Page 48 of Betting on the Brainiac

Three gasps.

“As Grandma Letty would say, ‘Men are as useless as gum on a boot heel but tell us more.’”

I pretend I’m having a hard time recalling the details. “Like what? When he kissed me?”

“I was hoping for a description of what he looked like,” Ava says, “but yeah, definitely skip to the kissing.”

“But then come back to the looks part,” Ruby says.

“Not sure I can tell you much,” I admit. “He was wearing a mask.”

“Oooh,” Sami says. Of course she’d be the one most invested in that detail. She performs in a mask.

“Thatisdead sexy,” Josh says. Sami shoots him a grin. “But I could definitely tell some important things about Sami even when she was in a mask, so you better spill.”

“Are you one of the girls now, Josh?” I ask, amused that he’s demanding the same details we always try to get out of each other.

“Duh.” His eye roll is redundant.

“What he said.” Ava is now in full data-gathering mode.

“He’s tall,” I say. “Still had three inches on me when I was in my heels. Good build.”

“Clarify,” Josh says. “What does that mean? I still haven’t figured out your type.”

“I investigated his upper body as a service to the ladies who had me fetch him, and he has great muscles. Lean but solid.”

The girls nod. I tell them stories from my job all the time. Muscle inspection is a regular part of my schtick with tables of women. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.

“Eyes? Hair?” Ruby demands, and I’m glad she’s invested in this enough to not be miserable for a few minutes.

“Too dark to see eye color, and hard to say on hair but the darker side of brown. Good cut.”

“What was he wearing?” Sami asks, since she’s the Dolce to my Gabbana when it comes to fashion.

“More classic than trendy. Gray jacket, black pants, definitely tailored, half boots. High-end.” I don’t know if Armstrongs are born with the ability to assess quality in a glance, or if we learnbecause we’re immersed in it from childhood, but I can tell by the cut of a garment what kind of quality it is. If you blindfold me and hand me any item of clothing, I can tell the same thing by touch.

“You are all asking dumb questions,” Ava says. “Madi, thekiss.”

There’s an intensity in the question, and suddenly, I don’t want to answer it, because the truth is that “the kiss” hadn’t been rare—it had been singular.

As in I’ve never had another one like it.

As in . . .

As in I’m not sure I’m ready to fully process this.

“I’m running out of ways to describe kissing to you.” I pause to cover a yawn, a fake one, but I keep it small so they’ll buy it. “Is everybody in for tonight? I need snack requests by 4:00 if you want me to grab anything on my way home.” I stand, torn between trying to shovel the rest of the delicious omelet into my mouth or escaping before they try to pin me down on the kissing.

Escape. Definitely. I drop my plate in the sink without washing it and head for the stairs, something I would normally never do, but . . .

“Madi?” Ruby calls.

I pause. “Yeah?”

“Do you still want me to invite Oliver?”

Oh, right. I forgot I’m supposed to be hinting that I’m interested in him to distract her.

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