Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

18. Chapter Eighteen

I sit with one of the kittens on my lap and stare at Madison’s text, trying to figure out how to take it.

You should come with Charlie.

It’s about as backhanded as an invitation gets. That means she doesn’t know she kissed me. It also means walking into Gatsby’s tomorrow as if nothing has changed is an option—if I want it to be.

Do I?

I’d thought I”d known what I was doing when I decided to step up my game. Friday night proved me wrong. Totally, utterly, disastrously wrong.

In the same way that Madison isn’t the kind of hot you can prepare for, her kiss is not the kind of thing you can anticipate—not when nothing in your grown experience has led you to believe that a single kiss can light your world on fire and a second one can burn it down.

Playing with fire is such a cliché. I respect the force that is fire. But after spending the last three weeks working near her, it’s pointless to pretend I’m not all in on the Madison Armstrong Experience.

Going over for a movie party—seeing her outside of work—would be a good chance to start merging the two versions of me in her mind. I could be my more social self, send a signal or two, and watch for Madison to return them. A slightly-too-long glance. A half smile. A brush against her but I don’t apologize.

When I tell her it was me she kissed on Friday, will it put out the fire or fan the flames? Maybe she’ll feel tricked, and that spark will fizzle like she dropped it in dirty mop water.

Maybe I should quit thinking of stupid analogies and decide what I want to do about this party. I can avoid it—and a decision—until tomorrow. Or I can use it as a chance to be a decent guy, tell her what happened, and give us both space to reset before showing up to Gatsby’s tomorrow.

This isn’t a hard call.

I text her to tell her I’m coming and start thinking about how I’m going to bring it up.

“So, about Friday night . . .”

Charlie and I arrive a little after 6:00. We came to the girls’ back door because of where we parked, and the party has definitely started. Madison had texted after lunch to tell us that the theme was S for Sami, and we were supposed to wear something that started with S. The only rule was that we couldn’t buy anything new, but anyone who tried to pass off “shirt” or “sneaker” as their S items would be mocked.

Charlie is wearing suspenders, which is normal. He’s got a cool style, and they work for him. But he usually pairs the suspenders with vintage pants. Today, he’s in seersucker shorts and a Super Mario shirt for extra S credit. I’d been tempted to grab my suit to spark recognition from Madison the second I walked in, but I let common sense score a point. I needed that conversation to happen in a way that made sense, not one that hijacked Sami’s birthday party.

Instead, I went with a red bathrobe my grandma gave me for Christmas, but I didn’t know what I would need a bathrobe for, so it’s been sitting in my closet since December. I’m calling this color scarlet, and I’d been feeling pretty stupid about wearing a bright red bathrobe until we rolled up to the Grove.

Everyone is hanging outside on the patio, wearing everything from a floral sundress (Ruby’s brother, whose shoulders are bulging beneath the straps) to sunglasses (a guy I don’t know who is wearing a regular pair with a folded pair hanging from each earpiece). When I spot Madison sitting on Ruby’s lap and wearing a spatula in her hair like a Flintstones bone, I grin. She’s in shortie pajamas with sloths all over them.

“Boys!” Madison cries. “You’re here! The party can truly start.”

“Suspenders,” Ava says, nodding at Charlie. “That works.”

“Seersucker and Super Mario too,” he says.

Ruby rests her chin on Madison’s shoulder to survey us. “Bathrobe? Robe? Sbathrobe?”

I look down at my getup and shake the tie. “Scarlet?”

Ruby frowns. “I don’t know. It’s a pretty strict dress code. Can I get a ruling, Mads?”

Madison crosses her arms in front of her in a big X. “Code violation, but don’t worry, I’ll hook you up.”

I spin, twirl the tie, and lower my eyes like I’m starring in my sister’s high school production of Chicago and hit a cellblock pose. “Sash? Scarlet sash?”

Ruby hoots, and I’m happy I made her laugh. Madison grins too, but she’s shaking her head. “Better, but unless you plan on doing a sassy jazz dance the entire time you’re here, my ruling stands. I’m going to have to accessorize you.”

