by C. M. Owens
Talk Nerdy to Me
C.M. Owens
Talk Nerdy to Me
Copyright © 2018 by C.M. Owens
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CHAPTER 1
BRITT
This is going well already. That’s sarcasm, in case you’re wondering. Using sarcasm proves to be simpler than detecting it.
“What are the odds that the manager, assistant manager, and backup assistant manager all get sick on the one weekend you’re in charge?” Raya asks as she starts getting the bar ready.
I had to call in the favor she owed me because the usual bartender, on top of everything else, decided to move to New York to pursue modeling.
Today.
This morning, to be exact.
“There’s not an exactitude on the odds, but I can show you the math I did on it earlier, if you’re being literal,” I state to Raya.
She blinks. “Of course you did the math.”
I’m not sure if she wants to see it or not, but it’ll have to wait until I finish. I’m struggling with all the things to do that I don’t fully understand how to do. Since everyone else is busy watching the band warm up, I’m busy setting up the VIP booths on my own.
It’s Under 21 weekend, I remind myself. I don’t need to serve alcohol. I simply charge the same prices for the virgin alternatives, and don’t let the club burn to the ground—Dane’s parting words of guidance.
Virgin. I’m essentially running Virgin weekend. The irony is almost frustrating.
“I can wait tables, too.” Raya smiles as though she feels she’s successfully staved off my impending meltdown.
I look down, trying to figure out if we’ve done enough to recover from the abrupt, maddening issues.
In my head, this all worked out spectacularly. Harley and I even plotted out hypotheticals of every conflict that could arise and how I should handle it. Yet we didn’t plan for this. We couldn’t have seen these hurdles coming, due to the minute fraction of a chance something like this could happen.
As usual, the human element messed up the plans my head had.
“Hi,” a smooth, male voice says from behind me, interrupting my conversation with Raya—who has already abandoned me, apparently.
How long was I inside my own head?
A throat clearing from behind me reminds me someone is beckoning for my attention. Remembering it’s considered rude to simply ignore people, I turn to face whoever it is.
Before my eyes can even find my beckoner, I’m distracted by the burlesque dancers…who are stripping down to their lingerie to get ready for the stage.
They need their masks on! No one is supposed to get down to their lace without a mask. Dane specifically stated that rule to me five times, apparently forgetting I have an eidetic memory. It appears as if it’s them he should have been repeating himself for.
“Hi,” I say, though my attention is still focused on the maskless ladies, who are joining all the other rebels by skipping simple rules. “What do you want?”
He snickers as though something is funny, so I finally face him.
And I go a little…rigid.
It’s rare the words in my mouth don’t come out.
I’m just gawking and standing perfectly still, eyes wide as I take him in.
Base Masters. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised to see him, since he’s one of the few allowed to be in here before hours.
I’ve never had to see him this close before, and now I’m getting this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. And lower. Oh, yes—arousal. Now I recognize it.
Being aroused has never left my body unable to function, though. My mouth is still parted like it expects to expel more words, but…still…nothing. I’m just gaping in most every sense of the word.
What’s wrong with me?
His dark hair is sticking up in short spikes that actually suit him. I think he has on eyeliner, but I could be wrong. He’s a lot taller, so I’m still gaping with my head tilted back so that I can see him. I’m positive it’s not a very attractive scene.
A black T-shirt that says “The Fallen” is fitted against his body like he wants to hint to the lean contours of definition it barely conceals.
I stare at that too. And his arms that have some ink peeking out from under the short sleeves, alluding to hidden tattoos.
He’s smirking while my eyes move over him, idly wondering how long I can look before it becomes rude or imposing. Deciding it’s been long enough, I yank my gaze back to the masquerade women.
“Actually, I think I know the answer to my question now,” he says, looking me over as though he’s amused.
Don’t trust my judgment on assessing moods, though. For all I know, he could be constipated. I’ve mistaken the two before.
He shakes his head; however, I don’t know why he does it. “That’s a real shame,” he says on a long sigh.
What?
“What question do you know the answer to? And what’s a shame?” I ask as he turns away, the ability to speak returning with the loss of his attention, as though the two are linked.
