Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

19. Chapter Nineteen

Think fast , I tell my brain as Sami starts joking about the Great Masked Makeout.

“Mask doesn’t start with S,” I say, “but I assume whatever we’re watching does. What did the birthday girl pick?”

Sami accepts the change of subject. “I thought hard about this. I went with alliteration, so we’re watching a horror movie called Soul Survivors. It came out when we were in preschool, and I’ve never seen a film with an average rating this low, ever.”

Madison gives my shoulder a quick squeeze to say thanks.

“Sounds perfect,” Ruby says, and like they’re following a cue, everyone sinks down, curls up, or otherwise makes themselves comfortable.

Ava calls for Joey, while Madison draws her knees to her chest, scooting and adjusting until she’s nestled into the corner of the chair—the A-frame of her honey gold legs almost—but not quite—resting against my abs and chest.

“Am I squishing you?” she asks.

Crushing me beneath the temptation to reach out and run my palm up the slope of her calf? Drowning me in the need to run my hand over the crest of her knee then trail a single finger down the smooth incline of her thigh? Yes. I grit my teeth. Definitely yes.

But squishing me? “No.”

“Cool. Tell me if I do.”

Then, in a move calculated to kill me, she wiggles her butt to settle farther into the corner of the chair while Ruby calls for Joey. “We’re ready to start the movie, Joseph!”

“Good timing,” he calls back. A few seconds later, he walks into the living room and settles on the couch, shifting Ava’s legs to drape across his. “Links are cooked and on the table if anyone is hungry.”

You couldn’t pry me out of my spot with a crowbar. I’ll be skipping dinner and anything else that means ending this torture. This is karma, but I’m not sure if it’s because I am an incredible human or I’m coming back as a dung beetle in my next life.

Thirty minutes into the worst horror movie I’ve ever seen, I still don’t know the answer. It’s been a long time since I laughed this hard, the commentary flying with every wooden line delivery or plot escalation that makes about as much sense as a Kanye West rant.

Madison—between ignoring calls on her phone from “Dad”—is the fastest and funniest. “Is this on DVD? It would be the perfect gift for that special person in your life you truly loathe.” Or “Luke Wilson is in this? Do you think he returned his salary so they wouldn’t put him on the cover?”

Evidence for good karma.

But we’re barely into the movie before she stretches to dig her toes into the arm of the other side of the chair. Her legs aren’t draped over my lap the way Sami and Ava are draped over their boyfriends, but it’s pretty close. Every time she leans forward when she thinks something dumb beyond belief is going to happen, her scent hijacks my nose. When she laughs, her body vibrates against mine—talk about being shook. She grabs my knee when something makes her laugh extra hard, and I have to sit there pretending like every touch doesn’t take me right back to Friday night.

Definitely evidence for bad karma.

At one point, Madison yells, “Pause the movie!” Madison hops up to pull Sami to her feet. “Let’s do a dramatic staging of the next scene and see how much we get right.”

No one can even blame the sangria for what happens next.

Sami takes the part of Main Blonde and Madison takes the part of Sullen Eliza Dushku. “Joey”—she points—“you are Weirdly Intense Frat Boyfriend.”

I shake my head as he climbs to his feet. “Sorry, but you’re not coming off as intense in that sundress, man.”

He looks down. “Is it the flowers?”

Madison pulls me up next. “You’re so right, Oliver. You get to be Weirdly Intense Frat Boyfriend.”

If only she knew how intensely I’m attracted to her. Can’t think of a faster way to make it weird than that. “I got this.”

Surprise followed by approval crosses Madison’s face, but Charlie and Ruby cheer; they know me well enough to have expected this.

Josh and Joey decide they want to play the stalkers that may or may not be real, and for the next five minutes, total chaos erupts as Sami shrieks hysterically about how random parts of her keep spurting blood, Madison snarks about could Sami please stop bleeding so loudly because she can’t hear the creepy music that tells when a bad thing is going to happen, and I keep getting right next to Sami’s ear, giving her a dead-eyed stare while humming my version of a horror movie music score. Josh and Joey keep doing jump scares.

Our audience of three loses it. Ava’s face is bright red, she’s laughing so hard. Ruby keeps gasping, “I can’t, I can’t,” and Charlie isn’t even making a sound, just drawing weak breaths with a faint wheeze while he holds his side.

Sami finally ends the scene by slumping to the floor and staring at the ceiling without blinking. “I’m dead,” she announces. Then she flops her head to the side and sticks her tongue out, cartoon style.

“Hallelujah,” Ruby says, wiping her eyes, “because y’all were killing me for real.”

Everyone starts back toward their seats, but Madison stops me with a hand on my wrist. “You’ve got range, Oliver. Code monkey, cat daddy, and now actor.”

“Actor’s not the right word,” I say. “Comedic genius is probably better.”

She starts to draw me back to the big chair, but I put my hand over hers and give it a gentle tug to release it. “I’ll be there in a minute. Genius needs sausage.”

She’s quiet for a full five seconds before she says, “You’re welcome for all the jokes I just kept to myself.”

“You the real MVP,” I say. “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll come with you.” Ruby climbs to her feet to follow me.

We each grab a plate to fill, and Ruby smiles at me across the table where she’s examining some strawberries. “It’s weird to me that this is the first time you’ve hung out over here. Feels like normal.”

“It does.” I’d known everyone except Sami and Josh before today, and I saw Charlie, Ruby, and Madison all the time anyway. Except with way less lap sitting. “How are you, Ruby? I haven’t seen you since the breakup. Should I not mention it? Is it like when someone dies?”

“Do you think if you don’t bring it up that I’ll forget it happened?”