“In case you’re wondering how committed they are to this theme they barely picked, I hope you like sangria,” says an elderly woman with a parrot on her shoulder. This must be Mrs. Lipsky. “That’s all the booze they’re serving. Just accept the accessories.”

“S is for sangria,” Sami says. At least, I assume it’s Sami based on her being the only roommate-aged woman here I don’t know. “But also Sprite and Snapple. They’re in the ice bucket.”

I wonder if they hit the sangria before they picked their outfits. It would explain a few things, like Ava’s necklace made of Snickers and her construction paper shark fin. Or maybe that’s a hat she’s wearing? No, it’s a fin.

“S is for sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I failed in my party clothes.”

“S is not for forgiven, but we forgive you anyway. Or we will once Madi gets you up to standard, which starts with S. I’m Sami, by the way,” she adds. “And that’s my boyfriend, Josh.”

The sunglasses guy raises a Snapple in my direction.

“Oh, sorry,” Charlie says. “I forget everyone doesn’t know Oliver. He’s my neighbor across the hall.”

“And my cat daddy,” Madison says, which sounds suggestive. Or maybe that’s just me? Everything this woman says or does comes off as sexy to me. Even the spatula in her hair makes me think of pulling it out and watching her blonde curls fall around her shoulders.

“How are the kittens doing?” Mrs. Lipsky asks.

I want to hug her for redirecting my thoughts. “Fine. Some of their umbilical cords have fallen off. They look fat and sleepy.”

“Eyes open yet?”

“Not yet.”

She nods, satisfied. “Sounds like they’re doing good. Eyes should open any day now.”

“Cool,” Madison says. “And I’m excited about that. But cats start with C. So back to S, everything you eat tonight must be dipped in salsa.”

Mentioning salsa is possibly the least helpful thing to mellow my reaction to Madison. I dart a glance at her, but her expression hasn’t changed. Why would it? She doesn’t know she danced that salsa with me.

“Or you can eat any snack because all snacks start with S,” Ruby says. “We had to come up with some loopholes and send Joey to the store for additional supplies because Madison was being a tyrant about the S foods. We didn’t feel like salsa and sweet potato chips were the only things we should serve.”

“A tyrant?” Madison scoffs. “No, I wasn’t. It doesn’t start with S.”

She and Sami toast with Sprite cans.

“There’s all kinds of stuff in the kitchen,” Ava says. “Because stuff also starts with S. You’re welcome.”

“Hey, Ava,” I say. It’s strange to think that we went on a couple of dates this summer. She was cool to hang out with, but even though we’d shared a good kiss on our final date, I hadn’t thought about her much since we’d decided we had friend energy. Ruby had mentioned that her plan to get Ava together with her brother had worked, and I’d been happy for Ava. Not sure Ruby’s brother is happy—he’s watching me with the scowl I recognize from when he’d crashed our first date.

“Good to see you again, Oliver,” Ava says. “You remember my boyfriend, Joey?”

The parrot squawks and says, “Joey sucks.”

As soon as Ava says the word “boyfriend,” Joey’s shoulders relax. He offers me a lazy smile and ignores the parrot. “Good to see you, man.”

Weirdly, I think he means it. We’ve completed an unspoken caveman ritual of setting the limits around Ava. She looks like she knows this too, and her expression wavers between amusement and irritation. I’m just glad I won’t be getting side-eye from him all night, and I nod. “You too, man.”

“Let’s take this party inside,” Sami says. “Too hot out here.”

There’s immediate agreement, except from Mrs. Lipsky. She gets to her feet but heads toward the gate in the low fence that Charlie and I came in through.

“Ahab and I need to feed Migos. You kids have fun.”

We file into the condo, Charlie behind Ruby, Madison behind Charlie. I reach out to touch her shoulder and hold her back here for a minute to explain about Friday, but I see Ruby’s shoulders slump slightly. Charlie puts an arm around her, and Madison does a couple of quick steps to catch up and check on her.

My confession can wait a few minutes.

The kitchen is as full of food as Ava promised, and I pluck a cold soda from the bucket of ice before I choose my snacks.

“Sausage and soysage coming up,” Joey says, veering toward the stove, where a skillet sits.

