Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

32. Chapter Thirty-Two

I’m married.

That’s my first thought when I wake up and stare at an unfamiliar ceiling on Sunday morning.

I sit up to look at an unfamiliar wall, walk down an unfamiliar flight of stairs, and check on cats who live with me now. I’d gotten them last night since I had time on my hands after my poolside wedding cleanup.

“Hi, roommates,” I say as I walk into the living room. “You have more furniture here than I do.” I’ve got my sofa, coffee table, and television set up. They have their luxury cat cave plus their feeder and cat litter robot that might be more technologically advanced than my stupid-big TV resting against the wall, waiting to be mounted with more hardware than a NASCAR roll cage.

I never have much in the way of groceries because I’m not home enough lately, but I sit on the sofa with a box of semi-stale donuts leftover from the party while I watch the cats. I could watch TV—my new next-door neighbor gave me their Wi-Fi password until mine is connected next week—but why would I when I’ve got Animal Planet as hi-def as it gets on my carpet?

They entertain me as I finish the donuts and wash them down with Gatorade while I plan my day. It will involve boxes. That’s all I know for sure. I’d unpacked and organized my bedroom last night like any new groom does on his wedding day. But there are still more boxes to go. Ten, maybe.

I’ll need to spend most of the day working, but I’ll tackle a few kitchen boxes first. I wouldn’t even have that many if my mom didn’t insist on me having a fully stocked kitchen, adding more to it with every visit.

Have I ever needed a table setting for eight? No. And definitely not with placemats and coordinating napkins. They were a pain to pack and move, but as I open a box and choose a cabinet for the dishes inside, I’m smiling. Pulling each one out reminds me of when my mom used to pack notes for us in our lunches. When we were little, it was stuff like “Every winner was once a beginner, you’ve got this!” She still packed us snacks for high school, but the notes changed to messages like “Never make the same mistake twice; shoot for five or six times just to be sure.”

Three boxes later I’m on the sofa, Tabitha beside me while I borrow the neighbor’s Wi-Fi. Tabitha will try to settle on my lap soon, but I have laptop space for now. Time to check the code the team turned in Friday.

The team. Man, they are something else.

I’ve barely slipped into focus mode when there’s a knock at the door, so I get up to answer it and realize I don’t have a shirt on. I check the peephole and open it when I see Madison.

She stares at me in shock.

I glance down. “What?”

“You have tattoos.”

“Oh. Yeah.” They cover my shoulders, and I have another one on my right pec.

I wave her in. Her eyes are puffed from sleep, hair in a messy bun, no makeup, and she’s in cutoffs and a UT tank top.

Still hot.

She passes me with a very obvious examination of my chest. “What’s that tattoo?”

I brush my fingers against the ones and zeroes stacked in five even rows. “Locke in binary code.”

She looks like she’s about to say something but she shuts her mouth and walks straight over to the kitties.

I slide a key off the kitchen counter and walk over to give it to her, settling down on the floor to watch the kittens with her. “You don’t have to knock when you come over here, future ex-wife. I promise not to walk around naked.”

“I wouldn’t stop you.” She claps her hand over her mouth.

Well, well, well. I give her a fake stern look. “Madison, I am not a piece of meat.”

She drops her hand to give me the kind of smile I expect she uses when she accidentally breaks a bar glass or something. “Sorry. Still in work mode. Sometimes that part of my brain works on automatic.”

I don’t love that. It was better when I thought she meant it for a half second. But this is exactly the kind of thing that can’t become a habit between us. Whenever my sister goes out with a new guy, my mom always jokes, “Has he bewitched you, body and soul?” Mr. Darcy, of course. My mom sometimes will ask me, “But was there a hand flex?” That’s also a Mr. Darcy thing, when he’s so into Elizabeth that he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her.

Madison has absolutely bewitched my body, so there’s definitely been a hand flex. But I have the tiniest chance of not having my soul bewitched too, and it’s time to put up that defense.

“Speaking of work, I have good news. I’ve got a new office in my building. It’s more like a closet, but it’s on a different floor than the company suite, so I can work with less disruption.”

Madison has been nuzzling a kitten, but her head shoots up. “You don’t have to leave Gatsby’s.”

Oh, I definitely do. “It’s not a big deal. It’ll fit the budget. And don’t worry, I’ll call this my thirty-day notice and pay you for another month.”

“I don’t need the money,” she says. “I was using it to buy stuff from the store, but I’m going to be a millionaire in a couple of days, remember?”

She is a constant surprise. “Buying stuff so the makers would get paid?”

“We pay them when we purchase the inventory from them. But indirectly, yeah. Buying something from one of our makers means the store will place another order with them.”

I cock my head to study her. “I’ve been all over your condo. Where are you keeping all this stuff?”

She smiles. “I usually buy jewelry or handbags, smaller things that I can give my servers as monthly bonuses.”

“Ah, makes sense.”

“But seriously, cancel your lease and stay at Gatsby’s, only for free now. I was going to tell you that anyway.”

I shake my head. “That’s generous, but the lease is already signed. We’re going to start moving even faster now, and it makes more sense for me to be onsite. I’ll just be a better manager and set a boundary around interruptions.”

“Oh. Okay.” There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes.

“Just so you know, it’s definitely personal.”

“What?”

I shrug and make my face like what do you expect me to say here? “You’re too fun, Madison. I can’t get as much work done as I need to.”

She pokes my shoulder. “So mean, Oliver.”

I stay in character. “You should’ve been less fun.”

“Impossible,” she says. “But that’s fine. I’ll spend all day here while you’re at work, and the kittens are going to like me best.”