A phenomenon I will definitely explore later.
He just laughs as he walks away, leaving me thoroughly confused, but I have more important things to worry about.
I have to keep my brother’s club from falling apart for one night.
Chapter 2
BASE
“She’s gay, and that means we can’t compete with mostly naked women in sexy lingerie if she’s gay. She was just too distracted to hear us playing. So we’re good. Let’s get ready. People are pouring in now,” I tell the guys.
“Who’s gay?” Sticks asks while adjusting the height on one of his cymbals.
“The girl who wasn’t hypnotized by us,” Taylor snorts, rolling his eyes at me.
“You’re so fucking vain,” Sticks says pointedly at me.
“A potential label is coming tonight. Just needed my head on right,” I say unapologetically. “Stage performance is fifty/fifty on talent and mentality. Everything needs to be on.”
“This is gonna be the one. I can feel it,” Randy says, tense and likely to fuck up five or six times each song.
He’s not great when he’s on. He’s terrible when he’s tense. Which means we need to sound twice as good tonight to cover for his less than stellar performance.
Sticks gives me a look like he’s thinking the same thing. But we’re a band.
“You bitches just try not to mess anything up,” Randy says as he winks at us. “I know how nervous you all get.”
Groaning inwardly at how oblivious he is, I roll my eyes and ready myself for my introduction.
We always have a damn good turnout here. It’s why we wanted the label to see us in action in this element, when the crowd is fueling us.
The trance is always strongest here.
The doors have been opened, and the masses have flocked in, everyone is now packed inside.
Usually we don’t play right at opening time, but since we’re playing for a younger crowd, I don’t mind it.
I see the redhead from earli
er as she walks around the stage, attempting to wave the waitresses in gear, who have stopped waiting the now-full tables in anticipation of our set.
Little Red needs to go back to waiting tables and ogling the burlesque dancers. The more people lost in us, the better. We need that damn trance to be on point tonight.
I can barely see her when she disappears from the bit of the crowd I can see from this backstage angle.
“And Base Masters!” Sticks yells, cuing me to get my ass out on stage.
I head straight for the mic, offering my best panty-dropping smile to the girls who have gathered the closest.
It’s all part of the game. All part of the show.
Work the crowd.
Fire everyone up.
Feed the trance.
Chapter 3
BASE
“I saw your ride leave without you. Do you need a lift?” Raya asks as she weirdly wipes down the bar.
Did something happen I don’t know about? I thought she lived on a vineyard three hours from here and about to marry rich. Why the hell is she working here?
“If it wouldn’t piss off your fiancé, yeah,” I tell her as I lean against the bar and glance back over at Red.
It’s like she’s unaware there are even people around as she quickly flips through a thick binder.
“You don’t really seem surprised they left you behind,” Raya says as I just watch Red’s finger slide down each page at a rapid pace.
She can’t actually read that damn fast, can she?
“They’re dicks. I’d be more surprised if they hung around this long after curtains,” I tell her, smirking when Red snaps the book shut like she’s found what she’s been searching for and starts moving around the room like she’s checking everything out.
“What’s her deal?” I ask Raya, gesturing to Red.
She doesn’t answer immediately, and when I turn my head, Raya’s simply arching an eyebrow at me. Her eyes move to Red, then they dart back to mine.
“She’s young, hot, and could probably use some friends her own age who aren’t married with kids,” she says like she’s stating something surprising while she blinks a few rapid times.
“What?” I ask as she just continues to blink for a second or two longer.
“Hey, Britt, can you give Base a ride?” she calls out to Red.
Looks like I can stop calling her Red now. I finally have a name.
My lips spread in a smile when Britt’s eyes widen and seem to freeze on me. Maybe she’s bisexual?
Usually I don’t care about someone’s sexual orientation, but in this case, I’d seriously like to know. If she’s straight, she really fucking doesn’t like us at all, because she’s paid zero attention to us all night. It seems like her focus has been specifically targeted on the large amount of women who work here.
“Um...to where?” Britt finally asks, seeming confused.
“My house. It’s on the beach. Not too far, but too far to walk while carrying this,” I say, motioning to my case that is carrying my new favorite baby.
