Page 109 of Betting on the Brainiac

“No. I keep telling her that I don’t have time, but I was stalling until I had you all loved up. I wanted you to believe the stakes were real.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it make me less likely to give any guy you picked a chance?”

“I banked on you believing that I was playing for something I wanted badly, so you’d believe that whoever I picked for you wasyour one and only. And I figured while it might put you on guard at first, it would inevitably plant a seed that grew whether you wanted it to or not.”

“Then why lie and say youweren’ttrying to set me up with Oliver?”

She winces at the word lie. “Gut instinct. I can’t explain it any better than that. When I asked you about Oliver renting space at Gatsby’s, you were so suspicious. I had a feeling you wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I said that’s who I was setting you up with. But I also knew that Oliver was working so much, I wouldn’t be able to talk him into giving you or anyone a shot if he thought I was trying to hook him up for real. He went along with it for Ava, but that’s mostly because he knew it wasn’t endgame. But if he saw you at work all the time . . .”

I sigh. “His schedule is pretty brutal.”

“Madi, I’m sorry. I really am. My intentions were good, but I understand why you felt . . . betrayed.” She obviously hates the word, just as obviously as she means the apology. “Can I ask an uncomfortable question?”

“Normally, no. But I’ve spent the morning being emotionally tenderized, so maybe I’m up for it.”

Her forehead furrows. “You okay?”

“No. I feel like I’m hatching, and I don’t know how anyone survives without their shell.”

“I get that.” She watches my face for a few seconds. “I’m probably about to chip away more of it.”

I groan and flop onto my back. “Get it over with.”

“My stunt with fixing up you and Oliver, it’s not a new thing. I meddle all the time. I swear I only do it when I’m trying to make y’all happy, but I’ve done this almost as long as you’ve known me. To an extent, isn’t it kind of what friends do? Like how y’all keep trying to distract me with impromptu birthday parties?”

“It’s not the same thing,” I say.

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

Itisexactly the same thing, so I don’t argue.

“Here’s the hard part,” she says. “Why do you think my meddling with you and Oliver upset you so much when none of my shenanigans have bothered you before? I do it all with the same amount of love.”

I lie there and think about it. Ruby stays quiet. Finally, I roll over and ask her, “Do you already know the answer to this?”

A hesitant nod. “I think so.”

“Last summer, a supermodel who does a lot of racy photo shoots got upset because someone hacked her phone or something and leaked some nudes.”

“Okay . . . ?”

“It’s relevant. One of the bartenders didn’t get why she would care since it’s easy to find similar images she’s done professionally, but all the bottle girls got it. It was because she didn’t like people looking at her when she hadn’t asked to be seen. Do you get it?”

“Yes. I won’t take naked photos.”

“Ruby.”

“I get it,” she says. “But do you? Do you understand what you’re saying?”

I sit up, and she does too. “I’m saying that I hadn’t admitted to myself what my feelings for Oliver are, and it felt like . . .”

“Being emotionally nakey-pants?”

I make a face at her. “Yes.”

“How long do I have to wait before I can ask you specifically what those feelings for Oliver are?”

I collapse and pull a pillow over my head, mumbling my answer into it.

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