Talk Nerdy To Me (The Sterling Shore Series Book 13) Read online

  “I’ll wait right here,” he says, pointing to his spot before pocketing his hands. “Just in case your song plays again.”

  I’m not sure why I grin, but I do. Idly, I notice him flick a definite smirk toward Tommy’s table. I wave at Tommy, smiling at him, and he gives me a tight smile before returning his gaze to Base and clutching his beer bottle tighter.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing a text from Rain.

  RAIN: I might have heard you have a certain shirtless Masters invading your house. Before I ask a favor, I need to know if he’s in any way unwelcome. I can have him easily extracted without ever letting your brother know there was a problem.

  I wish he was unwelcome. It would make this thickening layer of confusion much less of an issue.

  ME: I don’t want him to leave. I don’t know why he’s staying. He rejected my proposal.

  I leave it at that.

  RAIN: He’s staying there, calling you his muse, and playing music shirtless?

  ME: Harley told you, didn’t she?

  RAIN: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME????????

  RAIN: Don’t worry. I won’t tell your brother.

  What does my brother have to do with anything? I told her Base rejected me, so that’s not what she’s referring to.

  RAIN: We’ll discuss this later, since I’m assuming you’re out with him. Since…you’re not at home. Tria and I were going to drop off some nice new clothes we bought you, maybe peek inside the house for a second…

  ME: I’m confused. Is the favor me coming home so you can give me clothes and peek inside?

  RAIN: No. The favor is we want you to bring Base to karaoke night. Don’t worry, we’re all happily married or in love. But Base Masters at karaoke night…

  Why does inviting Base to karaoke night feel like another rejection coming on?

  Or worse, he’ll go out of obligation, and I certainly can’t tell obligatory expressions from constipation.

  Still, I send her back an, I’ll ask.

  RAIN: Harley said you haven’t seen him perform yet. How is that possible?

  ME: I’ve been busy. I’ve heard him sing a little with really loud music, but he doesn’t do it much when I’m in the house. He just asks me questions and tries to talk to me.

  RAIN: But you haven’t seen him PERFORM?

  People call those ‘shouty’ caps, so why is she shouting at me so much?

  ME: No.

  RAIN: Then don’t watch him perform until karaoke night. We want to see the magic happen.

  ME: What magic?

  RAIN: You’ll see. ;)

  Chapter 15

  BASE

  “I hate Randy. Let’s kick him out of the band,” Sticks says as he drops beside me on the wall.

  “I would, but there was that blood offering, the chalice, a fire, and his Mom’s terrifying grimoire all involved in that band pact we made,” I tell him distractedly as I glance over some of my messages.

  Without missing a beat, he says, “I voted for a simple pinky swear.”

  I snort out a laugh, not looking up from my phone as I swap over to emails.

  “Why is the guy you made that weird insult about staring at us?” Sticks asks as he leans toward me just a little.

  “Because he’d like to see me dead, most likely,” I say with a shrug, lips twitching with the grin I manage to restrain.

  I’m a cock-blocking motherfucker, and I doubt it’ll be the last time I act like I have a right to block any ‘candidates for her hymen issue.’

  Britt emerges, moving right up against my side, and I thread her fingers with mine as I start guiding her through people. Sticks falls in behind her, and we manage to weave all the way out of the building to where the van is getting loaded.

  “Britt can sit in the floor with me. You still sober?” I ask Taylor as he walks toward us.

  “Never drank a drop,” he sighs.

  Britt hesitates, her eyes on the girls.

  “They’re not vipers, Red,” Sticks tells her, nudging her with his shoulder.

  Why the hell does it bother me when Sticks touches her? This is not being friendly.

  She gives a tight smile. “Why would you make that comment?” she asks like she needs more context.

  It makes my smile start to spread.

  “You were looking at them like you’re worried,” Taylor says quietly, almost as though he’s working damn hard to reassure her that this won’t be too bad.

