Page 18 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“I’ve been here for hours trying to write music. Unsuccessfully, but still…” I gesture around to everyone. “Then this happens, so my focus is shot for good now.”
“You should go. They don’t like out-of-character people watching them because it makes them feel judged.” He glares at me a little. “Now I get why. I’m with them, and the judgmental outsiders need to go.”
He swings a finger out and puts a hand on his hip like he’s an officer pointing out the exit to me. My lips twitch, but I force the grin back this time while clearing my throat several times.
He rolls his eyes.
“So your fiancée is queen of the nerds? Impressive.”
Before he can say anything, I hear, “Base?”
I turn to face the direction the familiar voice just came from, and my eyes widen as a slow, confused grin takes over my face.
Britt.
In a very showy little leather outfit.
A bow is in her hand, a quiver is attached to her thigh—that is mostly exposed, due to the really short brown-leather skirt that looks like it was intentionally ripped and frayed.
Her red hair is plaited in numerous braids and pulled back from her face to reveal…pointed ears. Pointed ears that she did not have last night, but they look seriously real right now.
And weirdly hot.
Her pale midriff is exposed, her cleavage is bared, and she looks like the sexiest elven archer I’ve ever seen.
My mouth opens, and I try to find words, but I’m still…distracted.
“Britt? What the damn hell are you wearing?” Dale snaps, confusing the hell out of me.
Until a sinking realization hits me with a “Duh, you motherfucking dumbass” bitch slap from Stupid Hell.
Britt. As in Britt fucking Sterling. As in the youngest of the Sterling crew who is constantly in the gossip columns.
I’m such a motherfucking idiot.
I should have put it together last night when she had the keys and security code to Silk, and when she was blunt and expressionless for most of the night. It’s so obvious now.
A small groan bubbles out of me as I glance over her again, taking her in with a completely new eye.
“My new outfit that Harley made me,” Britt answers, genuinely smiling as she innocently models it for him.
“I’m going to kill the queen,” Dale grumbles beside me, still glaring at Britt. Then frowns. “Wait, you two know each other?” he asks.
I start to speak, but Britt beats me to it.
“Barely. We met yesterday. I should get going.” Her eyes flick to me, then down at my wardrobe. In an unimpressed, flat tone, she adds, “The Game Master will ask you to leave if you’re wearing that.”
Then she walks right by me like last night never even happened.
Like she isn’t wearing a wet-dream costume—apparently I’m a closet nerd, because I’m debating putting on tights just to stick around and see what she does.
About five guys stumble over themselves to chase after her, but she doesn’t even notice as she walks with tunnel-vision toward the queen. Not surprising, since she’s into women, not men.
That’s something I didn’t know about Britt Sterling. Then again, I don’t read the socialite section—also known as the gossip columns—as often as most Sterling Shore peeps.
There’s a guy being carried in on a throne with at least ten guys of all sizes shouldering the horizontal platform as he’s brought alongside the queen. A man-powered carriage of sorts…
“Shouldn’t you be the king?” I ask, trying to mask my amusement.
