Betting on You

Charlie pulled up in front of Walgreens, and when I got into his car, he immediately gave me a pitying smile. “Awww, Glasses, your face breaks my heart.”

I knew my makeup was a little smudged, but his reaction told me how much worse it was than I’d imagined. I’d been so numb as I’d killed time in the pharmacy, waiting for him, that it hadn’t occurred to me to pull out my phone and check my face.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” I said, closing the door and staring out the window as it started raining.

“Thank you for getting me out of the house,” he replied, putting the car in drive. “I was bored as hell, but now I have someone to play with.”

“Wait—weren’t you having people over tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, turning up the radio.

We went to his apartment, and I was glad he let me be silent on the drive there. I knew I was being irrational and emotionally childish, and I’d maybe spoiled what should’ve been an amazing moment for my mom by leaving, but I didn’t want to have a logical discussion about it.

I felt crushed. It was silly, because the world wasn’t ending and no one was dying; people’s parents got remarried all the time.

But I was devastated.

It probably meant that I was an immature child, but every time I thought about the fact that my mother was getting married, a heavy weight settled on my chest. It was suffocating, this panic that I had about the life changes I could no longer avoid.

I looked out at the night through the wiper blades moving across the windshield and wondered how long I had before everything started, before the tiny fragment that was left of my family was going to be erased and changed into something new.

I took in a shaky breath as I remembered that my dad was moving. On top of this, my dad and his new person were moving out of the old and into the new. It felt like the world was crumbling and changing under my feet, and there was nothing I could do to slow it down.

I wasn’t a child; I knew I’d adjust to leaving the old behind.

But dammit, I wasn’t ready to let go of it.

Of us.

Of life as I knew it.

Very soon—it might’ve happened tonight, actually—the roles would shift. It would no longer be her and me, with the rest of the world as something we navigated. It would be her and him, and I would be part of what they navigated together, as partners.

When we pulled up in front of the building, Charlie came around to my side of the car and crouched down to the ground.

“What’re you doing?” I asked, not really in the mood for silliness.

“Giving you a piggyback ride.” He looked at me over his shoulder, his face earnest and sweet, and said, “Hop on, Bay.”

I hesitated, but then I thought, What the hell.

I climbed onto his back, and it felt good. Wrapping myself around Charlie’s big body felt comforting because it was like he literally—and emotionally—had me. He hauled me up the stairs, and I closed my eyes, resting my cheek on his strong back.

Thank you, Charlie.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

Once we were inside his apartment, he carried me over to the sofa and dropped me on top of it. Before I could say a word, he looked down at me and said, “This is how tonight’s gonna go. You ready?”

That made me feel like smiling. “Ready.”

“I’m going to make a blanket fort in front of the TV, wherein I will entertain you with a marathon of my favorite terrible movies. We will eat garbage, have ice cream brought to us from DoorDash like we’re fucking kings, and we will not speak of things that shan’t be spoken of. Got it?”

I did smile then, even though his kindness sort of made me want to cry. “Got it.”

At that moment, the tiniest little white dog I’d ever seen hopped up onto the couch. I hadn’t even heard him before that moment, yet—there he was.

“Hey, puppy,” I said, reaching out a hand and petting his small head.

“Bailey, meet the Undertaker.”

I looked up at Charlie. “You’re kidding me. That tiny thing is the Undertaker?”

He just shrugged and walked away.

He went into the hallway to get blankets, and when he was there, he yelled, “Hey, what’s your mom’s number?”

I sighed, letting the dog climb onto my lap as I pictured my mom’s surprised face as I ditched her. “Seems like a creepy question.”

“I just want to text that you’re crashing here so she doesn’t worry,” he said. “And so you don’t have to do it yourself.”

I hadn’t thought far ahead enough to consider crashing at Charlie’s apartment, but I was too depressed to overthink it. I gave him the number and sighed. What was I going to do? I mean, obviously I had no choice regarding my mother’s marital status, but would I actually have to live with him and his kid? Would we move into Scott’s house?

Would I have to share a room with his daughter?

I felt the tears coming back as I thought about moving into a strange house with people I barely knew.

“Glasses.” Charlie came back into the living room with an armful of blankets, and he said, “Ditch the shoes and the dog, go get snacks in the kitchen, and when you come back, I’ll be ready for you.”

“Okay.” I took off my coat and shoes and went into the kitchen, impressed by Charlie’s apartment. It was way nicer than ours, and the pantry was full of good snacks. I grabbed Twizzlers, Vic’s popcorn, a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi, and a box of Twinkies.

When I came out, Charlie did an elaborate “Ta-da” reveal of his construction work. He’d used kitchen chairs and storage cubes to make a large portion of the living room into a fort. I watched him as he put two fluffy pillows inside, along with two down comforters.

“You made a floor bed?” I asked, blown away by this sweetness.

He crawled out and looked at my very full hands. “Nice selections, Glasses.”

“Thank you,” I said, pushing up my glasses with my wrist.

“You may enter my blanket fort.” Charlie pointed with both hands, gesturing like he was Vanna White with a prize package.

“You’re too kind.”

