How did I ever think he was a jerk? Charlie Sampson had the softest, sweetest center, in spite of the fact that it was surrounded by crunchy cynicism, and I felt an odd sense of pride as I watched him move closer to the kitten.
Because how many people would just start climbing in this situation?
He got to the branch below the kitten and started talking even more. “I’m going to grab you in a sec, and I’m going to need you to not freak out too badly, okay? A scratch is fine, but please don’t leap down and hurt yourself.”
I took a couple steps over to stand directly underneath him, incredibly stressed about how high he’d climbed. Maybe if he fell on me, instead of the ground, he wouldn’t die.
He reached out, and—thank God—got the cat on the first try.
And instead of trying to get away, the little pile of fluff buried his head in Charlie’s collar as he petted him.
“Good job, buddy. Such a good boy, sitting still and waiting for me.” Charlie’s mouth was right by the kitty’s ear as he said, “You are such a good kitty.”
I watched him, dangling from the side of a tree while cuddling and nurturing that tiny little animal, and it was undeniable.
I had huge feelings for Charlie Sampson.
Shit.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Bailey
The road trip home was the same as the way there—fun, relaxed—only it had the added bonus of Charlie’s adorable cat, Puffball. A name I earned the right to give by winning the what-will-they-order-for-breakfast challenge before we’d hit the road. Charlie wanted to talk to his mom before bringing the cat home, so my mom had suggested we bring it to our apartment and he could come get it once he had permission. It was disgusting, how protective Charlie was of the cat, and I was utterly obsessed with this soft side of him.
After we brought the cat back to the condo, Scott ran to the market and came home with a disposable litter pan, food, and a cat toy, and the three of them—Scott, my mom, and Charlie—gushed over the fluffy feline all evening.
The damn cat had ruined everything.
Because now, in addition to being emotionally distracted by the beautiful way Charlie was a total sap for that cat, I could no longer avoid the obvious as I watched them love all over the kitten.
Scott was a decent guy.
He was sweet and thoughtful, even giving Charlie a chance in spite of all the things Charlie had done to antagonize him.
So how could I keep trying to mess things up? Especially when my mom seemed to really like him?
It was giving me stress, but when I thought about him being in our lives forever, that stress accelerated to the nth degree.
So much for the whole laid-back shit-happens vibe.
But as we flew over the interstate, I felt better than I had the night before because I now had a solid plan.
After lying wide awake for hours on that pullout sofa, thinking about my feelings for Charlie and obsessing about why they were terrible, the answer came to me.
It didn’t matter.
It didn’t. Who cared if I had a few new-and-confusing feelings for Charlie?
I’d gotten all tied up in the feelings themselves—What do they mean? Are they real? How can we be friends when I am suddenly crushing on him so hard?—before realizing that it wasn’t about the feelings themselves.
It was about what I did with them.
And I wasn’t going to do anything with them.
Because I knew Charlie didn’t feel the same way about me that I felt about him. I knew he liked me, I was pretty sure he had fun hanging out with me, and I was absolutely certain he enjoyed kissing me.
Gawwwwwwwd, the way he kissed.
But I’d never seen his face change when he looked at me the way it’d changed when he saw Becca at that party. And after the rejection I’d felt when Zack moved on after our breakup, I wasn’t willing to settle for “pretty sure” and “liked.”
I wasn’t willing to settle at all.
So I was going to take what I’d learned from my parents—the fact that feelings eventually faded, especially when new feelings were introduced—and ensure a change of heart.
“So I have an idea,” I said when we entered Lancaster County and I knew we’d be home in an hour.
“Uh-oh,” Charlie said, popping a few orange TUMS into his mouth.
“No uh-oh,” I argued. “No uh-oh at all. I was just thinking that now that the trip is over, it might be a good time for each of us to actually date in real life.”
When I said the words, I realized that—holy shit—I meant it. Not just as a Charlie-Bailey diffuser, but maybe it was time for me to try to move on from Zack.
“What?” he said, his voice tight as he glanced over at me, a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Not each other,” I quickly added, noting the look of horror on his face. “But… people.”
He rolled his eyes and looked back at the road. “Really, Glasses?”
“You said Eli wanted to ask me out, and I have a friend—Dana—who is gorgeous and smart and funny.” I tried sounding nonchalant as I said, “We should double-date it up.”
“First of all, please never say things like ‘double-date it up,’?” he said, chewing his antacid.
“Agreed. I regretted it the second it exited my mouth.”
“Second of all, what the fuck?”
Charlie looked irritated, which felt kind of good. Is he hurt by the thought of me going out with someone else? Was he mad that I was suggesting it after the weekend we’d just shared? I aimed for super chill when I casually asked, “What the fuck what?”
“What the fuck what? You have a gorgeous, smart, funny friend, and this is the first time you’re mentioning her?” His eyes stayed on the road, but he looked amused as he said, “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Heat flooded my face—hell, my entire body—and I was embarrassed by how quickly I’d fallen into wishful thinking. I ignored the unwelcome feeling in the pit of my stomach and said, “I guess I didn’t know you were looking.”
He did look at me then, but his expression was unreadable. “I guess I didn’t either.”
God, how was it possible that I missed my fake boyfriend already?
“So let’s set it up, then,” I said, remembering that forcing this was the best way to put our friendship back on solid ground, without any weird emotional tie-ups.
“Let’s,” he said. “We should do something stupid, like bowling.”
“Bowling’s not stupid,” I muttered. “I was in a Saturday-morning bowling league in elementary school, and it was the funnest.”
“A nerd says what?”
“Whatever,” I said, looking out the window. “I was on the Saturday Strikers, and we ruled.”
“I can’t hear through all the static of your lameness. Are we bowling or what?”
I shook my head and said, “We’re bowling.”
He glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “Now, you know you can’t kiss me when we’re on dates, right?”
I coughed out a laugh. “I am aware, yes.”
“I’m sure it’ll be tempting, now that you’ve tasted the Charlie Special, but—”
“Ewwwww—the Charlie Special sounds like a tongue sandwich on toasted bread,” I interrupted.
“Tasty,” he muttered.