Page 44 of Blame it on the Bet
I’m not sure how long I’m asleep when Jameson comes to bed, or how long she waits to talk to me.
“I’m thinking about leaving Win,” she whispers, probably unsure I’ll even hear her.
I turn onto my left side so that we’re facing one another in the center of the bed.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
She shakes her head. “No. Not yet, anyway. I’m still just thinking. But I had to say it out loud to someone, you know what I mean?”
I do. But I find a different way to give her my answer. “I think I might… God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. I
think I might kinda sorta like Bryan. A little. Maybe.”
I’m expecting a lecture on “sleeping with the enemy” and am stunned when, instead, her face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Really?” she whispers excitedly.
I nod more assuredly and smile now, emboldened by her apparent approval.
“Oh, Henny…I think that’s insane and wonderful!”
“Right?” I agree—thrilled that she gets it.“It’s a horrible idea. Terrible. Stupid. Insane. But I can’t help it…every time he’s around, it’s like my pulse goes into overdrive. Tonight he…”
“What?” she asks breathlessly across our pillows. “What did he do?”
“He kind of…cornered me in the back hallway. He just kept coming closer and closer until we were almost touching. And then he whispered in my ear.”
James starts to kick her feet as she stifles a “squee!” The last thing we need is the other two crawling under the covers with us, demanding to know what’s going on. We had quite enough of that when Jameson and I were teenagers and pesky younger sisters Walker and Bailey wanted in on everything.
“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” she insists.
“He said he can’t stop thinking about me,” I whisper into the darkness between us.
“And?”
“And I can’t stop thinking about him. But I’m afraid to let myself go there. I mean, what if he’s just trying to get me to sell to him, James? What if…what if he’s just using me? I just don’t think I could take it right now.”
She’s quiet for what feels like a long time, her green eyes glittering every time they catch the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. I can tell she’s studying me and my every feature.
“Hennessy. I don’t know this guy…and neither do you. Not really, anyway. But you’ve got the best instincts of anyone I know. And if your gut’s telling your heart that there’s something there, then I’d put money on it. Besides, what’ve you got to lose? We’ll either raise the money or we won’t. He doesn’t really have any control over that situation. At this point, our fate is in our own hands.”
She’s absolutely right about that. In more ways than one.
Chapter Eighteen
BRYAN
Truittism No.9: It pays to have a finger in every pie… including humble.
“Hey, Hennessy, wait up!” I call as I try to catch her on the sidewalk. She stops and turns, her lips quirking upward as she watches me trying to run in these huge boots. It’s like trying to run in tires. Horizontal tires. Not vertical, rolling tires. The oversize toes keep catching on the sidewalk.
“You’ve got to pick your feet up,” she advises from half a block away. “If you shuffle, you’re going to fall.”
This I know, because I’ve done it twice already today. No witnesses, luckily. Still, I heed her advice, slowing down and making more of an effort to lift my feet up.
