Page 46 of Love on the Brain

“Why you asked. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think that you might feel unsafe sleeping here if it’s just the two of us. I will—”

“Oh, no.” I take a step forward to reassure him. “I asked because I was curious. Honestly, it seemed incredibly weird to me that you—” I realize what I’m about to say and snap my jaw shut before I continue. Levi’s not fooled.

“Were you shocked that someone would marry me?” he asks, biting back a smile.

Yup. “Not at all! You’re smart. And, um, tall. Still have all your hair. And I’m sure that with women you don’t hate you’re nicer than you have historically been with me!”

“Bee, I don’t—” He exhales hard. “Get in the truck.”

“Why?”

“I’m driving you back to the cemetery and feeding you to the coyotes.”

“Historically,” I hurry to say. “You’ve been nice to me today! You saved me from a zombie attack, for sure. And from Fred and Mark!”

He frowns. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with them.”

“Lots of misogyny’s my guess.” I debate whether continuing. Then I think: fuck it. “Also, it doesn’t help that your team is exclusively male and almost exclusively white.”

I expect him to contradict me. Instead he says, “You’re right. It’s appalling.”

“You chose the members.”

He shakes his head. “I inherited the team from my predecessor.”

“Oh?”

“The only new hire I made was Kaylee.” He sighs. “I officially reprimanded Mark. His behavior today is in his file. And I called a team meeting this afternoon, in which I reiterated that you are co-leader and that what you say goes. If anything like today ever happens again, let me know. I’ll deal with it. Come, I’ll find you something to wear.”

I’m a little shell-shocked that he called a meeting to officially Sausage Reference™ me, so I follow him without questions. The upstairs area is just as pretty as the first floor, but with more personality. I spot a vinyl player and CDs, pictures on the walls, even some Pitt swag I recognize from my own apartment. His bedroom, though... his bedroom is magic. Something out of a catalog. It’s a corner room with two large windows, wooden furniture, ceiling-high bookshelves, and, in the middle of the king-sized bed, sleeping softly on top of the comforter...

“Are you allergic to cats?” he asks, rummaging through a drawer.

I shake my head, then remember that he’s not looking at me. “No.”

“Schrödinger’s probably going to leave you alone, anyway. He’s old and grumpy.”

Schrödinger! “I thought you hated cats.”

He turns with a confused look. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You seemed a bit hostile toward my cat today.”

“You mean, your cat that doesn’t exist?”

“Félicette exists! I have literally wiped boogers from her eyes, so—”

“Félicette?”

I press my lips together. “It’s the name of the first cat in space.”

He lifts one eyebrow. “And you named your imaginary cat after her. I see.”

I roll my eyes and drop the topic. There’s nothing I want more than to pet the black ball of fur curled on the bed, but Levi’s holding out a white V-neck T-shirt and...

“How offended would you be if I offered you boxers a friend gave me as a joke? They’re very small, I don’t think I’ve ever worn them.”

“Is that... flamingoes?”

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