Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “No. Maybe. A friend knows someone who works for—” Levi closes his eyes. “Bee. You don’t understand.”

            I cock my head. “What don’t I understand?”

            “I don’t dislike you.”

            “Right.” Uh-huh. “So you’ve been acting like an ass to me for seven years because . . . ?”

            He sighs, his broad chest moving up and down. There’s a tuft of fur on the sleeve of his shirt. Does he have a pet? He looks like a dog person. Maybe it’s his daughter’s dog.

            “Because I am an ass. An idiot, too.”

            “Levi, it’s fine. I understand, really. When we lived in France, my sister loved this classmate of ours, Ines, and I could not stand her. I wanted to pull her braid for no reason. I actually did, once, which was . . . unfortunate, because my French aunt believed in sending kids to bed without dinner.” I shrug. Levi is pinching the bridge of his nose, probably shocked by how much I ramble when I’m still half-asleep. One more thing for him to hate about me, I guess. “The point is, sometimes dislike is a gut reaction. Like falling in love at first sight, you know? Just . . . the opposite.”

            His eyes spring open. “Bee.” He swallows. “I—”

            “Levi! Here you are.” Kaylee is walking toward us, an iPad in her hand. I wave at her, but Levi doesn’t stop staring. At me. “I need your approval on two items, and you and Guy have a meeting with Jonas in . . . Levi?”

            He is, for unknown reasons, still staring at me. And the stricken expression is back. Do I have a sleep booger on my nose?

            “Levi?”

            Third time must be the charm, because he finally looks away. “Hey, Kaylee.”

            They start talking and I walk away with another wave, daydreaming about coffee and a bra. I don’t know why I turn around one last time, right before stepping into the elevator. I really don’t know why, but Levi is looking at me again.

            Even though Kaylee is still talking.



* * *



            • • •

            IT’S TWO P.M., I’m wearing a bra (yes, a sports bra is a real bra; no, I do not accept constructive criticism) and sipping my eleventh coffee of the day when I get a text from Levi.

            Bee, I’m using texts since emails are unreliable. Your equipment and computers will be here tomorrow. Let’s schedule a meeting to go over BLINK at your earliest convenience. Kaylee will be there shortly to set you up with NASA.gov email, so that you can access our servers. Let me know what else you need.

            I can’t help myself. I must have learned nothing in the past weeks, because I do it again: I shoot off my chair and jump up and down, screeching loudly and joyously in the middle of the office. It’s happening. It’s happening. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s—

            “Um . . . Bee?”

            I whirl around. Rocío is blinking at me from her desk, alarmed.

            “Sorry.” I flush and quickly sit back down. “Sorry. Just . . . good news.”

            “The dictator of veganism released you from his tyrannical clutches and you can finally eat real food?”

            “What? No.”

            “Have you been able to reserve a cemetery plot close to Marie Curie’s?”

            “That would be impossible, as her ashes are enshrined in the Paris Panthéon and—” I shake my head. “Our equipment is coming! Tomorrow!”

            She actually smiles. Where’s a digital camera when you need it? “For real?”

            “Yes! And Kaylee’s on her way to set us up with NASA.gov addresses— Where are you going?” I notice her panicky expression as she stuffs her laptop in her bag.

            “Home.”

            “But—”

            “Since the computers will be here tomorrow, there’s no point in staying.”