Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

34. Chapter Thirty-Four

I walk into my place at almost midnight and freeze.

Madison is conked out on my sofa, and I don’t think she meant to fall asleep. She would definitely not choose my sofa over her mattress. Two of my last three boxes are empty and collapsed on the ground. The last one is open and missing its copy of Into the Wild, which is on her chest, her finger tucked inside it like she’s marking the place she fell asleep while reading.

Quietly, I set my laptop bag on the kitchen counter and walk to the coffee table, sitting across from her and taking a couple of moments to study her before I wake her. Her mouth looks soft in sleep, her lips barely parted, and I flash back to how they felt against mine.

Her hair is fanned around her in soft gold waves, and I want to touch it. I want to touch her. Whatever I’m getting from Madison in any given moment is never enough. If we’re talking, I want us to be touching. If we’re touching, I want us to be kissing. I want to explore so much more about her. I love that she’s on my couch, soft and still in a way I rarely see her. I also hate how much I love it.

I want to show her how I feel, to see if she responds to low-key flirting, kicking it up a notch each time she does, letting it build with the hope that she’ll see me as more than a friend. Lately, I’ve wondered if the possibility has crossed her mind. Like when I could’ve sworn there was a flash of disappointment that we didn’t kiss at our wedding. Or the shirtless day when she studied my chest longer than any friend would.

It could also be wishful thinking.

I’m not a shy man. If I’m interested in a woman, I let her know. I’d already decided to do that with Madison when that stupid, incredible, mind-blowing kiss happened at the club and messed everything up.

I should have said something right then. Or the very next day. Told her it was me. But I’d been too worried about making her mad. Instead of giving her all the information and letting her decide how she wanted to feel about it, I . . . hadn’t. And then I’d compounded the problem with a freaking proposal.

It had seemed like a perfect solution for both of our problems. Had I let the need for money tip me over into not telling her about the kiss because I needed her to say yes? Because I feared she’d think it was too complicated if she knew it was me?

The answer makes my chest feel like I did the one time I cheated on a high school test because I couldn’t afford anything less than an A in that class. I’d gotten the A, but I’d never been proud of it.

The only saving grace in our situation is that even if the money might have prompted the proposal, it had nothing to do with why I married her. I’d wanted to help. She deserved the chance to throw herself into the good she wanted to do.

I still should have told her. I scrub my hands over my face. How unbelievably dumb to put myself in this situation.

Whatever else we are, we’re friends, and as a friend, I owe her the truth.

Madison stirs, her forehead furrowing slightly.

“Madi,” I say, quietly.

“Mmhmm.”

I get up and fetch a kitten, coming back with Little Stripey. I set him in the hollow formed by her elbow and the hand tucked beneath her head, and I wait.

Little Stripey mewls, displeased at being taken from his pile of siblings.

Madison stirs again, her eyes drifting open, and she tucks her chin in to examine the furball having a tantrum nearly on top of her. She smiles up at me.

“Hey. Guess I fell asleep. Sorry about that.”

“You’re fine.”

She sits up and nestles Little Stripey against her chest, cupping him close. He settles down. Little Stripey is no dummy.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say.

“Something bad?” she asks on a yawn. “I can’t tell if that’s a tired voice or a serious voice.”

“Both.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“Is it bad?”

That’s a loaded question. “No.”

“Okay. Where do you stand on good news/bad news? What do you want first?”

“You’ve got bad news?” I can’t even guess what it could be, but it already gives me that sour stomach feeling.

“Kind of?”

“Let’s hear it.”

She tells me about Kaitlyn’s visit, how her sister will be reporting back to their parents, and how the drop-in inspections will probably be ongoing.

“I’m sorry about this,” she says. “We have a couple of options here. I can sue them to release the funds. The burden of proof is on them since I’ve provided the legal paperwork to meet their terms. The lawsuit might be enough to get them to back down.”

I don’t love the idea of her having to sue her parents. “What else you got?”

“I move in here for real.”

On my worst day, I haven’t deserved that kind of torture. “Neither of us wants that.”

“No, really, take your time with that one.” Her tone is teasing, but her smile is stiff.

“I’m positive you’d rather stay with your roommates, that’s all. Got a Plan C?”

“Make it look like I moved in. I bring over stuff to leave in the other bedroom. Stick a cheap bed in there. I’ll tell Kaitlyn I’m not bothering to glam it up since I’m only going to be there for a year.”

“That moves us into active lie territory.” I hate it. I’m already telling too many lies of omission.

