“What are you talking about?”
“Poker night. After you tell Winnie about the bet?—”
I grunt. “Let me deal with it.”
“Will you though?” He leans against the counter. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re digging yourself deeper into a hole.”
“It’s not a hole. It’s a plan.”
“A plan that involves kissing her senseless before confessing you started dating her because of a bet?”
I point at him. “That’s not what happened.”
“You sure about that?”
“The bet doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It will to her.” Austin’s voice loses its teasing edge. “Look, I’m happy for you. Really. But you need to tell her the wholetruth before someone else does. Before she hears it at poker night and thinks?—”
“No one’s saying anything at poker night.”
“They might not mean to, but it could come up. If she hears about it there, surrounded by our crew, instead of hearing it from you privately …” He trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.
He’s right.
But what if I tell her and she walks away? What if this thing between us—this real, honest thing—shatters before it even has a chance to begin?
“I’ll handle it,” I say, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears.
Austin clutches my shoulder. “I hope so, brother. Because if you lose her over this, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
It pains me to think it, but once more, I know he’s right. I wonder if the bet was just a ploy for me to admit the truth. Austin leaves, and I’m alone in the bakery with my thoughts and the ghost of Winnie’s kiss still on my lips.
My phone buzzes.
Winnie: Home safe. Thank you for tonight.
Me: Anytime. Sleep well.
Winnie: You too. See you tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when I’ll take her on a proper date, treat her the way she deserves, and then tell her the truth about the bet and how it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s developed between us.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
One way or another.
30
WINNIE
I wakeup with Patton’s kiss still burning on my lips and my phone already buzzing.
It’s six a.m. on a Thursday. This can only be bad news. The irony that in exactly twelve hours I have a date with Patton, which is the opposite, isn’t lost on me.
“Fab?” I answer, voice thick with sleep.
“Win, the landlord stopped by. We have less than three weeks. Mom and Dad are a mess.”
