Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            No, I’m not too proud to accept his food. I’m not too proud to accept anyone’s food.

            Plus, I’ve been in Houston for a month, and we’re already close to a working version of the prototype. I deserve some celebratory face-stuffing.

            “The old blueprint is on the server, not the new one.”

            He takes the screwdriver out of his mouth. “It is. I put it there.”

            “That’s not the correct file.”

            He looks up. “Could you check again, please?”

            I roll my eyes and sigh heavily, but I comply. Because today he made dark chocolate and peanut butter energy balls, and they were life-shatteringly good. “Done. Still not here.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “It has to be there.” He gives me an impatient look, like I’m pulling him away from the crucial task of securing the country’s nuclear codes.

            “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.”