“I thought we did that to get a little break from Miley.”
“It was a two-fer.”
She snickers. “Are you sure you want a second date?”
“Charlotte?” I kiss her cheek softly, near her mouth. “What if I’ve already started falling for you?”
She catches my gaze and it’s like she’s looking into my very soul. “You’re a famous football player.”
“So?”
“So, I’m just Charlotte. A soon-to-be-unemployed hot mess.”
I almost say,but you’remyhot mess, but thankfully, think better of it. Because the truth is, she’s not a mess at all. She’s just hot.
“You’re human. A very wonderful human. And I like that you’re ‘Just Charlotte.’ I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”
Her bottom lip trembles and again, I feel so protective of her. She doesn’t need that from me, and I don’t get why I feel it so strongly, but I feel it, nonetheless.
“I can’t let myself fall for you again.”
“Again?” My mind sorts through our past. Why is she saying “again?”
“It was stupid, but I liked you before, okay? When I was like thirteen and you were nice to me. That’s all. You were just nice and cute, and I fell hard.”
“I had no idea.”
She snorts. “Good. That was how it was supposed to be.” She shakes her head. “But you Twinkied me, and it took me a long time to get over it and I don’t know if I can go through that again—”
I burst out a laugh. “Twinkied you? Is that some kind of code for—?”
She squeezes her eyes shut tightly for a moment before reopening them. “I guess I can tell you the story.”
“Yeah. I feel like I should know what you’re talking about. Twinkying a person sounds sinister.”
“It wasn’t!” Charlotte laughs. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t, but it…sort of made me…untrusting and…anyway, I can’t do that again.”
“Come and sit.” I tug on her hand and walk her across the room. We sit on the sofa opposite the fireplace. “Will you tell me about it?”
She draws her legs up so she can rotate to face me.
She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Okay, I guess I’ll tell you the Twinkie story.”
Chapter 27
Charlotte
Eleven Years Ago
Agethirteenwaswhenmy life was supposed to start.
Thirteen was the magical age for my older sister, Maddy. Almost overnight, she went from someone like me, geeky and normal, to how she is now: beautiful and flirty.
She’s fifteen now. But at thirteen she’d started teasing boys—and they teased back. I think she’s already gotten her first kiss. Not that she has said anything to me about it.
Her transformation came with a price, though. We used to be joined at the hip, inseparable. And now, it’s like our hips have jagged edges against them, too sharp to walk side by side.
She’s emotional, gloomy sometimes, but it’s the price to pay for glamour and maturity. For beauty.
