Page 84 of Betting on the Brainiac

It still surprises me that I have to look up a bit even in heels to meet his gaze. “When were you going to tell me you know how to dance?”

He shrugs. “It’s a party trick. I learned that song for a pep rally my senior year.”

“Oliver Locke, were you a cheerleader?”

“No, our swim team was going to state, and we got to do that dance in front of the entire school, swim caps, goggles, and everything.”

“Everything,” I repeat. I squeeze his shoulders and give him a small shake. “Like a Speedo? Did you do this dance in front of the whole school in a Speedo?”

He groans, and I cackle, thrilled with this new nugget.

“Only because I lost a bet,” he says. “I was a jammer guy. Tech suit for races, Speedos for…losing bets.”

“The Speedo dance would explain why it wasn’t a big deal for you to do it in 7-Eleven resort wear in front of people you’re going to pass at the mailbox every day.”

“It truly taught me that there is no dragon I can’t slay.” His expression is solemn, and it makes me laugh again. It also reminds me of Joey’s question about what kind of dragons a worthy prince would have to slay. Oliver reaches up to slide my hands from his shoulders and hold them between us, still keeping a gentle beat with his feet. “Hey, thanks for marrying me and making me a millionaire.”

I smile at him. “Thank you for marrying me and making me a millionaire too.”

“No problem, neighbor wife.” He leans forward and my heart does a skip beat because a lean means a kiss, and now I can satisfy my curiosi—

“I’m going to go ask Ruby to dance,” he says, his voice low. “I’m in the rotation to cheer her up, right?”

“Oh, right.” I’m disoriented by misreading his lean-in. “I’ve got brain fog from too much sugar. It’d be good for me to go find some protein.”

“Hot dog roller,” he says. “I’m sure their two-star Yelp rating doesn’t mean anything.” Then he goes to find Ruby, who smiles when he holds out his hand and invites her to dance.

The party goes strong for another hour before the crowd starts to thin, but it’s gradual, and the last of the holdouts doesn’t wander back to their condo until almost 6:00.

“Clean up, clean up,” Ruby sings like she does after the weekly children’s story time.

I give my feet a break and slip my heels off before they need to go back on for my shift, then head over to start cleaning up the well-trafficked snack table.

“Whoa, no no no,” Oliver says, taking a packaged PBJ sandwich from my hand. “You had to do most of the wedding prep while I dealt with work craziness this week. I’ll handle clean up.”

“No worries. I do this all the time at work, and it’s even easier to clean up when no one’s drunk.”

“Mads, please, I got you. Go take a power nap before you have to get ready. I’ll move Tabitha and the bigheads over in the morning. They’ll be making their own Netflix profiles and putting their feet on my coffee table before you’re even awake.”

I got you.

“Oliver.” I reach out to rest my hand on his wrist as he’s reaching for some of the opened and abandoned packages. “I think I’m about to get lucky.”

He freezes, his eyes locking on mine. “Excuse me?”

“I’m ridiculously lucky to already have three friends who’ve had my back for years. Is it about to be four?”

His eyes soften, and he gives me a tired smile before he jerks his head toward my door. “It already is. Get out of here, sugar mama.”

“See you later, future ex-husband,” I say, thinking about a power nap on my magic bed. “Oh, and the cats better not love you more than me by the time I wake up tomorrow.”

He shakes his head and mumbles something as I’m closing the door.

I’m not sure, but I think he said, “Impossible.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Oliver

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