“I know.” She sighs. “I’ve spent all day thinking about whether the ends justify the means. I have a meeting on Monday to set up the Dhaka fund. The idea of canceling it and making those people struggle for another four years because of a technicality feels like a bigger wrong. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think they’d take it this far. I hate that this keeps complicating everything for you.”

Not more than I’ve complicated it for myself. “It’s fine, Madison. It doesn’t mean you have to be over here more if you don’t want to. Only your stuff does.”

“True.” She falls quiet for a second, biting at her bottom lip.

Lucky. I’d like to do that.

I force my eyes away.

“I like being here,” she says. “I’ve never thought of myself as someone who likes quiet, but I do. I come over here and something inside of me unwinds.”

Is it good that she relaxes here? Or bad because it means she feels no tension with me, not even the romantic kind? If that’s bad, it’s only bad for me. Am I bad for thinking it’s ba—

“Hey, do you want to date Ruby?”

Sorry, what? “Do I want to date Ruby? Your roommate Ruby?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Because of Charlie, right?”

“I didn’t say anything about Charlie.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Points for trying to cover for your friend, but you know he’s gone on her.”

“I’m not speaking on his business. Charlie aside, still no. Ruby is cool, but I don’t see her like that.”

“What if Ruby wanted to date you?”

“She doesn’t want to date me.”

“She asked me if she could.”

I laugh before I can catch myself. Ruby is trying to wingman me in her own demented way.

“Why is that funny?” Madison looks offended now. “Ruby is awesome.”

“No argument. Do you want me to date Ruby? I’m confused about the right answer here.”

“I want you to date whoever you want.”

“What if I want to date you?” The words pop out before I can stop them, but it’s the conversation I’d woken her up to have.

“You . . . do you?” Her words are cautious.

“Call it a thought experiment. What if I wanted to date you?” I force myself to stay loose, telling my body it’s tired so it won’t tense up, but my brain is on high alert.

“That seems like a not-good idea,” she says. Her carefulness gives her away. She’s trying not to hurt my feelings.

A heavy weight settles in my stomach, but I don’t let my expression change. Disappointment, I’d call it. But only because it’s not an outright rejection. If she outright rejected me, that would be like having my insides kicked with spiked boots.

“Don’t stress,” I tell her. “I’m trying to understand the parameters of this thing we’re doing. Probably something we should have talked about before the wedding, like any two single people who are about to spend a lot of time together. Especially when one of them is hot.”

She shifts, maybe getting ready to flee. “That’s sweet—”

I frown at her. “I was talking about me.”

She grins and leans back against the sofa. “My bad.”

“Just to be sure we’re on the same page, it’s not a good idea because you don’t want to date me?” My voice sounds level but curious, and it’s such a good performance that I might need to buy myself new Nikes tomorrow.

Knitted brows. She meets Little Stripey’s eyes but not mine. “We have friend energy, right?”

I don’t say anything.

“Right?” she prompts, glancing up at me.

“Sorry, thought you were talking to the cat.”

The knitted brows change to a playful scowl. “You’re the worst.”

I smile. I don’t want to. I would like to nurse the five dozen emotional papercuts every word out of her mouth inflicts on me, but instead, I have to stay here and finish this conversation, salting the wounds.

“We have friend energy.” That’s true. Whatever else goes through my head about this fierce, adorable woman, we are friends.

“Friend energy will get us all the way through this year without any drama or complications. Why mess that up?” She’s tense again. She reminds me of a cartoon character who was on a pleasant boat ride until they suddenly see giant rapids up ahead.

That’s my answer then. Now I need to pilot us away from the falls.

I shake my head, like poor, deluded Madison. “I agree that’s the easiest way to get through the year. But what if you can’t help yourself, Mads? What if you fall for me without meaning to?”

“That’s a regular problem for you?” she asks.

“You have no idea. It’s stealth sexiness.”

Slow nod, lips pressed together. “Mmhmm. Interesting. How does that work, exactly?”

“Joey and Josh? Regular hot. Boring hot. I almost feel sorry for them.”

“Sure. I can see how it could have a negative impact on their lives.”

“Guys like me and Charlie? Stealth hot for different reasons. We are not guys that make girls nudge each other in the club and say, ‘He is fiiiine.’ But if they bumped into one of us at a Starbucks—”

“—or the library.”

“Or the library, they’d think, ‘Aw, he’s cute.’”

“Oh, like a titi,” she says.

“Right, like—wait, no.” I narrow my eyes at her, which makes her giggle. It’s tinged with relief. “More like Joseph Gordon-Levitt or Nick on New Girl. You think we’re the sidekick. The wingman. And then before you know it, we’ve snuck under your defenses and disarmed you, and you are helpless against our charm.”

