“It’s not. Do you want to bet something on it?”
“What would you like to bet?”
“Let’s see.” His face when he finds that I’m right is going to be better than sex. Better than sex with Tim, for sure. “A million dollars.”
“I don’t have a million dollars. Do you?”
“Of course I do, I’m a junior scientist.” He chuckles. Something flutters inside me, and I ignore it. “Let’s bet
Schrödinger.”
“I’m not betting my cat.”
“Because you know you’re going to lose.”
“No, because my cat is seventeen and needs regular manual expression of his anal glands. But if you still want him . . .”
I make a face. “No, I’m good.” I drum my fingers on my biceps, wondering what else Levi has that I want. I could make him cook for me every day for a month, but he’s sort of already doing that without realizing. Why change something that works? “If I win, you get a tattoo.”
“Of what?”
“A goat. Alive,” I add magnanimously.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Already have one.”
I laugh. “Oh, I’ve got it! Your mug? The one that says Yoda Best Engineer?”
“Yeah?”
“I want one. But it needs to say ‘neuroscientist,’ of course.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “This is the equivalent to someone buying their own World’s Best Boss mug. Congratulations,
you’re officially NASA’s Michael Scott.”
“And proud of it. Okay,” I say, turning my computer around for him to see. “Deal. Come marvel at the lack of blueprints on the server.”
“Wait. What about me?”
“What about you?”
“What will you do if I win?”
“Oh.” I shrug. “Whatever you want. I’m right anyway.
Would you like my hard-earned million dollars?” “Nope.” He shakes his head, pensive.
“Should I come over and express poor Schrödinger’s anal glands for the duration of my stay in Houston?”
“Tempting, but Schrödinger’s intensely private about his anus.” He taps his masculine, chiseled chin. Huh? Why am I even noticing? “If I win, you’re going to sign up for a 5K here in Houston.”
I shrug. “Sure. I’ll sign up for a—”
“And you’re going to run it.”
I burst into laughter. “There is no way.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m currently on step four of my program, and still unable to run more than half a mile without collapsing. Running a 5K sounds about as pleasant as bloodletting. By leeches.”
“I’ll run with you.”
“You mean, you’ll walk next to me with your seventymile-long legs?”
“I’ll train you.”
“Oh, Levi. Levi. You sweet summer child.” I point at myself. Tonight I’m wearing a nose stud, galaxy leggings, and a white tank top. My purple hair is loose on my shoulders. I’m pretty sure one of my back tattoos is visible.
Everything about me screams Levi’s kryptonite. “You see this scrawny, stunted, unmuscled body? It’s built to live in parasitic symbiosis with a couch. It resists training with the force of many million ohms.”
Levi does stare at my body for a considerable amount of time, but then he looks away, flushed. Poor guy. Must be a tough sight for him. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Since you’re sure that you’ll win?”
“True.” I shrug. “Deal. Come taste the bitterness of defeat.”