I put a brownie and some chips and salsa on my plate and follow the short hall to the living room, where everyone else is settling in. Josh and Sami take one side of the sofa, and Ava takes the other, obviously waiting for Joey to join her. Ruby has one armchair, and Charlie is already stacking a couple of throw pillows on the floor to settle in beside her. The other armchair is one of those big ones that’s almost a love seat but not quite. Madison has disappeared, but I assume it’s for her.

Before I can claim a spot of carpet, Madison appears.

“Time for dress code compliance.” She comes at me with handfuls of so much shine and color that I back up a few steps. “Stop right there.”

Charlie gives me a shove with his shoe to my butt, sending me a step back toward Madison.

“Socks,” Madison says, thrusting a pair toward me. “Striped socks.” Her phone buzzes, and she pulls it from her back pocket, frowns, and sends it to voicemail. She sets it on the arm of the big chair and shakes the socks at me. “Stripey ones.”

I take them. “And knee high.”

“Good fashion makes a statement,” she says.

I know when I’m beat, so I sit in the big chair while I kick off my Jordans.

“You’re wearing shorts,” Madison says.

I glance up at her as I pull on the first sock. “Yeah?”

“I thought you looked different today, but I just figured out why. You always wear jeans. And a hoodie.”

“It’s cold in the club,” I tell her. “I assumed y’all probably didn’t have industrial air conditioning in here, so I’d be good in shorts.”

“There’s something else, though.” She studies me as I pull on the second sock.

I avoid her eyes and try to look casual. If she notices my haircut, will it unravel everything else before I have a chance to ease her into it? Do I say something now? Make another joke? Ask to see her outside?

“Your haircut.”

I freeze, waiting.

“Looks good. This will make it great.” She hands me a shiny black headband.

“Headband starts with H,” I object.

“But S is for sequins. Wear it.”

It is, in fact, forty billion small sequins making it shine. I slip it on my head to the whistles and applause of her friends.

“Perfect,” Madison says.

“So glad.” I get up and look around for more throw pillows to stretch out on the floor. Otherwise, my option is leaning against the sofa with the two cuddling couples. Awkward and no thanks.

“Sit with Madison,” Ruby says. Her expression is an almost smile while her bright eyes take in everything around her.

I always get the sense with her that she sees all and knows all. She is a know-it-all but the kind you can’t help liking anyway.

“Floor’s good,” I say. “Just need a couple more pillows.”

“There should be more,” Charlie says, glancing toward the sofa with a frown. “Or I thought there were.”

“Sit with Madi,” Ruby says. “You already share a workspace. Call it team building.”

“Happy to share.” Madison snags my wrist and gives me a gentle tug toward the chair. “There’s plenty of room. I promise not to make it weird.”

I can’t make the same promise. Beads of sweat form at my nape just thinking about being compressed between the firm chair on one side and firm Madison on the other.

She gives my chest a light push and I plop onto the chair in my sequins and stripey knee socks. Like Friday, Madison easily takes charge of me. I love it, but I keep that off my face.

“Be afraid,” Sami says. “Turns out Madison is into guys in costume.”

“Only masks,” Madison says. “You’re safe.” As if to prove her point, she sits down next to me, wiggling until I shift to make room for her.

Leave it alone, the sane part of my brain tells me. But my mouth says, “What about guys in masks? Is this about that theme night at the club?”

“She’s been swooning all day,” Ruby says.

“Goofy look on her face,” Ava confirms.

“Kissed her frog prince,” Sami adds.

“I didn’t say that,” Madison protests, but her friends are having too much fun teasing her to let it go.

“Dude rocked her world,” Josh adds. “I’ve caught her staring into space twice.”

“I hope y’all get only red lights until Christmas,” Madison mutters.

“I didn’t do anything,” I protest. Except rock your world. Which makes us even, because that’s what she did to me Friday.

“You can have green lights, Oliver.”

I don’t want the teasing to stop. I want to hear all about her take on our kiss. I want to relive every slow, hot second of it. But if I let this keep going, when I do explain it was me, she’ll kill me and make it slow for egging them on.

There is nothing I want to do less than put an end to this, but I better—and quick.