“No way.” I pick up Tuxie and nestle the kitten against my chest. “Why do you think I’m wandering around shirtless? I’m imprinting on them so they’ll remember I’m their favorite.”

“Diabolical.”

Tuxie digs its claws into me right then, and I hiss and set Tuxie down. “Never mind. I’m changing plans until they can retract their claws.”

Madison scoops Tuxie right up. “Good baby.”

“Rude. For your information, I’m starting a file of proof so they catch you when you kill me for the insurance money, and this is going in it. Be right back.” I run upstairs to grab a shirt, glad to have a reason to do it. Hold the line. When she touched my shoulder, I wanted to grab her wrist, flip her on her back, and pin her there, then see how long it would take her to recognize my kiss.

I return in a T-shirt and sit down to pick up Smudge, who immediately begins to scale my chest, but it doesn’t hurt.

“Locke Creek Ranch?” Madison says, reading my shirt.

I glance down at the name printed across the silhouette of a galloping horse. “My parents’ place.”

“Save me a google?”

“They raise champion quarter horses.”

“If you live in Texas—even if you’ve never gone to a rodeo in your life—you know what it means to have a champion quarter horse. But I have been to rodeos. We loved going to Rodeo Austin every year. You’re saying they’ve had champions, like plural?”

“Rodeos?” I can’t hold back a smile. We don’t do rodeos. “These are cutting horses. Different sport. My parents are a pretty big deal in the cutting horse world.”

“How big?”

“Several big earners highly sought after for breeding.”

Madison sits with that for a few moments, staring at me like she’s trying to puzzle through something. Then one side of her mouth twitches up and before long, she’s laughing. A soft, low laugh that makes my abs tighten to fight the shiver the sound sends down my back.

Madison Leigh Armstrong plus Oliver Locke equals all jokes, all the time.

Oliver Locke plus Madison Leigh Armstrong equals all tension, all the time.

“Oliver, you act like you have to live on ramen and shop the grocery sales, but a champion quarter horse operation means you come from money.”

“We lived simply. We worked hard. They still do, out there getting dirty every day. They were happy to put us all through college whether we work for the family business or not. My brother majored in equine science, one sister went to vet school, and the other majored in agricultural business management and runs Gymkhana camps. But anything we do beyond college is up to us, including vehicles, housing, and advanced degrees.”

“Your parents must be so embarrassed to have a black sheep like you, running off to Texas to be the CTO of a startup.”

“Kind of, but mostly about the Texas part.”

Madison smiles as she sets Smudge down to pick up Big Stripey and run its fur against her cheek. “I wasn’t planning on marrying maybe ever, but as husbands go, you’ll do, Oliver. At least for a year.”

“Because I have a fancy horse ranch pedigree?”

“No. Because you’re a constant surprise for someone who reads people well. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you show another layer.” Her eyes have lost their puffiness and they study me so directly that I can’t hold her gaze. I look down at Smudge instead.

“Speaking of marriage,” she says, “Joey says he’ll send over the wedding pictures today. I’ll print them out and get the receipt for filing the marriage certificate, and then I can send it to my parents this week.”

“Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything from me.” I stand to get a drink. “Want some water?”

“Sure.”

I carry Smudge against my chest and fish two bottles from the fridge, handing one to her and taking my seat again. “So thwart your parents, become a millionaire, and play with kittens. Anything else going on this week?”

“Not really. I’ve got a few shifts in the store, payroll and scheduling at the club, and then I work this weekend.” She sounds less than thrilled.

“Which part is dragging you down?”

She sets her kittens down and watches as they crawl back into a pile. “Gatsby’s, I think.”

“Rough night?” I hate that a rough night could mean anything from being pawed at to low tips.

“Not exactly. Pretty good crowd. Everyone behaved themselves. But it felt different.” She leans back on her hands. “It used to be that before we even opened the doors, there was a buzz in the air, like anything was possible. People coming in to meet their person, and for at least a few of them, it would happen. Every single night we’re open, it happens. We’ve hosted two wedding receptions because that’s where the couple met.”

“But I got 7-Eleven by the pool?” I shake my head in pretend disgust.

“You’re welcome since you will have a truly original wedding album.”

“Thanks for that. But Gatsby’s. Why was it different last night?” I know what’s coming next and force myself not to tense.

She makes a face. “Mask Man. He kind of ruined my life.”

“He didn’t come back?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he won’t.”

I can’t say anything to reassure her, because she’s right.

She smooths a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You ever have an amazing meal at a restaurant, and you go back, dreaming of this meal, and it’s good but not quite as good as the first time?”

“Sure.”

“It’s like that. It was something about that night. I could recreate all the circumstances, and if the guy came back and did the same thing, it still wouldn’t feel the same. I must have inhaled too many tequila fumes that night and bought into my own fairy tale. It’s not real life. Why can’t you and I have the same kind of chemistry?” she asks. “It would make things so much easier.”

“Doubt it.” Chemistry takes two reactants. Apparently, our friend chemistry is great, but I’m not the kind of compound that causes combustion. I keep a neutral expression. It’s not like that information is new.

Madison dusts her hands like she’s ridding herself of the whole situation. “I’m in a funk. The next thing will find me, and I’ll be fine.”

“Cool. I better get going,” I tell her climbing to my feet. The words it was me want to burst out, but then what? At this point, it would probably make her feel like I trapped her, which is not what I did, and she doesn’t need the weight of that knowledge. “If you’ve got the kittens, I feel better about going into the office.”

“Today?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I need to be able to deliver this software on time. It takes tons of hours and an internet connection, so I’m going to head out.”

“Have fun,” she says.

“Pretty easy when you love your job.” I shove my laptop in my work bag, grab my keys and wallet, and wave as I leave.

By which, of course, I mean escape.