Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            I can’t believe what he’s saying. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can’t believe Tim knew and successfully manipulated Levi into staying away while he screwed his way through Pitt’s student body.

            “Why are you telling this to me? Why now?”

            He looks at me, serious and earnest like only Levi Ward could ever be, and something surges into me. Something painful and delightful and confusing. Something breathtaking and spellbinding, rich and frightening. Not a fully formed feeling, but an early draft of it. It’s on the back of my throat and on the tip of my tongue. I want to get a grasp of its taste before it’s gone. I am reaching out, almost there when Levi says, “Bee, I—”

            My phone rings. I groan in frustration and relief and scramble to pick up. “Hello?”

            “Bee, this is Boris Covington.” Huh? “Are you and Levi back?”

            I glance at Google Maps. “We’re about ten minutes out.”

            “Could you both come to the Discovery Building as soon as you get in?”

            “Sure.” I frown, switching to speakerphone. “Does this have to do with BLINK?”

            “No. Well, yes. But only indirectly.” Boris sounds tired and almost . . . embarrassed? Levi and I exchange a long glance.

            “What’s this about?”

            Boris sighs. “It’s about Ms. Jackson and Ms. Cortoreal. Please, come in as soon as you can.”

            Levi presses on the gas pedal.



* * *



            • • •

            I LOOK AROUND Boris’s office and blink at least four times before asking, “What do you mean, ‘sexual intercourse is forbidden in work areas’?”

            Boris’s skin’s even redder than usual, and he retreats farther into his desk. “Exactly what I said. It’s—”

            “Bee’s not my mother and I’m not a minor,” Rocío proclaims from one of the guest chairs. “This conversation is a HIPAA violation.”

            Boris pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s clearly been at this for a while. “HIPAA rules apply to medical records, not to you being caught having sex in your office. Which, just like every other space in the building, is video-surveilled twenty-four-seven because of the high-security projects it houses. Now, no need to worry about that, Guy is a security admin and has agreed to delete all footage. But Bee is your direct supervisor, just like Levi is Ms. Jackson’s, and because of the disciplinary actions required when NASA employees engage in activities such as . . . intercourse in work spaces, they need to be informed.”

            I glance at Levi. His face is a blank void. I’m positive that inside he’s rolling with laughter like a pork in mud. Positive.

            “Sorry.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Just to be clear, you two were having intercourse with . . .”

            “With each other,” Rocío tells me proudly.

            I nod. Next to Rocío, Kaylee appears enraptured by her own pink nail polish. She hasn’t looked up since we came in.

            “Um . . .” I have no idea what to say. Zero. Nada. Maybe Dr. Curie left behind helpful tips to handle similar situations? If only her notes weren’t too radioactive to be touched before the year 3500. Maybe I can go to the Bibliothèque Nationale with a hazmat suit and—

            “I won’t write up a complaint,” Boris says, “and I trust Bee and Levi will take care of . . .” He gestures vaguely at two of the smartest women I’ve ever met, who must be going through a spell of nymphomania. “But I beg you on my knees. Don’t do anything similar ever again.”

            “Thank you, Boris,” I say, hoping I sound as grateful as I feel.

            The walk to the outside of the building is deadly silent—until we form a circle and stare at one another with varying levels of hostility (Rocío), mortification (Kaylee), and poorly hidden amusement (Levi). I hope I look neutral. I probably don’t.

            “So . . . that happened,” I start.

            Rocío nods. “Sure did.”