Betting on You
: Chapter 32

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. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

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.

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