  Her face relaxes, and her smile spreads easily. “I’m capable of handling all types of people. I have word counts now to help ease the awkward conversations.”

  Sticks and Taylor exchange a confused look.

  “I’m worried about the amount of semen possibly staining the shag carpeting, now that we’ll be in the floor. On the ride over, you boasted how many girls you’ve had back there. I’ve never read about how many sexually transmitted infections can be transferred without actual sexual contact.”

  Taylor’s eyebrows go up in surprise about the time Sticks and I both burst into laughter. I’m doubled over, losing my grip on her hand as my sides start to ache.

  “We’re clean,” Taylor says, even as he fights his own laughter.

  “The carpet is clean?” she asks, confused.

  “No. I mean we all get tested fairly regularly after some questionable life choices,” he tells her, working harder not to grin now.

  “He means you’re not going to catch something from the shag carpeting,” Sticks tells her bluntly, and she exhales heavily while relaxing.

  She barely gets inside before sticking out her hand and introducing herself to the girls. “Hi, I’m Britt Sterling.”

  One of the girls scoots over and pats the seat beside her. “You can sit here. Make the guys sit on the semen shag.”

  Britt immediately takes her up on it without even glancing in our direction.

  I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “You dicks should probably act at least a little classier. Just sayin’,” Randy says on his way by as he scratches his balls.

  “Fine. I’ll wash the fucking van first thing tomorrow,” Taylor grumbles as he climbs in and slams the door.

  Sticks shakes with silent laughter, and I run a hand over my jaw, smiling a little at Britt as she eases into conversation this time with a more relaxed smile.

  “You can stare at her from inside the van, man. Let’s roll,” Randy says in a dry, unimpressed tone as the fucker calls me out.

  Britt’s eyes immediately dart to mine, and she battles a smile as I climb in and drop to the floor next to her legs.

  “So are you two a thing?” the chick next to her asks.

  Just as I open my mouth to answer, Britt answers with zero hesitation or emotion, “No.”

  Randy snorts, and Sticks covers his mouth as his body starts shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “Damn. Just like that?” the chick asks Britt while snapping her fingers. “Not even an ‘it’s complicated’ sort of thing?”

  I get a few pitying looks like I’m a kicked puppy or some shit, and my lips twitch as I just arch an eyebrow at Britt.

  “In all seriousness, she’s out of his league. I mean, she’s Sterling rich, and despite the fact she’s still in college, she’s also on the fast track to make partner at a major gaming corporation. She’s barely even breaking a sweat while doing all of that…in her pajamas…most days. She’s slumming just by being friends with us,” Sticks says, his eyes laughing at me as I subtly flip him off.

  Britt’s eyes widen before she opens her mouth…then shuts it…then opens it again for few stuttered sounds.

  Abruptly, she turns to me and blinks. “I said just one word and made it this bad. Now I can’t think of any response that won’t make this situation worse.”

  “Sticks thinks he’s funny. All good, Britt,” I tell her.

  I drag her hand down to my mouth and kiss it, only confusing everyone in the van even more. I’m not sure why I find it so amusing.

&n
bsp; Britt leans down, and I almost turn my head, but she speaks before I can. “Can you go to karaoke on Thursday?” she asks randomly.

  My right eyebrow lifts as I turn to face her, our noses brushing. She doesn’t pull back, and her eyes just stay fixed on mine like she’s simply awaiting an answer.

  My gaze darts to her lips as a slow grin tugs at my lips. “Sure.”

  Without even dallying for a split second, she pulls back and starts texting someone. My smile slips as I start getting confused.

  “I’ll let them know in the group message so they’ll stop texting me in two-to-five minute increments,” she says as though that’s supposed to make sense.

  I didn’t realize this was going to be a group thing…

  Her phone goes off again and she frowns as it continues buzzing more and more and more.

  “Apparently, I just made that worse too,” she sighs.

  Sticks just rolls his eyes at me as I grin. The girls like me. At least I have them in my corner.

  Chapter 16

  BRITT

  I can hear Base playing in his room when I get home Monday afternoon. Tempting as it is to go in there, I decide to sit down in the living room, bringing my email up on the TV so I can watch the links Harley sent me.

  When he pauses and starts, I know it’s likely he’s scribbling notes or words, and I find myself smiling for no obvious reason. Maybe it’s because the house doesn’t have that eerie silence anymore when I get home.

  I’m not investigating each sound to pinpoint what it is. I don’t hear phantom footsteps when I’m in the shower anymore.

  I, unfortunately, fell asleep on the way back from the club Saturday, and spent most of the day yesterday at the library while trying to complete my paper with Brin’s unhelpful help. She wanted to know what I was doing at the library when Base Masters ‘was shirtless in my house.’

  I’m not sure why everyone keeps bringing that up. I’ve explained the rejection, and the fact he has no sexual interest in me.

  The music stops again, as I finish up one of the videos and move onto the next. But I barely swallow back what is surely a painful screech, when Base is suddenly landing on the couch beside me, having leapt over the back.

  “You’re not at work,” he tells me distractedly.

  He’s shirtless once again. Maybe shirts irritate his skin. If so, I’m sure I could find him some without abrasive material. I could make a list of quality material, as a matter of fact.

  He props his feet up on the coffee table and stretches out his arm on the back of the couch behind my head.

  “Harley became willfully uncompromising and told me to work from home, even though she refuses to explain why,” I tell him absently, my eyes dipping to his chest as though gravity compels them.

  They run down the line in the center of his abs, only getting distracted by the actual abs for a brief second, before dipping to his waistband where there are definitely muscles toned to a “V” shape.

  I stop there instead of looking at his lap, and snap my eyes to the screen, wondering when I’ll once again be in control of all my cognitive functions.

  This is really getting ridiculous. I’ve given up trying to rationalize my inability to stop being attracted to him.

  He nudges me with his shoulder.

  “I figure I’ll be ready to start rehearsing with them in a couple of weeks. You cool with me sticking around that much longer?” he asks as he messages someone on his phone.

  I’m not even going to try and figure out why there’s a distinct pang of disappointment in my chest. If I can’t have him, then he might as well be gone so I can stop fantasizing.

  I apparently like the frustration, because I really don’t want him to leave.

  “Stay as long as you need,” I state quietly, my eyes staring at the screen I have paused.

  “What’re you watching?” he asks, putting his phone away. “Wait. I see men in tights. Is this LARPing caught on film?”

  “It’s segments of the trials. These are from Land of Lore. Land of Lost Lore has more creatures, more status, and a lot more world building.”

  His eyes flick to my ears as his grin grows. “Those elf ears should be on when watching, though, right?”

  Frowning, I shake my head. “Why? I’m not role playing right now?”

  His smile slips, and he mutters something about role-playing and being a saint that I don’t catch the full context of.

  “Is your name Base because Tagland is shortened to Tag?” I ask him. “Like a ‘tag base’ play on words?”

  His eyebrows raise, and he peers over at me as he shakes his head slowly. “Nah. My mom likes to call me her anchor, and after a while she started calling me her base because I was her ‘new foundation’. Then soon, she just called me Base as sort of a term of endearment. I was three when it stuck, and by fifteen, when I hurried to make sure the teacher called out Base Masters instead of my real name, I was thankful it stuck.”

  I’m smiling before I can stop myself. “What’s your real name?”

  “It’s something very few people know,” he says, as though he’s letting me know this is a secret.

  “Okay…”

  “Eugene Cornelius Masters is my full name,” he tells me, staring at me with what I think is supposed to be stern eyes, even as he seems to battle a smile. “Base was the clear choice. It sounded much more badass.”

  When I laugh, he winks, leaning back.

