Betting on You

“Well, if you’re not going to kill him, you could make the guy’s life so miserable that he never wants to return to your apartment.”

“How so?” I looked at Charlie, then at Nekesa and Theo. We were on our first break, sitting at a cafeteria table in Planet Funnn’s Supermassive Fun Hole, and since Nekesa had no filter, the boys were now totally up to speed on the embarrassing thing I’d done at my first booze party, how much I was hated by the popular girls at our school, and the crushing reality that my nemesis could potentially move in with me in the not-so-distant future.

“The possibilities are endless.” Charlie’s voice was quiet and kind of gruff, like he was bored. Or surly. He took a long drink of his Rockstar and said, “You can sit between him and your mom on the couch every single time he comes over. You can find out what he hates and do that like all the time. Conversely, you can find out what he loves and ruin it.”

“Example, please,” I said, intrigued by this notion of subterfuge.

Nekesa grinned and said, “Oh my God—he’s right! If you know he loves football, and he’s coming over on a Monday night, you make sure you’re already watching a documentary on, like, Hurricane Katrina when he gets there. Bonus points if you get your mom super into it so when he shows up, there’s nothing else for him to do but watch the depressing documentary.”

“Ooh,” I said, thinking that didn’t sound too difficult.

Charlie added, “Or if you find out he’s allergic to dogs, borrow mine for an hour and we’ll let him run all over your house. The Undertaker sheds like a son of a bitch, so we’ll roll him all over the sofa so that the next time the boyfriend lies down to watch TV, he’ll have a massive asthma attack.”

“I’m not sure what’s more unbelievable here. The underlying darkness of you guys’ childish Parent Trap ideas,” I said around a smile, “or the fact that his dog is named the Undertaker.”

Charlie’s mouth turned up. “What? My little sister loves wrestling.”

I wondered what Charlie was like with his sister. Was he sweet and protective, or kind of an asshole? Honestly, I could see both.

“My uncle got the Undertaker’s autograph last summer,” Theo added proudly.

That made Nekesa giggle and flick a straw wrapper at him. “Aw, does widdle Theo wike westling?”

“That’s it.” Theo tugged on her hair and said, “One too many widdles today.”

They were all smiles and breathless laughter, which made me glance at Charlie.

Who gave me a knowing smirk and a slow nod.

I narrowed my eyes into a squint and shook my head as if to say No way, even though Nekesa and Theo really were flirting all over each other, but the squint was rendered meaningless when Theo tickled Nekesa. He tickled her, she squealed, and Charlie ditched subtlety as he stood and mouthed the words TOLD YOU while wearing a cocky, all-knowing grin.

Gahhhh. It was infuriating, the way he always thought he was right.

The four of us spent the entire day learning how to work the front desk. The majority of our responsibilities would be checking the guests in and out, and answering the switchboard. It didn’t seem difficult, but it didn’t necessarily seem exciting, either.

Toward the end of the day, we had to take turns role-playing. I was killing it, totally slaying as a desk clerk and impressing my trainer with my skills. I knew it didn’t matter, but I liked doing a good job.

Only, every time Charlie played a guest and I was the desk clerk, he used ridiculous accents and terrible voices to try to make me laugh. I was able to hold it together and be professional, but when he attempted to channel a Frenchwoman with a very high-pitched voice, a tiny laugh escaped.

“Miss Mitchell,” the trainer said, not looking amused in the slightest by Charlie’s shenanigans, “the reality is that there will be guests at our establishment who are unusual. Are you going to crack up every time they ask you for a room?”

I glanced at Charlie; was I actually the one getting in trouble? I couldn’t believe it; it was day two, and he’d already gotten me on the naughty list. I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath before recovering with, “Of course not. I’ll, um, I’ll get it together.”

The trainer gave me a nod but still looked annoyed.

I turned to Charlie to glare, but he gave me a wink that made glaring impossible. Because uh-oh… something about the intimate wink did things to my stomach. I cleared my throat and looked away.