“Yeah. Like how if you don’t say Bloody Mary’s name, you won’t summon her.”

She shoots a fake scared look in the direction of their small guest bathroom in the hallway. “Shh, she’ll hear you.”

I grab two pieces of celery and form a cross. “I’m ready.”

Her smile is bigger now. “I’m okay. Thanks for asking. Today is helping.”

“How rude to make Sami’s birthday party about you.”

“The one they invented at the last minute because they couldn’t take the wallowing anymore?” She gives me a look that warns me not to even try to play it off.

I throw a piece of edamame—S is for soybean—at her plate. “Glad I got to help.”

She sighs, a small, quiet sound. She snags part of my celery cross and bites into it. Even the way she chews it looks tired, like all the energy holding her up has drained. “You’re a perfectly nice guy,” she says. “Why can’t I like you?”

“Um, thanks?” My feelings about being called a “nice guy” depend on the context, and I’m not sure what this context is. “Why can’t you like me?”

“Because.” Another sigh. “I already picked you for Madison.”

I shoot a look toward the living room. “You said you weren’t trying to set us up.”

“I lied because you can’t keep a straight face and because Madison would never have agreed to let you work at Gatsby’s if she thought I was up to something.” She takes another bite of her celery and waits. I stare at her, not sure what to say to that.

“Why tell me now?”

“I told you, you can’t keep a straight face. You already like her. Is there a reason I should pretend I don’t notice?” Crunch crunch crunch.

“To keep my dignity intact,” I say. “That’s a good reason.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Most guys act like that around her. I don’t know if anyone else is paying much attention. Ava, maybe. She has a habit of seeming like she’s not paying attention and then, boom, she’s giving you a rundown of every detail she’s absorbed like it’s a lab report.”

I rub my hand over my face. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

She slows her crunching, thinking. “Charlie knows you pretty well. He might notice too, and—”

“Stop,” I say, relieved the joking in the other room is loud enough to cover our conversation. “Let’s keep it at you. Only you noticed.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Madison has definitely not noticed.”

It does. Then it doesn’t. “How do you know?”

“She acts around you like she acts around every guy she’s not dating. Charlie, Joey, Josh. Big friend energy.”

Her assessment chafes, but she’s right; Madison treats me exactly the way she treats all the other guys in that room. “Any advice on how to change that?”

“The kittens were a good strategy,” Ruby says.

“I don’t know how many more stray animals I can find to rescue inside the club. Got any other ideas?”

“Don’t rule that one out so fast,” Ruby says. “It’s got potential. I need projects to keep me busy right now. I can do some research on how to trap raccoons and possums and release them into the club before y’all get in every morning.”

I set down my plate and pull her into a hug, her head not even coming to my shoulders. “Gosh, Rube, I appreciate that so much, but what if I take you to some skydiving or snake charming lessons instead?”

She sniffs and squeezes me. “Sounds boring, but fine.”

“Good.” I squeeze her back. “Now, any real idea for how to get Madison’s attention when I’m not wearing a mask?”

“You could—” She freezes. “Mask?”

I wait, and a second later she shoves against my chest so she can look up at me, her mouth hanging open.

“You?”

I nod, trying not to laugh.

She looks over her shoulder to the still-empty hallway and turns around to poke me in the chest. “You are dead sexy salsa guy?”

I lift my eyebrows. It’s one of the better nicknames I’ve gotten. “Me. Yes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Prove it.”

I take her hands and lead her in a couple of salsa steps, spinning her and pulling her back to my chest in a close hold. “Believe me?”

Ruby begins to laugh. To laugh and laugh and laugh, and that’s why when Madison comes to check on her a minute later, I haven’t gotten a chance to ask Ruby when and how I explain this all to her.

“I cannot take this anymore,” Madison says, waving her phone. “If I forget I put my phone in here, don’t remind me.” She marches to a kitchen drawer and tosses her phone in, shutting it with a borderline slam. “As for you two, boys and girls, we request that you rejoin the party. Don’t make me use my herding powers on you. If I can handle a New Year’s table full of gropey lawyers, you two are child’s play.”

Ruby is still grinning, but Madison’s expression turns worried, not amused. “Ruby-Roo, you’re doing that crazy laugh again. Like that one day of finals when you couldn’t stop? Let’s get you hydrated and maybe have some protein.”

Madison heads for the sausages. Ruby gives me a begging look and mouths, Save me.

A gentleman can’t turn down a request from a lady, so as Madison passes, I reach out and hook her around the waist.

“Wha—” Her surprised question ends in a squeak when she finds herself scooped into a fireman’s carry.

I look into her eyes, unsmiling. “I can’t let you do that, Madison. It’s for your own safety.”

“Do what? Take care of Ruby?”

“It’s true,” Ruby confirms as she leads us out of the kitchen. “If you hover over me anymore, I might kill you. Oliver just saved your life.”

We troop to the living room, and I sit in the chair, settle Madison on my lap, and lose the plot none of us can follow anyway. Madison had taken my manhandling without objection—due to surprise, I’d bet—and while I sense her sliding looks my way every now and then, I ignore them. I keep my eyes on the screen, but my thoughts are twelve hours in the future.

That’s when this pliant armful of caramel-scented woman I’m holding will roll into Gatsby’s in yoga pants and a messy bun like it’s any other day. But it won’t be. Because as soon as we’ve checked on the kittens, I will be sitting this woman’s shapely butt down and blowing her mind with my mask confession.

And if it goes well, blowing it again when I take her upstairs to the nook for a reenactment—just in case there are any doubts.

There are several perks to this plan, but a not-insignificant one is that I don’t have to find out how serious Ruby is about possum trapping.