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.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Charlie
Bailey and I spent the day hiking while her mom and Scott went skiing. Scott seemed irritated that we were going out on our own instead of hanging with them, but I held Bailey’s hand and supported her I-have-no-interest-in-learning-to-ski agenda.
“Look at this,” she said, leaning down over a stream. She cupped her hands together, dipped them into the creek, then lifted the cold water to her mouth. “Drinking in the wild like a true mountain man.”
“You do realize that a mountain lion could’ve totally crapped in the snow, which melted and sent that fecal water downstream and into your hands?” I asked, in awe of her ability to not think about how disgusting that was.
She shrugged, grinning up at me. “It’s cold and delicious. I’m thirsty, so I’m good with poop water.”
I shook my head, equal parts horrified and impressed. Because as uptight as Bailey was about some things, she was so fucking chill about others.
I was constantly surprised by her willingness to roll with the punches.
Which was probably where the kissing idea came from. It was immature as hell, because nothing said middle school quite like “Let’s practice kissing,” but that kitchen kiss was fucking addictive and I’d been desperate for my next fix.
Kissing Bailey was supposed to be like everything else was with her. Entertaining, a contest of wills, a back-and-forth that was oddly satisfying; those are things I would say when describing our friendship.
But the kiss was something else entirely.
It was hot and sweet and a little bit wild, with her fingers on my shoulders and the smell of her shampoo in my nose. She’d been the opposite of uptight, and to be honest, it was really fucking with my mind.
“Here.” I held out my water bottle and said, “My germs are better than poop water.”
“Are they?” She blinked up at me in that way she had, like she could see every single thing I was thinking and she disapproved of most of it. But she took my Smartwater and said, “I mean, your mouth was on my mouth, and now my mouth was on poop water. So if I drink this, and you kiss me later, your mouth will be pooped in with the very next—”
“Stop,” I said, shaking my head as she reasoned like a toddler.
“Fine,” she replied, looking pleased with herself.
My eyes got a little stuck on her for a second because she looked so damned cute. She was wearing jeans, a thick brown sweater, and a plaid scarf in her hair, which should’ve been boring, but on her, it worked, especially when she wore those old-school movie star sunglasses.
There was a vibe to the way she dressed, the whole I-don’t-think-that-cardigan-even-fits-her-but-damn-she-looks-perfect kind of thing.
Fucking cute, but it was Bailey.
This happened to me sometimes when I looked at her. One second she was Bailey, crinkling her nose in irritation with me while doing something like reorganizing the apps layout on her phone, and the next she was a girl with curly dark hair, long eyelashes, and freckles that begged to be counted.
She was like a one-person Freaky Friday or something.
It’d be a little concerning if her too-smart mouth wasn’t always there to remind me that she was, down to her core, still the cute blinking brace face from the airport in Fairbanks.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Bailey
After hiking all day, I was ready for a shower when we got back to the condo. We were going to a fancy steakhouse for dinner, so I got ready in the bathroom upstairs, since the window in my room still hadn’t been fixed. I took my time, really leaning into wavy curls and dramatic eye makeup. I don’t know why, but it felt important that I look good.
I was in the middle of drawing eyeliner tails (sharp enough to kill a man, of course), leaning up to the mirror and full-on concentrating, when my mom appeared in the doorway and whispered, “When did you and Charlie start dating?”
I looked at her in the mirror, and she looked rightfully surprised by what we’d thrown at her over breakfast. I was a terrible liar and immediately couldn’t remember if we’d come up with a backstory. I just said, “On the way here, kind of.”
“Oh.” She nodded and watched me, like she was reconciling it in her head. “So it’s new, then.”
“Brand-new,” I agreed.
“Ah.” I don’t know why, but that seemed to be the right answer. She looked relieved that we hadn’t been in some secret relationship she’d been unaware of. “Well, I like Charlie a lot, but make sure you take it slow, okay?”
I nodded and gave her a convincing “Okay.”
But after she walked away, take it slow kept pinging through my brain. Because even though, in the overall scheme of things, we were taking it very slow (because it wasn’t real), the chemistry between us felt crazy-fast.
Maybe because we’d gone from almost-friends to sleeping in the same room and kissing over breakfast. It was whiplash-fast, which was probably why I felt so unsteady around him.
That was why.
Just that.
The hike—when no one else was around—had been comfortable, so as I put away my makeup and sprayed my hair, I reminded myself to stop getting worked up.
It was all pretend. Charlie seemed to have no problem turning it on and off, and I was going to channel that energy and not worry about every spark that flew, because it was just a side effect of our superb acting.
Or something like that.
Once I pulled on my black dress, I ran down the stairs to look for my shoes in my suitcase.