Betting on You

“Sorry about my parents,” Dana said as she buckled her seat belt.

“No worries,” I replied, starting the car and putting it in reverse. Her perfume smelled good, and I wondered what it was. “They seem great.”NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

They did seem great, even though they’d interviewed me for ten minutes, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Dana’s parents. Honestly, I was dreading this entire double-date evening, even though Dana seemed pretty cool.

Why? Oh, yeah—because I was a fucking idiot.

I’d known that men and women couldn’t be friends. It was something I considered to be a universal truth. But somehow, with Bailey, lines got crossed. One minute we were just coworkers who irritated each other, and the next she was putting her hand in a fucking urinal for me.

We fell into the trap and became “friends” for a hot minute, but somewhere along the way—of course, you dumbass—I became obsessed with the way she blinked fast when she was surprised, the breathy sound of her laugh when she was sleepy, and the way she somehow knew when something was going to upset me, even before I did.

Somewhere between Omaha and Colorado I’d fallen truly, madly, fucking ridiculously hard for Bailey Mitchell. She was all I could think about, all the time, and sometimes it felt like I’d do anything—anything—just to make sure she was happy.

So yeah—it was kind of like a fucking slap when she mentioned setting me up with Dana, but that slap had been necessary. It was like the splash of cold water that reminded me I had no interest in anything more with her because more never lasted.

Everyone I’d ever known—every-fucking-one—had told me I was wrong. Every single person tried to convince me that true love and happily ever afters were a possibility.

But it was simply not true.

Yes, there was the obvious baggage in my life to which a therapist could attribute my beliefs: my parents fell out of love, every person I’d ever dated had fallen out of love, my grandparents had all split up—even my aunts and uncles had RIP’d their marriages.

Anyone related to me wasn’t a part of the HEA crowd.

You could argue with me all day about the merits of true love, but in my opinion, it wasn’t worth the risk.

It always came to an end.

And then there was nothing.

When Bec and I used to sit next to each other in bio, we laughed and screwed around and texted secret jokes about what the acronym of Mr. Post’s first name (Uwe) stood for. I looked forward to that class because she made it fun.

It felt good to have someone to have fun with.

But after we dated—and subsequently broke up—we didn’t speak in that class anymore. She looked at her phone or talked to Hannah (who sat on the other side of her) every day, and I… felt alone.

Every fucking day.

Fuck.

But that was why Bay and I needed to go back to being “annoying coworkers.” It felt good, being with her, and I didn’t want to lose that.

Man, I sound fucking insane.

“They’re wildly overprotective,” Dana said, and I could see in my peripheral vision that she was looking at her phone.

“So did I see a picture of you in a rat costume on the wall?” I asked, forcing myself to make a damn effort. “That’s kind of a bold costume choice for a little kid.”

“No.” She laughed, setting her phone on her lap. “I mean, yes, you did, but that was from when I was in The Nutcracker. Ballet, not Halloween.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. “Makes a little more sense.”

“Yeah,” she said, and then she picked her phone back up.

It was pretty much that way the entire drive to the bowling alley, a Q&A session with no chemistry whatsoever. There was nothing wrong with her, but it just didn’t feel like we were connecting.

As we walked into Mockingbird Lanes, though, I wondered if I was just tired. I’d barely slept last night, and the dog had woken me up at the ass crack of dawn, so maybe it wasn’t a lack of chemistry but a lack of my ability to feel.

“Bailey!” Dana yelled, lifting up an arm to yell across the crowded bowling alley.

I followed her gaze and saw Eli and Bailey, standing in front of the shoe counter.

Fucking fuck, my ability to feel was apparently just fine.

Bailey was wearing jeans, a thick wool sweater, and the new tortoiseshell glasses that she kind of hated but I thought were cute as hell. The off-white color of the top made her dark hair seem shinier than usual and made her eyes look a brighter green. Eli leaned down a little bit to hear her, and I knew he could smell the freesia lotion she always used.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the roll of TUMS. Can you just fucking inject them straight into my veins, Universe?

“Come on,” Dana said, and I hadn’t realized I’d just been standing there, staring.

I followed her through the crowd, and when we reached the shoe counter, Eli gave me a wide grin and said, “Have you ever had a broken bone?”

“What?” I stole a glance at Bailey, who was watching me with a tiny crinkle between her eyebrows.

“I was just saying to Bay that the way you chomp down antacids must give you superstrong bones, right? With all the calcium?” he said, and Dana gave a little chuckle of support. “As long as I’ve known you, chomping those TUMS.”

“I’m sad to report that I’ve broken two fingers, a wrist, and an elbow,” I said, my face getting hot. “So your theory is shit.”

We all laughed as the four of us got our shoes and went to our lane, and I tried to ignore the way Eli’s comment made me feel, because I didn’t need a fucking acid reflux spiral. I’d had an appointment with Dr. Bitz that morning, and even though I felt like a child when she kept repeating, There is nothing wrong with you, Charlie; it’s just the way your body reacts to stress, I found myself replaying it in my head.

I kept trying with Dana, but I felt zero interest from her whatsoever. It seemed like she was way more into hanging out with Bailey and Eli than getting to know me, which I was absolutely fine with.

Meanwhile, Bailey looked like she was trying really hard with Eli, and I hated that.

I hated that she was trying hard, because what did that mean?

But most of all, I hated that it was making me so fucking jealous.