Page 58 of Betting on the Best Friend
The idea of Charlie having calculated moves like my brothers annoys me. I grab the net between us and give it a hard shake. “Oy, Charlie.”
“Sorry. It would have worked with any other girl.”
Like we’re all plug and play? My temper flashes, but I bank it to dig more into his plan. “The double dates?”
“A three-for-one play. Might make you see my date potential, might make you feel jealous and wonder why, or, if I lucked out, might show how I was way better than whoever you were with.”
It did that last job. Both at bowling and at pickleball, I’d kept thinking it would be better if it was only me and Charlie hanging out. Which meant no Sydney, but was that in a jealous way? Or was it preferring what’s comfortable and easy?
Would I go out of my way to coach Charlie on being more handsy with Sydney if I was jealous?
No. Obviously no.
Then it hits me. “Co-conspirators. Sydney?”
“She wanted to help.”
Why do I hate that? I draw up my knees and wrap my arms around them, needing a hug I can’t ask for right now. I want to analyze these reactions with Charlie, but I can’t because they’reaboutCharlie. I want to respond as his friend, but that requires me to be objective when I’m literally the subject. I resent it, but guilt gnaws at me for feeling resentful when he’s being vulnerable.
I force myself to think of it like someone else pulled this on me, or Charlie pulled this on someone else. “Half of me admires it. A dummy dating app profile? Fake dating Sydney?”
“Can’t take credit for that idea,” he says. “That was all her.”
Suspicious. “Do you think that was her way of tricking you into liking her for real?”
Charlie laughs. “Definitely reading her wrong. She did it as a solidarity thing with you. Wanted to help you because she had her own bad breakup and she wanted to see you happy after Katie told her about how you set up all the girls, and about Niles wasting your time.”
I sigh, all the hot, prickly feelings inside of me deflating. “I wasted my own time with Niles. He never hid who he is. I chose not to see it.”
“That’s . . . mature.”
I shove his shin with my foot. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
His hands go up in surrender. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. More like respect.”
“Yeah, well.” I hug my knees again. “That’s pretty cool of her.”
“So, you half admire my plan. How’s your other half feel?”
I rub my chin against my knees, thinking. “Confused. Why now? What made you decide to say something?”
“Have you noticed that even after my big confession, you aren’t flinging yourself at me to tell me you feel the same?” His tone is dryer than an Oklahoma brisket.
“Now that you mention it . . .” My tone is as light as his was dry, but now I’m hugging my knees to keep from climbing into his lap to draw comfortfromhim because I feel badforhim. Make that make sense.
He mirrors me, drawing his knees up but only to rest them against the loose circle of his arms made by his clasped hands. “I asked Sydney for her advice yesterday. She told me what mygut was already saying. That our friendship is too important for anything less than honesty.”
Now I resent Sydney for forcing us into this conversation.
Charlie, of course, notices. “You’re going to crack your jaw if you clench it any harder.”
That’s a variation on “Relax.” I answer by snapping my teeth.
“Sorry, sorry.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “I haven’t practiced this scenario. I’ve played it out the other way so many times where we decide to take us to a new level.”
I try to imagine it. In some ways, the only thing that isn’t there is a physical relationship. But how are we supposed to go from work spouses and best friends to suddenly . . . what? Making out? I can’t even meet Charlie’s eyes as that thought shoves its way through my brain. I hate this, and I don’t know what to do.
“Why now?” He studies his clasped hands for a few seconds. “Ever since the bet started, we’ve been hurtling toward a reckoning. I didn’t want it to be an explosion where the best either of us could hope for was shrapnel wounds.”