What the hell was that?

I cleared my throat again and decided it wasn’t anything more than hunger, making my stomach growly.

When we finally got off work and the four of us were walking to our cars, my mom texted.

Scott and I are hungry for Godfather’s. Does pizza work for you for dinner?

“Dammit,” I whined, putting my phone into my pocket as instant dread filled me at the thought of more forced proximity. “He’s already over at my house.”

“He probably never left,” Charlie said. Nekesa and Theo were too busy talking to even notice we were speaking.

“Shut up,” I said to him, hating that thought. “Not helpful.”

“Seriously, just make the dude’s life hell.” Charlie waved a hand in the air as he said, “It’s so easy.”

I wished it was. I wished it was easy and I wished it would work. “Maybe I do need to come up with a plan.”

“Hell yes,” Charlie said enthusiastically. “A control freak like you should definitely take some notes.”Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I wanted to deny that I was a control freak, but I knew that with Charlie it was pointless. It would result in ten minutes of back-and-forth that would end in him thinking he was right, even though he wasn’t.

No, the bigger point was whether or not I wanted to be proactive in the Scott situation. Whether or not I wanted to do something to try to shake him from our lives.

Ugh, just the thought of it all stressed me out.

The idea of plotting something was immature; who was I, Lindsay Lohan (and Lindsay Lohan), employing childish shenanigans in order to get my long-lost parents back together? I wanted to think I was better than that.

And what if somehow it worked and Scott walked away? I wanted that, but what about my mom? I couldn’t stand the thought of anything making her sad, so was I really considering spearheading her heartbreak?

But just as I thought that, I remembered the brownie batter party that didn’t happen last night. Instead of my mom and me, hanging out together the way we always had since she’d split with my dad, Scott’s ass had been on our couch and he’d put my mother to bed before I’d even gotten home.

And it wasn’t about the brownies—I wasn’t that selfish.

It was about what had survived the divorce. Our family had imploded, but my mom and I having brownie parties still felt like some descendant of that, some tiny fragment that had survived the crash. Connecting me to the family we used to be.

I was fine with her dating—I didn’t want her to be alone forever—but Scott was an imminent threat to all the brownie parties I held on to for dear life.

“Will you help me? Like, for real, not being a smart-ass?”

Charlie looked surprised for a second, and then he shrugged like he didn’t care. “Sure. I was going to hit Zio’s on my way home, so if you want to tag along, we can map out your annoy-him-until-he-leaves strategy.”

“My mom and Scott are ordering pizza, so I should probably—”

“Cancel with them and go with me.” He looked down at me with raised eyebrows. “Duh.”

“How would this help?” I asked, noticing that he really did have a nice face in spite of his Mr. Nothing disposition. Man, would I love to put mascara on lashes that long. It just wasn’t fair that he was born that way.

“Chaos. Tension,” he replied, reaching out a hand and patting down the curl on the right side of my part that had been wildly uncooperative that day. “Throwing a wrench into their we-happy-three plans.”

“Okay.” I smacked his hand before pulling out my phone to text my mom. I said to him as I opened my contacts, “Just let me drop off Nekesa first.”

“Theo,” Charlie said, his eyes on me, “do you think you can give Nekesa a ride home so Bay and I can go strategize her destroy-the-boy plan?”

“Of course,” Theo said, looking like he didn’t mind a bit.

Charlie murmured “Of course” at a volume that only I could hear.

“Thanks,” Nekesa said, also looking like she had no regrets about being rerouted to Hot Theo.

Shit, maybe Charlie was right about them.

I followed Charlie downtown and parked at a meter spot, and by the time I got inside the restaurant, he already had menus and a table.

“So.” I sat down, pulled off my cross-body bag, and said, “Do you think this can actually work?”

“Doing anything is better than doing nothing, right?” he asked, crumpling his straw wrapper into a perfect tiny ball before flicking it in my direction.

