Page 9 of Betting on the Brainiac

Definitely an ideal rent agreement. “Done. Cash? Venmo?”

We settle up, and she holds out her hand for a shake. “Pleasure doing business with you, Oliver. Let me show you how the alarm system works. No stealing or property theft because it’ll look like it was done with my code.”

“Got it. Will steal from other places only.” I follow her down the stairs. “You’re here most days?” Definitely had been counting on the opposite.

“Yep. I like having this big space to myself, which is probably what made Ruby think of recommending it. I often come here to get in cardio because there’s nothing like having an entire dance floor to yourself while a Void sound system blares Dom Dolla.” She throws a smile over her shoulder, but something in my expression makes her pause as we reach the bottom of the first-floor staircase. She points to her ears. “Don’t worry, I’ll use earbuds. Totally worth it for your rent cash. You can work in quiet.”

“I don’t want to make you do that,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it.” She leads us back to the key panel and shows me the steps. It’s a six-digit code, which I memorize while trying not to fixate on how nice her fingernails look as she’s demonstrating the sequence. Her nails are painted soft pink and medium long and . . . girly.

Get a grip, Locke.I have never previously cared about nails. They’d have to be six inches long and neon green with a diamond crust for me to notice.

“Got it?” Madison asks.

“Got it.”

“Then get to work.” She grins and points in the direction of the third-floor corner that is now mine for the day.

I’m more than happy to retreat and dive into fixing the reporting in the crop management widget. I lock in on the code right away, but after about a half hour, even though I don’t hearor see my new landlord anywhere, she’s still present, somehow. I can’t figure out what it is until I register the faint scent of . . .

What is that? I sniff the air, but the smell is light, too light to figure out where it’s coming from. It’s so familiar. I close my eyes, trying to zero in on it. After a few seconds, it hits me, and I open my eyes. There is the barest trace of caramel in the air, and I’m positive it came from Madison.

Funny hot girl also smells like candy. Great.

Head in the game, Locke.

It only happens when I breathe through my mouth for several minutes and the smell of caramel finally fades.

Chapter Six

Madison

Instead of using themiddle of the dance floor like usual, I do my cardio off to the side, below where Oliver set up and out of his sight. I always go hard and love to throw myself into it; being able to dance like no one is watching is exactly why I come here to work out. If I wanted an audience, I’d skip Gatsby’s and go fight for a treadmill at the gym with the rest of Austin.

I also don’t want to distract Oliver on his first morning here with flailing. And gyrating. I can already tell he’s fun to fluster, but he’s paying for the peace and quiet.

This morning, I do miss having a wall of sound press in on me from every side of the club while I freestyle to Swedish House Mafia or DMX. But I find a dance workout on YouTube and stick in my earbuds, which is perfect. It keeps me moving for thirty minutes without a break.

After I dance, I usually run all the stairs until I want to puke. The cardio keeps my endurance up for the weekend shifts because they are nonstop. Then I wind it all down with wall Pilates or go home and use the gym at the Grove, our condo complex. It’s small, but it’s fine for strength training.

That’s what I’ll do today, and use that treadmill too, even though it squeaks. I should have given Oliver a heads-up about running the stairs, but since I forgot to, I’m not going to interrupt him now.

When I scoop up my gym bag and pull out my phone, I have four missed texts. They’re all from my mom. I fight the instinct to put my phone away without checking them. I’m already annoyed that she texted. It’s not going to get better when I read them.

It’s also not going to get better if I don’t.

I allow myself a single, frustrated growl. Then I open the texts that arrived in three-minute intervals.

You should come by the house.

I haven’t seen you in a while.

A long while. Are you avoiding us?

It’s passive aggressive to ignore my texts.

This is a three-deep-breaths problem, and I force myself to take them before sliding my phone into my pocket. I’ll need a shower and caffeine to deal with her. I punch in the security code and walk to my car. I grimace, the heat not helping. It’s barely after 10 AM, but it’s stupid hot outside, which means it’s so hot it makes you kind of stupid. I can almost feel my brain slowingdown. Worse, it’s so humid it feels like I’m getting licked by the air.

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