Page 88 of Betting on the Brainiac

“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.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Madison

I’d thought the onlything marrying Oliver would change is that I’d see him more now that we’re neighbors too. Nope. I don’t see him at all. I mean,at all.

There is evidence he spends nights at home, like the changing dishes on his kitchen drying rack. That’s about it. I don’t know when he leaves for work or when he comes home, but it’s definitely before I get there and after I leave.

I knew it wouldn’t bother me to see Oliver more. By Thursday, I’m honestly surprised by how much it bothers me to see him less, and I don’t know what to think about that.

Guys have always fallen into two categories for me: friends or future exes. The friend category is small, and it’s mostly made of guys like Joey and Josh, guys I spend a lot of time around because they’re related to or dating one of my roommates. Other than that, every now and then I’ll date a guy, get bored after acouple of weeks, but like his personality enough that he falls into my friend category. Not usually, though. Mostly, when I’m done, I’m done.

Oliver became the first kind of friend after enough time together at Gatsby’s. But I’ve never reacted to a shirtless Joey with anything besides an eye roll when he’s flexing by the pool or found myself wishing Josh would manhandle me the way Oliver does sometimes.

From the minute he hauled me into his lap at our movie party, there’s been something . . . different. Why was I borderline transfixed by Oliver’s shirtless chest on Sunday? It wasn’t just the tattoos. Why was I wishing he was around more so I could provoke him into toppling me into his lap?

I look around my bedroom, a space I love spending time in, but I think I’d rather be at Oliver’s, even with his plain white walls.

This is ridiculous.

“Ruby?” I call down the stairs. It’s around the time she gets home.

“Yeah?”

Yes. I race down the stairs to the kitchen, where she’s settling her work tote on the table.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Great.”

“No, for real.”

She’s taking a sparkling water from the fridge, but when I press, she narrows her eyes at me. “Am I allowed to answer that honestly?”

“Of course.” It kind of hurts my feelings that she has to ask. People in our house are often honest to a fault. “You can always be honest with me.”

“It seems like I can’t if it means saying I’m still sad about the breakup.”

I’m biting my tongue as soon as she says it.

She points her bottle at me. “There it is.”

“You can be sad about Niles.” I try very hard to sound sincere.

She snorts. “No, I can’t. None of you liked him, so none of you want to hear about how it feels weird not to be together anymore. It’s weird and it’s lonely. We’ve been broken up for a month. I wish y’all would understand that it takes longer than that to get over a five-year relationship.”

I do not make the joke that jumps to the tip of my tongue about how even a boil will heal in a month.

“I can hear the joke you’re not making,” she says.

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