Page 91 of Betting on the Best Friend
We check in the remaining guests and close the door, the signal to Sandy that everyone is accounted for. Charlie leads us toward a spot along a wall where Niles will be in our line of vision, but he’ll have to twist around and be very obvious if he tries to see us.
I draw a breath because I have a whole lot to say.
“Hold that thought,” Charlie says. “We’re going to need fuel. Be right back.”
Less than three minutes later, he reappears with a plate holding one of everything. “Take what you need, then let me hear it because I’m ready.” He pops a cucumber finger sandwich in his mouth.
“What is Niles doing?” I hiss. We won’t be overheard with all the conversations happening around us, so it’s an angry hiss, not a discreet one. “We haven’t spoken since a couple of weeks after we broke up, but he’s here to flaunt his fiancée. Why? Don’t tell me it has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you.”
“He’s trying to hurt me.” My tone is pure disbelief.
“He’s one of those small guys inside. The question is, is it working?”
“I don’t care that he’s engaged,” I say. “Her being here doesn’t hurt me, but him bringing her because he thinks it will hurt does. I’d be hurt ifanyonetried to hurt me, but this is extra.”
“Didn’t Niles used to say he didn’t like drama?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. But drama is anything that doesn’t match the script in his head for how he thinks things should go.”
“Why is he here trying to create it? What does he want from you?” Charlie is thinking aloud, not expecting me to answer, but I do.
“Attention. Literally the only reason he would do this. But why does he need it?” I’m starting to scowl, but I can’t help it. “Whodoesthis?”
Niles leans over to his fiancée and plants a longer kiss on her than necessary at a public tea. His fiancée dabs at his lips with her napkin when they separate, clearly charmed to be wiping her lipstick off him.
I make a small distressed sound, and Charlie's eyes fly back to me, darkening.
“It breaks my heart that you still care enough for it to hurt. But he doesn’t get to break your heart again.”
I press my hand to the heart in question. Oh, this man. “Charlie, I need to—”
He holds a cucumber sandwich in front of my face. “Keep smiling so he doesn’t know he’s getting to you.”
I’m so startled I accept it by eating it straight from his fingers. My lips brush his fingertips, and my knees almost buckle.
What ishappening? Okay, I know what’s happening. I have a tiny cucumber sandwich in my mouth, and my lips are still touching Charlie’s fingertip in a way that is not scandalous but is provoking many questions in my brain.
I draw back to chew.
That was so intense. I want to look away, to get a breath or something. But I can’t. Charlie’s eyes have the sharp, focused expression they get when he’s running a very fast calculation. What he wants off a menu. How to defuse a patron who is ready to dismantle a computer printer with pure rage. What to do when your friend almost licks you . . . ?
He must have many questions in his brain too.
I swallow hard. Harder than the sandwich requires for sure. I should say something, but I don’t know what.I realized something at the pitch thing. Then I knew for sure at Sami’s show. And what I realized is that my feelings haven’t changed, but I—
Charlie opens his mouth.
Relief. Charlie knows what to say.
Panic.What if I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say?
Charlie holds up another sandwich and says, “Do that again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlie
