“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 Schr?dinger’s anal glands for the duration of my stay in Houston?”
“Tempting, but Schr?dinger’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 seventy-mile-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.”
He does come, stalking to my bench in a few strides with those ridiculous seventy-mile-long legs. However, he doesn’t stop in front of the laptop I conveniently turned for him. Instead he circles around the bench, comes to stand behind me, and then slides the computer in our direction. For me to better witness his impending massacre, I assume. “I can’t wait to sip your tears out of my new mug,” I murmur.
“We’ll see.” He leans his left hand against the bench and grabs the mouse with the other. Even on my high stool, he’s still many inches taller than me, effectively caging me at my seat. It should feel uneasy, suffocating, but he leaves me enough room that I don’t mind. Plus, I know it doesn’t mean anything. Because he’s Levi. And I’m Bee. It’s actually almost pleasant, the heat he radiates in the blasting AC. He could have a successful second career as a weighted blanket.
“This is weird.” I hear the frown in his voice. “The file’s missing.”
“Can the mug be twenty ounces?”
“It should be here.” He leans forward, and his chin brushes the crown of my hair. It’s not terrible. Sort of the opposite. “I saved it.”
“Maybe you dreamt it? Sometimes in the mornings I think that I got up and brushed my teeth even though I’m still in bed. Though with my new mug I’ll be extra motivated to wake up early and have my coffee.”
“Weird.” Pity he’s not paying attention to my gloating. I’m doing a pretty good bit, if I say so myself. “Look.” He types quickly, the inside of his elbows brushing against my upper arms, pulling up a log interface. “See? Someone—me—saved the file at 1:16 p.m. Then at 4:23 someone else removed it . . .”
I know immediately where he’s going with this. I tilt my neck back to look up at him, and he’s already staring down from two inches above. God, his eyes. He invented a new color green. “It wasn’t me!” I blurt out.