“I suppose,” I said, still unsure if that was actually true. Unsure what I was even doing here with him.

A waiter came over and took our orders, and then we got right to it. Charlie was full of ideas on how I could make our apartment an “inhospitable environment” for my mother’s boyfriend, and we wolfed down pizza while I rejected each and every ridiculous idea.

“I can’t do that,” I said, full-on cackling when he suggested I start hiding Scott’s stuff. Charlie had a way of being cynically dark and absurdly funny, all at the same time, and apparently that was my sense of humor’s sweet spot. Most of the time I wasn’t sure if he was serious or kidding, but the sarcasm in his deep voice made it funny, regardless. I shook my head and pulled a piece of pepperoni off my slice. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, picking up the red Coca-Cola cup that was half-full of Mountain Dew. “If he loses his glasses every time he comes over, he might stop coming over, right?”

“Seems oversimplified,” I said, wishing it wasn’t.

“What is happening on your plate right now?” Charlie asked, setting down his soda and gesturing with both hands. His eyes were narrowed, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but his lips were turned up just a little when he said, “That is pizza desecration. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“No, it’s not.” I looked down at the pile of toppings and said, “I eat it all. I just like to eat the cheese and toppings first, then the crust.”

“Why?” He reminded me of Airport Charlie as he gave his head a disgusted shake and added, “Seriously.”

I sighed. “Do you really want to know, or do you just want to mock me?”

He reached out a big hand and grabbed one of my black olives. “Both.”

“Okay.” I smacked his hand and said, “If you eat it all together, you don’t really taste the crust because of the topping flavors. This way, you get to enjoy the flavors of beef and pepperoni and olives and onions, and then you get to enjoy the texture and yeasty flavor of the crust.”

His mouth slid into a small grin that almost looked appreciative. His dark eyes were kind of twinkly when he said, “It looks disgusting, but what you said kind of makes sense.”

I lifted my chin, feeling somehow vindicated. “I know. Right? Try it with your pizza.”

“Try—”

“But drink water first.” I slid his water closer to him and said, “Palate cleanser.”

His eyes were a little squinty—I sensed a laugh in there—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he did exactly what I said. He took a big drink from his water, slammed down the cup, then gave me ridiculous eye contact—like we were in a staring contest—as he first took a bite of his topping, then his crust.

“I’m right, right?” I asked, setting my chin on my wrist. “It’s way better.”

He sat back in his chair and watched me, without a word, his head tilted like he was trying to figure something out. He wasn’t smiling anymore, didn’t look teasing, but he didn’t look unhappy, either.

He looked… analytical.

I cleared my throat and felt warmth on my cheeks. “Whatever. I know I’m right, even if you’re too—”

“Amazing,” he said, his face still unreadable.

“Not the word I was looking for, but—”

“No,” he said, his mouth sliding into a smile. “Your pizza methodology. Is amazing.”

I blinked. Is he mocking me? “Are you saying that you agree with me?”

“I’m saying that I feel like I’ve never tasted pizza before. Thank you, Bailey Mitchell Glasses, for showing me your ways.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, and it was impossible not to give in to a huge smile of victory. I didn’t want him to know how much I enjoyed his compliment, so I said, “Now back to the devious plan.”

His eyes stayed on mine for another second before he gave a nod and grabbed his soda. “About that. Let me ask you something.”

“God.”

“Do you really think you’ll have the coconuts to do any of these things we’re planning? You’re kind of a pathetic people pleaser.”

“No, I’m not,” I shot back, sounding more defensive than I wanted to, but dammit—I felt a little attacked. Because what was it with that? Just because I was nice and preferred to avoid conflict didn’t mean I was pathetic. Nekesa called me that—pathetic people pleaser—all the time, and even Zack had eluded to it when we were together.

“Easy,” Charlie said, putting up his hands like he was being held up. “I didn’t mean it.”

