Page 27 of Talk Nerdy To Me
I like the way he just talks, not acting like there’s a specific amount of information he can share, even though he doesn’t really know me.
“I’ve passed on decent job offers. I’ve only done casual relationships since junior high. And though I love a good party, I’ll pass all day every day when there’s a gig to play or a song that wants to be written. I’m all in right now, so that I can be free of it later if I don’t make it.”
Deciding to get more comfortable, I lie on my side, facing him, and he adjusts his guitar so that I can move just a little closer.
“Most people do want to fit in, but I struggle with more effort,” I tell him, almost as though I’m subtly defending my answer from earlier, which isn’t something I usually do. “Everyone assumes it was foster care that made me so socially inept. In some ways, I suppose it didn’t help, but it’s not the main source. But I let people think that, and I even use it as an excuse when I feel it necessary to avoid the seemingly unacceptable truth by everyone else’s standard. Sometimes, the truth gets passed over as not being a severe enough truth. The simple truth is that it’s just how I’m wired. I can’t read social cues. I struggle with expressions or knowing when someone is sincere. I enjoy good-natured ribbing, but it’s sometimes hard to differentiate from cleverly disguised mocking, so I’m careful when selecting new people to introduce into my life on a more regular occasion.”
He twists, putting his guitar on the ground, then turns to face me a little more.
“I’m not mocking you when I laugh, for the record. I just find you intriguing.”
I feel my smile before I even decide what expression to use, and it’s an…easy smile. One that happens on its own. My favorite kind that usually only happens when I’m really comfortable with someone—which is rare.
And again, very odd timing, since I’m not physically comfortable being around him. My body feels as though it’s on riot, if I’m being completely candid.
“So,” I go on, “when they include me, it’s a bigger deal to me than to some people. Since Harley came to get revenge on Dale and decided to fall in love with him instead, I’ve started fitting in even more.”
His brow wrinkles for a second before he laughs softly again.
“Because of the park games where you’re a Valkyrie princess?” he muses.
“Partially. I have a script there. It makes interacting with people much simpler.” His eyes never leave mine as I speak, and he doesn’t seem impatient.
I find myself relaxing more and more.
“What’s with the obsession with sex the gossip columns keep referencing?” he asks, and I frown.
“The gossip columns say I’m obsessed with sex?” For the first time ever, I’m tempted to read them and break my promise to Dane.
His eyes widen a little. “Sorry. I just assumed you read the things about yourself.”
“Dane asked me not to because of something to do with ‘haterade.’”
His grin grows. “You always do what your brother tells you to?”
“Asked. He asked me not to read them,” I state in correction. “Dane has done a lot for me, and he’s asked for very little at all. So yes, I’m always quick to oblige when he directly asks for something.”
His smile falters. “You feel like you owe him?”
“No. He’s made it clear that I don’t. But I still want to be able to give back on the very rare occasion he asks for anything.”
When his smile returns, he blows out a heavy breath.
“So are you gay, and are you obsessed with sex?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
Given the context, I don’t think he’s asking about my sexual preferences… I mean, we’re discussing happiness, right?
“I like guys and I’m happy,” I decide to say, covering both bases. He starts laughing, but I continue, since he still doesn’t seem to be mocking me. “I’m not obsessed with sex,” I go on. “Maybe fixated at the moment, since it’s proven to be much more difficult than I expected.”
“Really?” he muses, his eyes raking over me, down to my toes and up again until his gaze locks with mine. “Why?”
“Bringing up my virginity tends to stall things when they actually are progressing.”
He bursts out laughing, turning to put his head into the pillow to smother the sound.
“Five Sterlings cause issues as well, whenever they’re hovering.”
“I can see that,” he says, still laughing.