  “What was your last name before Sterling?” he asks absently, as though he sees it to be no big deal.

  “It’s a name I won’t say again,” I state quietly.

  “Why?” he asks, turning toward me again.

  “Because it no longer has anything to do with the person I am. It’s not a name that deserves recognition for the person I’m trying to become. And it’s not a name attached to fond memories.”

  “But it’s your name. Your past is still a part of you,” he argues.

  “It was my name,” I agree. “And my past is a part of me. It can be a part of me without it getting any attention from the people who didn’t know me when I had that name.”

  He wants to argue. It’s his nature. He always wants people to see things from his eyes, and he passionately expresses that in a way that could cause someone to get caught up in his path.

  But he also knows I won’t engage in spontaneous conflict.

  “I’d rather my past be left out of most questions.”

  “That’s…complicated,” he says, frowning, seeming as though he’s fighting with his instinct to argue.

  “It’s part of the dark undertones that don’t matter after the happily-ever-after,” I remind him.

  Blowing out a breath, he sinks down on the couch, getting comfortable as his arm brushes against mine.

  “Compared to you, my story sounds fucking peachy,” he says softly, tugging me even closer.

  “If you start to pity me, I’ll stop sharing things.”

  He laughs under his breath. “Pity is only there in the absence of admiration,” he says, then gestures to the screen as his eyes return to it. “I’ll spend my pity on these guys in tights who have to be embarrassed by the short tunics when it looks like there’s a deer knuckle in the front of their pants.”

  My mind tries to process what he’s saying, until I finally see the less-than-abstract comparison. There’s an eye-widening sort of realization.

  It’s rare that I ever burst out into an actual fit of laughter. So rare that it startles me when I make some hideous noise and bray the rest of my laughter through pained and starved lungs.

  He…snaps a picture of me. I can only hear it instead of seeing it since my eyes have been forced to screw shut with the painful hilarity.

  I resent the joke by this point and don’t find it funny anymore, but he’ll snort, and I’ll do that terrible braying thing all over again.

  Never again will I be able to keep a straight face during those very serious moments on the battlefield.


  My eyes open as I try to stifle the rest of my laughter. “What good will that picture do when your central focus is the eyes?” I ask, gesturing to the picture that hasn’t started appearing yet.

  He smirks as he shrugs, fanning the picture—which is actually not a good thing to do. “That one’s just for me.”

  The remaining tendrils of laughter taper out, fading into the abruptly silent room. He walks the picture back toward his room, his eyes on it like he’s waiting on it to develop.

  At the very least, it was a picture he took for a non-muse reason. It’s really, really unnecessary to be feeling the urge to blurt out something that will likely make him very uncomfortable.

  I keep my mouth shut and try to remain as self-aware as humanly possible.

  When he returns, he gestures back at the TV, and I hit play.

  “So what’s the point of these trials?” he asks.

  “Unity. The community is expanding, and it’s easy for that love to get spread too thin. Harley says she enjoys her girly touch on things, and she adds in the romance with these—”

  “I never see you play the games,” he points out, gesturing to my neatly tucked away gaming console.

  “I mostly play on my laptop in my room or at the office,” I explain. “Anyway, you get certain advantages in the gift of knowledge. In this particular game,” I tell him, gesturing to the screen at Harley as she slinks around through a deserted part of the park, heading toward the throne in the center of the field, “the goal is to capture the queen.”

  “Then why is no one trying to capture—” His words cut off, because as soon as Harley gets on the throne, the screen goes to a group of men and women who are all hiding in various places to strategically ambush her.

  “Their scrolls told them the objective was to capture the queen,” I say as the film speeds up on its own, the hours in the top right hand dwindling on, as the people move in fast-forward speed, idling, killing time as they wait.

  “It said if the queen touched the statue of the crowned lore, she was safe. Her advantage, however, was that the game was over if she reached the throne. The throne is on the other side of the park.”