Page 95 of Betting on the Brainiac

“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, wearefriends.

“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, likepoor, 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.Boringhot. 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 onNew 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 getyou,” 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 thatisthe play, tell me. I’ll do aPretty Womanon you. Make you undeniable.”

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