I raised an eyebrow, my irritation instantly diffused by his overdramatic facial expression. “Really?”

“Okay, I probably meant it,” he said, his unapologetic smile making him look like a mischievous little boy. “But back to the question at hand. Are you brave enough to rock the boat?”

“I don’t know,” I said, giving the question honest consideration. I had a very hard time with confrontation, so he was right to question my abilities. “I mean, I want to.”

He made a noise and shook his head. “Not good enough, bruh.”

“I know,” I whined, stirring my drink with its straw and actually meaning it when I said, “I wish I was more like you.”

“I knew it.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, which was so wide, I wondered if he was a swimmer, and he said with teasing smugness, “I’m your role model.”

“Hardly.”

“If you want to call me Uncle Charlie, or Mentor Charlie,” he said, smiling in a funny way that made me want to smile back, “you totally can.”

“I’d rather eat glass,” I said, pulling off the sharp retort even as I wanted to laugh. “Can we get back to the business at hand?”

“Sure,” he said, his eyes moving all over my face before focusing on my gaze. “Well, in my opinion, the first thing you need to do is dig deep and find your inner asshole.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Strike the language,” he said quickly. “But you know what I mean. Just be a dick.”

“No one’s as good at that as you.” I looked at him, at his naturally sarcastic face, and said, “Oh my God—come with me.”

“What?” His dark eyebrows knotted together.

“Yes!” It was brilliant. “I’ll be braver with you there—”

“More brave,” he interrupted. His brow was still furrowed, but the playful glint was in his eyes.

“And you can bring your surly attitude too.” I didn’t want us to be mean to Scott, but I felt desperate to do something—anything—to slow things down. I was terrified that my life was about to change yet again, and I couldn’t let that happen when I was still adjusting to the first change. I just needed more time before my mom got serious—with anyone. “We’ll be the dynamic duo of assholery.”

“Lame superhero names,” he muttered, watching me closely like he was thinking a million things.

“I’ll let you be the bigger, badder one,” I teased, tucking my hair behind my ears, dying to know what was going on in his head.

“Oh, you’ll let me.” He rolled his eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

Now I rolled my eyes. “You really are a dick. How about you’re just being a nice friend?”

“Coworker,” he corrected, and I heard the vibration of his phone as he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the notification.

“That’s right—coworker,” I said, feeling a little weird about his correction. I didn’t care about being Charlie Sampson’s friend, but it felt like a tiny rejection every time he made it clear he’d never be my friend. “God forbid you admit you were wrong about the friendship thing.”

“Right?” His jaw clenched as he looked at his phone, and then he turned off the screen and dropped it onto the table. Not angrily, but like he was done with it. His gaze came back to mine, and even though he gave me his smart-ass smirk, it didn’t reach his eyes when he said, “I’d rather die than be wrong.”

“I’d die to prove you wrong,” I teased, “so we’re kind of similar on this front.”

“Only not.”

I reached across the table, grabbed his sleeve, and gave his arm a shake, desperate to convince him and also bizarrely compelled to shake that detached expression off his face. “Please do this. Please. Please. Do it. Do it.”

That made his mouth curve into a slow, wide smile as he set one very big hand on mine, trapping it against his biceps. “You’re begging—I like this.”

“So you’ll do it?” I asked, a little taken aback by the power of his grin. Or maybe it’s the power of the grin/muscular-arm-under-my-palm combo.

“I’ll follow you to your house and stay just long enough to stir the pot.” He exhaled dramatically, shook off my hand, and said, “I’ll let you watch the master, and hopefully you’ll pick up a few things.”

“Are you finished?” I asked, staring pointedly at his empty plate. “I want to get rolling on Operation Ditching Scott.”

“So impatient,” he said, reaching out a hand and messing up my hair. “My bright-eyed student.”

“My dumbass instructor,” I said, smacking his hand before fixing my hair. “Let’s go.”