Page 72 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“Yet you want to fit in. Doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?” he asks.
“No,” I state confidently.
“Why?” he asks, sounding overly amused.
Or…constipated.
One day, I will figure that out.
Bella has it written down as number one of my life goals. I don’t find it quite that pertinent.
“If I explain myself, then it’ll sound like I’m trying to convince you I’m right. And it’s not important to me for you to see it my way.”
“You only argue if it’s important?”
“I dispute incorrect facts, but I don’t usually argue a point, mostly because I’m usually confused about the topic and am on the wrong path of conversation. But I only try to make someone understand me when I want them to see it my way. Or when they’re genuinely interested in seeing things my way. Not just looking for a thread to tug so they can unravel my stance and impose their own views on me as though it’s the only option.”
Again, his hands pause, and I heave out a breath, fortifying my belief in conditioning.
“Just one,” I hear him saying as he shifts, my legs falling to the couch. “And I swear I’ll finish your massage.”
Why am I smiling?
My face hurts from the wide smile that won’t go away as I feel him sliding up my body. Adjusting my legs wider for no logical reason, I let him settle in between my thighs before I blow out a breath of mock frustration and open my eyes.
The camera is predictably hovering over my face, and I catch a glimpse of white teeth peeking through his smile before the flash goes off. The second I stop blinking, another flash restarts the action.
“I said one,” I remind him, holding my hand out in front of me when I worry he’s going to do it again.
He laughs under his breath as his body presses down on mine while he leans over, making me acutely aware of how intimately we’re positioned…and the fact he’s definitely aroused. Because I can feel it. Against me. And there’s no panic. Yet.
It’s more of a physical reaction and not necessarily a conscious one. I’m sure.
Actually, I’m not really sure of anything when it comes to Base Masters. Like if he’s this touchy with everyone.
He drops his camera to the table, then rights himself over me again, smirking as his gaze rakes over my face.
I have no idea where my eyes should be, so I just stare at his, as his thumb traces over my bottom lip.
My gaze mirrors his, now riveted to his bottom lip and the hoop he’s wearing again.
“You don’t have class on Fridays, right?”
“I have two classes, but I’ve already gotten too far ahead on the material, and both professors have asked that in the future I only come to class on testing days,” I tell him.
“Why did they ask that?” he muses.
“I don’t know. Though, it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
I’m rambling, because the panic is starting just a little. How is his touch as comforting as it is nerve-wracking?
He resumes his grin, still tracing his thumb over my lower lip, his gaze riveted to my mouth.
“Then come with me this weekend,” he says, flicking his gaze up to meet mine. “We’ll be leaving Thursday night—”
“Karaoke is Thursday night,” I quickly remind him.
His grin grows. “After karaoke,” he assures me. “We’re going to drive forever on Thursday night. Friday we’ll finish the drive after we make a pit stop in our town. The gig is Sunday night—not a prime spot, but the venue is solid. And there’s a party Saturday night where there will be a lot of small, but still worth-while, contacts we could make.”
