Page 47 of Betting on the Brainiac

Ava looks iffy on this. “Joey kind of still hates Oliver on principle.”

“Because you guys went out twice?” I ask. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“No, because I kissed him.”

Record scratch . . .

I blink at her. She kissedOliver?

“Did you know this?” Sami asks me.

“No.” I can picture it easily though. These two adorable dorks, steaming up each other’s glasses. I stab a piece of omelet. “Probably because it was a bad kiss.”

“No, he has excellent technique,” Ava says. “But . . .”

I choke on a piece of egg at the idea of Oliver having “excellent technique.”

“But you were too gone on Joey?” Sami asks as she gives me a couple of hard pats to help me with choking.

“Yes.” Ava smiles. “Equal technique, but when you add in the chemistry . . .”

Oliver has equal kissing technique to Joey, one of Austin’s most eligible bachelors until he realized he’d fallen for Ava? And that’s an objective statement because Joey was one of ten guys named in a massively upvoted post in the biggest Austin subreddit. There had been a slew of crying emojis when Joey had posted he was removing his name from contention because he’d found “the other half of his heart.” It was so un-Joey in every way except one—the changed man that was Joey with Ava.

“Go talk Ruby into this,” I say. “Joey will have to get over himself.”

Ava thought Joey’s kissing technique was on par with Oliver’s? Does not compute. I can’t even imagine it.

But what it does do is make me think about my mysterious kiss on Friday night for the hundredth time. This morning.

Technique? Dang. I’ve been reliving it since the elevator doors closed and left me with the image of his kiss-swollen lips.

I’d waited for him to find me later, but as the evening wore on and last call was announced, I hadn’t seen him again. I’d begun scanning over the balcony when I got a spare moment, but I didn’t see him anywhere below either.

Instead of disappointment, I’d felt intrigued. I’m free with my kisses, and I’ve had more than enough to know a really good kiss when I experience it. They’re rare, and that had been a good one.

My skin warmed thinking about turning to find the masked guy there, that perfect amount of five o’clock shadow lining the strong jaw below his mask, his unsmiling mouth as he watched me and waited to see how I would react to his hand.

It took less than half a spin to recognize that this was a man who knew how to handle a woman on the dance floor. Whenthat had evolved into my back against his solid chest, his breath steady like all the looks and touches between us hadn’t been sharpening his senses to a fine point?

I’d issued a challenge of my own, pulled him in for a kiss to teach him a lesson.

When we’d come up for air, my nerve endings on fire, my hands greedy to explore more of him, I wasn’t sure who had been schooled. I was only sure that he wasn’t calm, cool, and collected anymore, and the deep satisfaction of being the one to spark that fire had me pulling him toward me again.

“Madi?”

I blink and look at my roommates—including Ruby now—who are all staring at me, Ava in puzzlement, Ruby in confusion, and Sami with narrowed eyes.

“What were you thinking about?” she asks. “Your eyes went dreamy.”

I tap my fork against my plate, trying to decide if I want to answer.

Ha. Like they’ll give me a choice. I scoop up a bite of omelet and answer before I eat it. “This dead sexy guy who salsa-ed with me like he’s the second coming of Tito Puente.”

“Better than my dad?” Ruby asks.

Mr. Ramos had taught us all to salsa, making Ruby’s brothers dance with us when Ruby let us tag along for Ramos family gatherings. There were many, and we tagged along a lot, so I know how it’s going to land when I say it, but I have to tell the truth.

“Better than your dad.”

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