Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            I walk out of the room holding Rocío’s gaze and mouthing, “Goodbye, baby.” I cannot overstate how much I love this relationship development.

            With so much at stake for Friday, everyone’s too frantic to notice that Levi has taken to bringing coffee to my workstation; to making sure that I don’t go too long without a break; to smiling faintly and asking if I’m going to pass out whenever a bug flies into the lab; to teasing me about the little mounds of treats I leave for Félicette.

            I have noticed. And I know he’s just being a friend, a kind person, an awesome collaborator, but it hurts a little. Not hurt hurt. But those pangs? Those little twinges I experience when Levi stares at me? When we’re running together and he effortlessly matches his pace to mine? When he leaves me the yellow vegan M&Ms because he knows they’re my favorites? (Yes, they taste better than the red.) Well, those little twinges are starting to get a bit painful. Knifing at my general chest area.

            Weird. Odd. Strange. Peculiar. I make a note in my Reminders app: Visit primary care doc in Bethesda. I’m overdue for a checkup.

            Anywho. Work’s fantastic, sex is even better, and #FairGraduateAdmissions is about to shake things up in academia, the last bastion of the medieval guild apprenticeship model. Things are going great, right?

            Wrong. Let’s loop back to The Dinner.

            The first hint that it might possibly not go super well (or, as I think of it, my first Uh-Oh™) comes when I find out that Levi’s family suggested having dinner at an upscale steakhouse. And when I say “suggested,” I mean decided. I’ve no problem with people eating meat, but the complete disregard for Levi’s dietary preferences seems less than fatherly.

            The smell of grilled steak envelops us the second we step inside. I glance up at Levi and he says, apologetic, “I’ll make you dinner afterward.” Which causes a bit of a . . . tsunami inside me. Seriously. The pangs? Those are nothing. I’m being swept over by a ridiculous surge of affection for this vegan man whose probably annoying parents invited him to a steakhouse, and whose first concern is that I don’t go hungry tonight. It’s a warm feeling that threatens to explode inside my chest, which is why I stop him in the entrance with a hand on his gray button-down and pull him to me for a kiss.

            We don’t exactly kiss in public. And even in private, I’m not usually the one who initiates contact. His eyes widen, but he instantly bends to meet me halfway.

            “I’ll also, um,” I murmur against his lips, “do stuff for you. Afterward.” Whoa. Very sexy, Bee. Very smooth, you temptress.

            He flushes with heat. “You . . . will?”

            I nod, suddenly shy. But we kiss, and that’s my second Uh-Oh™. Because a throat clears behind us, and I immediately know whose it is.

            Oops.

            Levi’s father is a shorter, slightly less handsome, slightly less built version of him. His mother is where he gets his wavy hair and green eyes from. And the third person . . . There’s another man with them, and it’s clear that Levi’s surprised. Given the resemblance, it’s also clear that he’s Levi’s brother.

            Oh my God. This is Levi’s family. Levi’s life. I find myself incredibly curious. I want to know everything about him. Which is probably why I’m staring a little too hard and missing the introductions. Possibly, a third Uh-Oh™.

            “. . . my eldest brother, Isaac. And this is Dr. Bee Königswasser.”

            I smile, ready for my brightest Nice to meet you, but Levi’s father interrupts me. “A girlfriend, huh?”

            I try not to stiffen. “Yup. Coworker, too.”

            He nods indifferently and heads for the table, tossing an indifferent “I told you he probably wasn’t gay” to his wife, who follows him with a healthy dose of indifference. Isaac goes next after a brief smile to the two of us, a touch less indifferent. The kicker is, when I glance up at Levi, he seems indifferent, too. He just takes my hand and leads me to the table.

            “You can leave anytime, okay?” I wonder who he’s telling that to.

            Levi and I need about half a second with the menu before settling on our order (house salad, no cheese, olive oil dressing). We’re silent as his parents continue a conversation with Isaac that clearly began in the car. No one has asked Levi so much as “How are you?” and he seems . . . disturbingly fine with it. If anything, he looks elsewhere. Staring in the mid-distance, playing with the fingers of my left hand under the table, like I’m a miraculous anti-stress toy. I’m no expert in family dinners—or in families—but this is fucked up. So when there’s a moment of quiet I try to remind the Wards of our existence.