and those ridiculous things were making me flushed and light-headed. Lick the corner of my mouth. I cleared my throat and attempted to sound matter-of-fact when I said, “Absolutely not.”

“You’re not listening. I can attempt to tie your tongue into a knot with my tongue, and you can tell me if it feels like I’m trying to eat your mouth or if it makes you tingly.” Charlie was getting amped up about the idea, his eyes alive like when he was coming up with new games at work. “Please tell me you’ll consider this attempt at bettering ourselves, Baybay.”

Tie your tongue into a knot with my tongue. I looked at his mouth.

Cleared my throat.

“Never call me that again,” I said, doing my best to seem calm and cool when I felt like I was slipping underwater, getting pulled down by this wickedly strong chemistry I was suddenly having with him.

I let my eyes run all over his face—dark eyes, long lashes, strong nose, stubborn chin—but I couldn’t seem to replace Mr. Nothing. All I saw, when he gave me that playful half smile, was the Charlie who knew how to make marinara and talk football with my mom.

And kiss like he knew very, VERY dark secrets.

Fuck.

Get a grip, Bailey.

I pressed my lips together and forced myself to ignore the chemistry and focus on his words. Bettering ourselves. I could tell he thought it was a great idea, but he was out of his mind. I was okay with fake dating, but I was not going to let him use me to make him a better kisser for other girls.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Actually, what was wrong with me for caring?

“My apologies,” he said, looking anything but apologetic.

“And I will not be using you for ‘kissing practice.’ ”

His mouth dropped open like he hadn’t even considered the idea that I’d refuse. “Why not?”

“Why not?” I asked incredulously. “Because the whole point of kissing is sharing it with the person you care about. If I’m concerned about improving my game, I’ll practice with someone I’m into when the time is right, thank you.”

Zack, perhaps.

Yes, Zack.

Of course Zack.

“Oh, Glasses,” he said, looking disappointed in my answer. “You’re wasting an incredible opportunity with that wide-eyed idealism of yours.”

“Says you,” I replied, unsure why I felt disappointed.

“You’re going to regret it, but whatever.” Charlie straightened, seeming entirely unaffected by everything, and asked, “Do you want some bacon?”

Wow—he was just so quick to move on, wasn’t he? I rubbed my lips together—coffee and toothpaste—and said, “Yes, please.”