Page 89 of Business Casual
“No, you’re not.” The words tumble out of me before I can even register them as a thought. Charlie looks at me with amusement lighting his tired eyes.
“You don’t even know my dad,” he says.
“But I know you.”
Charlie doesn’t harass. He doesn’t make people feel small to boost his own confidence. He might be loud and borderline obnoxious, but he’s also kind. Thoughtful. He remembers things. He sees the details. He volunteered to work two full-time jobs so his sister could go on a honeymoon. He brought me printed tax forms in the middle of the afternoon because he knew I’d probably forget to fill them out.
I’m starting to think the jokes and the comments and the ridiculousness he wraps himself in is compensation for something else. A way to hide.
I wiggle closer, frustrated by the inability to use my arms. I suddenly hate this blanket burrito. “You’re a good person, Charlie.”
“That’s all the orgasms talking,” Charlie murmurs, nudging me with his shoulder.
“It’s not,” I argue. He turns his face toward mine and arches an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little bit. You give good orgasms, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re also a good person.” I knew it before we ever started sleeping together, and I know it better now. He huffs a laugh and my lips twist. “Do I need to list all of your positive qualities?”
A smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
I wiggle one hand out from where it’s trapped against my side. I flick up one finger. “You have excellent taste in watches.” I lift another. “You have excellent taste in women.”
“Both of those things are true.” His half smile tumbles into a grin. “I am also smoking hot.”
“Reasonably attractive, I’d say.” I tuck my arm back in my blanket. I dip my chin until only my eyes are peering out of the top. “You’rekind. You’re invested. You’re easy to talk to, and you go out of your way to help others. Why is it so hard for you to believe that you’re a good person beneath all of that custom tailoring?”
“Because,” he sighs, scratching his hand through his hair. He glances around my room, looking for inspiration in the large canvas print that takes up a majority of my wall. Wildflowers in bold strokes of color. A bright blue, cloudless sky. Charlie sighs. “I’m just pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“Everything.” He swallows. “That I’m not a selfish person.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Charlie doesn’t laugh. “You don’t have to believe it. It’s the truth. You think I came to Inglewild and volunteered to watch over Lovelight out of the goodness of my heart, but that’s not true. I’m doing it for me. Because I wanted an excuse to be here.”
I blink at him. “Wanting something doesn’t make you selfish, Charlie.”
“What about taking it?” His eyes drag to my lips and hold. His voice is a rasp when he asks, “If I take the things that I want, doesn’t that make me selfish?”
I shake my head. We’re not talking about the farm anymore.
“Not if it’s willingly given,” I whisper back.
A different sort of electricity flickers between us. Like plugging in a strand of lights that’s been shoved in a box in the back of the attic only to find every bulb works. Bright and brilliant. Glowing gold.
Charlie’s eyes flick back and forth between mine, a question in there somewhere. “Nova, I—”
A knock sounds at my door, quick and sharp. It cracks through my room, and my body goes tipping to the side again with a little bounce. Charlie steadies me with a palm at my side, frowning into the dark of my hallway.
“Did you order food?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Did you?”
The door rattles with another impatient knock. A voice yells, muffled through the wood. “Nova!” Beckett calls. “I’ve had enough of you ignoring me. Open the door.”
We both freeze, heads turned in the direction of my brother’s voice.
“Tell me you moved the key under the welcome mat,” Charlie whispers.
“I moved the key under my welcome mat.”