“A compelling case, but it takes more than charm to be hot.”

“Don’t worry. Stealth hotness means we’ve got moves too.”

“Like Beyoncé choreography?”

I roll my eyes. “Nah. More like . . . hmm. Let me think.” I shift from the coffee table to the sofa, lifting her legs to sit beside her and settling them over my lap. I drum my fingers on her kneecap. Thinking, thinking. “They’re kind of innate, but I know I’ve got some.”

“Like what?” she says.

“Like how you are now practically sitting in my lap, and you didn’t even notice.”

Her jaw drops. “But that—it doesn’t count.”

I smile at her, loving that I’m close enough to see her separate eyelashes and her blue eyes shining through them. But I can’t forget I’m on a tightrope. “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends, so I wouldn’t think twice about you doing that.”

“That’s how we get you.” I smirk, keeping up the schtick, steering us into safer waters.

“Oh, I’ll get you,” she says pinching my biceps. I flex, and she laughs, dropping her head back against the arm of the sofa. “You’re underselling yourself, by the way. You’re pretty cute.”

“Thanks. Guys loved to be called cute.”

“Embrace it,” she says. “I don’t think you’re the type of guy who wants to walk into the club and pick out any woman he wants and have her. But if you ever decide that is the play, tell me. I’ll do a Pretty Woman on you. Make you undeniable.”

“Thanks, but I don’t look great in dresses.”

She knees me lightly in the stomach and stretches her leg back out. “Are you done joking now?”

“I wasn’t joking. I really think we should have talked about this two weeks ago. What if we catch feelings?” I hope I’ve given her enough friend energy to convince her this is just a responsible discussion we got behind on having.

Her smile fades, and she struggles to sit up, sliding her legs from my lap. “That sounds messy. Complicated. Uncomfortable. All things I dislike intensely.”

“What if it’s not feelings?” I ask. “What if it’s only attraction?”

She gets up to put back the kitten then comes back to frown down at me. “Won’t work. I haven’t fallen for a friend before, but I’ve watched two of my roommates fall in love this year. Attraction on top of friendship? I’d say whoever gets the hots will also get the heartbreak, because the attraction will mix with friendship and get confused for love, and then the friendship is over.”

“Why over?” I keep my tone curious. “Why not a new thing?”

“It would have to go both ways.” She’s back to being careful with her words.

“You think it wouldn’t go both ways in our situation?” I’m thankful my voice stays even. Maybe she sees through to what I’m really asking, but keeping myself together right now is what will let us both move forward like this conversation didn’t happen.

“I think it would not,” she confirms.

I give a thoughtful nod. “So I don’t need to worry. That’s a relief.”

She looks slightly confused as I let a yawn slip out and stretch my arms high over my head.

“I’m going back to my place,” she says.

“Which one?” I tease. “I hear you have two now.”

“Dork. You good if I move in stuff over the next few days?”

“Fine with me.”

“Great. One more thing. Would you be okay with me picking up stuff at the store to decorate in here? It’ll sell the story.”

“And mean more items for the store to order and replace.”

She grins. “Exactly.”

“Sure. I’ll leave my credit card on the counter.”

“My treat,” she says.

“No way. You’re doing me a favor by handling details I never get around to. It’s on my tab.”

“All right. Be excited. We just debuted a collection called ‘Transgression’ about the taboos women carry in different cultures because of patriarchy. All the pieces are made from women’s worn-out underwear. Well, and bras. Girdles. Tights. Anything that we’re expected to cover with clothing. Oh, and hair, also. Like these woven coasters I’m going to buy.”

“Made out of hair?”

“Innovative, right?”

I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t. But I don’t want wall hangings or anything else made out of used undies and hair. “Do you have any collections called ‘wood stuff’ or ‘wool is nice’?”

“You’re funny, Oliver. See you tomorrow. You’re going to love it.” She waves as she leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Tab,” I say as she pads over to sit on my lap. “Madison has me asking myself all kinds of questions I’ve never considered. Like, if you’re falling for someone, how do you stop the falling part? What ledge or branch am I looking for to save me? And also, can I live with underwear on my walls for a year?”

Tabitha gives me a slow blink. It looks really cool. “Is that why cats are arrogant, Tab? If you know that every species around you could try their whole lives and never reach the level of coolness you infuse into a single eyeblink, maybe you get high on yourself.”

Tabitha’s answer is to give me a front-row view of her butt as she walks off my lap and saunters away.