We climbed into the fort and piled the snacks between us as we stretched out on the blankets. In spite of my tumultuous emotions, I was very aware that I was lying down next to Charlie.

Been there, done that.

“So the first selection is one of my awful favorites. Napoleon Dynamite.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know.” He turned on the movie and immediately launched into hilarious commentary that had me cracking up, even more so than I usually did when I watched that movie (it was one of my awful favorites too). We shared snacks as we watched, and he almost made me forget about everything.

When the doorbell rang, Charlie crawled out of the fort and collected our ice cream. A quart of vanilla for Charlie, a quart of chocolate for me, and we lay under the blankets and dug into that stash.

“So, Glasses. You okay?” he asked, his eyes on my face as he held a spoonful of ice cream in front of his mouth.

“Yes,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Here’s the thing,” I said, licking off my spoon and feeling my throat get tight again. “Unless he wants to move into our apartment and not live with his daughter, I’m not going to be okay.”

He swallowed. “I get that.”

“Like, how do you do that?” I said, my voice frog-like as I imagined it. “How do you get okay with moving into someone else’s house with people you don’t really know?”

He didn’t answer, but just nodded and let me vent while we ate ice cream.

“And speaking of moving—my dad is moving and failed to tell me. So, like, how do you forget to tell your child that you’re moving? Even if it was a-okay to never call her, wouldn’t she pop into your head when you’re telling your ex-wife or packing up her old bedroom?”

Charlie held up his spoon. “Listen. You know I’m all about being stubborn, but maybe you should call your dad,” Charlie said, dipping his spoon back into his ice cream and digging out another scoopful. “He might be a good person to talk to about all of this.”

“It’s lame,” I said, “but I think if I hear his voice, I’ll get, like, toddler-level emotional.”

“Is that so bad?” he asked, giving me just the kindest, sweetest eye contact.

My vision was blurry again, so I blinked fast and changed the subject. “We should mix. Gimme a scoop of vanilla.”

He looked offended. “You want me to share?”

I scooped some chocolate out of my container, then dropped it into Charlie’s. “Here. We’ll both share.”

“Not so fast.” He grabbed my forearm in his big hand and said with faux outrage, “What if I don’t want your scoop?”

“Oh, you want it,” I teased, lifting my chin. “It’s all you can think about now. You are obsessed with how badly you want it.”

His eyes dipped down to my mouth as his lips kicked up at the corners. “You little ice cream tease.”

I opened my mouth to say How can I be a tease when I’m giving it to you—and then I froze.

God, leave it to Charlie to make me forget everything and flirt with him.

He looked at my lips again, like he was thinking hard, and then he said, “Quit distracting me—I’m missing the movie.”

At around three, after too much ice cream and two more movies, I looked over and he was sound asleep. He looked sweet—which was quite a stretch from his normal state. His eyes were closed, those long lashes resting on his skin, and his forehead was clear of worry lines.

His mouth was soft, his jaw relaxed, and I wished I could stay in that silly fort of blankets and never come out.

I rolled over and pulled up my blanket. If Charlie was asleep, I might as well sleep, too.

Only it wasn’t that easy.

I closed my eyes, but every time I did, the worries about my life and how it was about to change wouldn’t stop.

Now that they are engaged, will they want to move in together immediately?

How long until they get married?

Will they go on a honeymoon and leave me to stay home alone with a new stepsibling who’s a stranger?

Will I have to meet Scott’s parents? Will they want to be my grandparents?

I opened my eyes, but then I just stared at the TV-illuminated wall—and kept thinking. Because no matter how much I wanted to just think things like Everything will be fine and hope for the best, the reality was that everything I’d worried about was now happening.

I reached for my phone—beside my pillow, where I’d ignored it the entire time I’d been at Charlie’s—and flipped it over. I had six unread messages, and I sighed as I clicked into them.

The first five were from my mom:

I love you, Bay—we’ll figure this out.

Call me. I love you.

I talked to Charlie and I’m glad you’re safe.

I miss you—text or call if you want to talk.

I couldn’t read the last one because my eyes were full of tears. I knew I was a baby, an immature pathetic loser, because all I wanted was to cry into my mom’s shoulder at that moment.

I wiped my eyes and saw that the other message was from my dad.

Your mom thought you might need to talk. Call or text anytime, Bay—I love you.

I dropped the phone onto the carpet as the tears took over. Even as I knew it was silly, I couldn’t stop crying. I lay there in the quiet darkness of the blanket fort, overwhelmed with homesickness—for him, for her, for the family we’d once been. They’d been divorced for years, yet I still felt this gaping hole of grief as life kept changing itself up on me, kept finding new ways to make me melancholy and wistful.

When was I going to be fine with everything?

“Bay.”

I felt Charlie’s hand on my back, but I didn’t want to turn over. It was one thing for him to see me a teensy bit emotional in Colorado, but it was another entirely for him to see me bawling my eyes out. I cleared my throat and tried to sound normal. “Yeah?”

“Roll over.”

I sniffled. “I don’t want to.”

I heard a smile in his voice when he said, “Come on.”

I wiped at my eyes with the edge of the blanket and turned over. Charlie was propped up on one arm, so he was higher than me, and I said, “Can you not look at me?”

That made half of his mouth slide upward. “But you look hot with blotchy cheeks and red eyes. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

I rolled my eyes and coughed out a laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”

His smile went away and he said, “You shouldn’t be crying alone in the dark. You should’ve woken me up.”

“Yeah, sure—I can see it now. Hey, Charlie—wake up. I’m about to bawl like a baby—you don’t want to miss this.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m here for you,” he said, his face serious in our darkened fort of blankets. “That’s what friends are for.”

That made me smile. “Holy shit, Charlie—did you just admit that you have friend feelings for me? That I’m not just a coworker?”

His jaw clenched and his eyes traveled all over my face. “Maybe.”

“I want you to say it,” I teased. “Say ‘I have friend feelings for you, Bailey.’ ”

His eyes were on mine as he said, “I might possibly have feelings for you that are more than coworkerly.”

I swallowed, unable to tear my gaze from his. Had he worded it that way on purpose? Was it possible that Charlie actually did have feelings for me? Every time we’d shared a “moment,” he’d followed it up with something that let me know he wasn’t into me.

But… was there a chance he was? I managed to breathe out the word “Yeah?”

He reached out a hand and toyed with my hoodie string, and I swear to God I felt it in the center of my chest. His eyes stayed on that string when he said, “Yeah.”

My heart was in serious jeopardy of pounding out of my chest.

I said, “I thought it was just me.”

“It’s not,” he said, and his dark eyes moved to my lips.

I held my breath as he lowered his head, as the air in the blanket fort got thick and heavy with anticipation. I watched his long lashes as his eyes closed and his mouth landed on mine. I sighed as his Charlie-ness enveloped me and I raised my hands to his face, my fingers memorizing the warmth and softness of his skin.

He made a noise as my fingertips moved on his cheeks, reminding me of his kissing feedback in Colorado. I like feeling your hands on me when I kiss you. Talk about a heady awareness.

The pillow was soft under my head as his body hovered along the length of mine, leaning over me, and it felt like his mouth remembered everything and picked up right where we’d left off on the pullout bed in Breckenridge.

His lips were warm, his mouth still sweet from the ice cream as he kissed me. It was slow and deep, catch and release, his tongue and teeth delivering kisses bit by bit, taste by taste.

I could hear the shake in his breath—it matched my own—as his hand released my hoodie string and braced itself on the floor.

The movement brought our bodies closer, put him more directly above me, and I liked it. There was something about the feeling of Charlie stretched out over me that hinted of things to come, things that thrilled me at the very same time they made me nervous.

I moved my hands, wrapping them around his shoulders, which brought his hand closer to me, so he was braced directly above me on his arms. He lifted his mouth off mine, and I opened my eyes, and Charlie looked hot, a lock of his hair hanging over his brow as his dark eyes blazed down at me.

The moment hovered, as if someone had said On your mark, get set, and then his mouth came back to mine, busier and more insistent. I ran my hands over his back as he kissed me, memorizing the muscular ridges of his shoulder blades with sliding fingertips.

Our mouths got hotter, our breathing more labored, as my hands trailed down to his lower back. I didn’t know how a lower back could feel sexy—intimate—when he was still wearing a shirt, but it felt full-on sexual as I ran my hands over the spot where he probably had those lower-back dimples.

I was basically panting as he bent his arms, dropping to what was essentially a plank—a plank that brought our bodies flush together. I could hear my erratic breathing—it sounded loud to me in the blanket fort—as I felt all of him against all of me.

I might’ve made a noise, and then he moved his mouth down to my neck, burying his head in the side of my collar. I felt his teeth and tongue on my throat, which made me rear up against him in shock, shock that brought our bodies back together with an electric current.

And then—

“We should stop,” he whispered, his breath hot in my ear, his teeth on my earlobe.

My eyes were heavy as I forced them open, and he looked like pure temptation as he stared down at me with brown eyes gleaming underneath disheveled hair, hair messed by my grasping fingers. I sighed out the word “What?”

His warm breath was on my collarbone as he said, “Last night was kind of emotional, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m taking advantage of that.”

“But you’re not,” I said, memorizing the feel of his body pressing mine into the floor, of our bodies together leaving an invisible imprint in the soft down of Charlie’s floor bed. “This is separate.”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this,” he said, his voice deep and scratchy, “but I think it’s best if we both get some sleep and revisit this another time with more level heads.”

He kissed me sweetly, dropping a peck on my lips that felt like an intimate promise, and I nodded. “You’re right.”

“God, I love when you say that,” he teased, grinning down at me.

“You just love me in general,” I teased back, lifting a finger to trace the curve of his hard jaw.

“Sure I do,” he said, but his grin slid away and he swallowed hard. “We should sleep now, Glasses. Reality comes in a few hours.”

“Yeah,” I said, a little uneasy with what I saw in his face, but then he dropped another kiss onto my mouth and moved so his arms were wrapped around me, my back to his front, and I told myself it was just sleepiness I’d seen. “G’night, Charlie.”

I felt his breath on the back of my neck when he said, “G’night, Bailey.”