“Oh...yeah. Sure,” she says, sounding hella uncertain. “Just let me shut the lights off.”
“You covering for the manager or something?” I ask, following behind her as everyone filters out.
Raya has vanished just that fast.
“Yes,” she states flatly.
“Do you usually have to do this sort of thing?”
She shakes her head, and says, “No.” That’s all I get.
“Have you worked here long?”
“No,” she says simply.
I can’t tell if she hates talking in general or if she just hates talking to me…
She mutters something to herself when she stumbles into a barstool, and then she glares at it like the thing jumped out in front of her.
“Are you always this...odd?” I ask, trying my damnedest not to laugh as she makes her way to the large breaker box, struggling to walk in the heels she’s wearing.
“Yes.” Deadpan. She’s not joking, is she?
Intrigued, I prop up as she flips the lights off one by one until we’re shrouded by the darkness.
Chapter 4
BRITT
Why did I tell him I’d give him a ride? Bruce would have done it. Maybe he’ll still be in the parking lot.
I should have told Raya my cognitive functions aren’t properly performing around him.
As well as I’m doing so far, I’m worried I’ll grow more socially awkward by the second. And Base is friends with most of my family, so that will likely cause discomfort within the group.
“You anti-conversation?” he asks almost randomly.
Am I not conversing? I’ve answered every question he’s asked.
“No,” I answer.
“Ah, so it’s just me you don’t want to talk to.”
I turn and feel my forehead creasing as I try to see him in the dark to no true avail.
“I don’t understand the reasoning that led to that conclusion,” I confess.
He chuckles as though I’ve said something funny, but how can that be funny?
“Are you always this odd?” I muse, curious if he’s just as weird as I am. Maybe that’s why he’s laughing at nothing.
He laughs more, which I find relieving. Good. He is weird. Just like me. Even though it’s a different sort of weird than me, it still makes me relax a little.
“So, Britt, what’s got you working tonight?” he asks as I start trying to find my way through the dark club, inwardly groaning when that same vicious barstool blocks my path again.
“I had to help,” I answer.
A hand finds the small of my back, and my breath hitches in my throat. Why is he touching me? Is there a hidden meaning?
“I can navigate this club in the dark a little better than you,” he says by way of explaining his welcome/unwelcome hand.
Now I get it.
His hand is almost burning my skin through the fabric of my dress as he guides me. It shouldn’t be a literal sentence, but it feels like it is.
“Are you always this hot?” I ask, which seems to provoke his mysterious roar of laughter once again.
Is there anything he won’t laugh at?
I’m almost tempted to form a list of non-humorous topics just to test the theory.
“Is that you’re way of saying I’m you’re type,” he asks, sounding distinctly amused.
Type? I asked if he was always this hot. I didn’t say anything about types—oohhh.
“I mean your hand. It’s hot,” I explain, quickly recovering.
I know you’re not supposed to just blurt out a man is hot. I’ve been told that very directly by seven different women.
His chuckles continue, and I start to worry he’s not just weird, but also making fun of me.
He asked me about Dane, so obviously he knows who I am. I find it hard to believe he’d make fun of me. Everyone says he’s so nice.
People should come with manuals that explain their reactions.
His laughter tapers off when I just stare at him. “You’re serious,” he says like he’s surprised. “My hand is a normal temperature. I’m actually surprised it’s not cold. I’ve held about ten bottles of ice cold water since the last set ended.”
Definitely not cold. I’m weird, not numb.
I type in the code to arm the alarm, while he turns his head away to avoid seeing. That’s at least polite, but he’s still touching me.
When we finally reach the outside, his guiding hand falls away from my back. Oddly enough, a pang of disappointment strikes, and a sliver of cold works its way into the vacant spot. I ignore it while I lock up from the outside.
“Masters,” I murmur to myself, thinking of Base’s cousin Tag as I begin my trek through the mostly empty parking lot.
Maybe that’s why he laughs for no reason at all. Tag is an odd one. He constantly makes jokes I don’t understand, even though everyone else seems to laugh. I’ve decided they’re just being polite, so I
try to laugh, too.
“Yes,” he drawls, though I have no idea why he’s saying yes or why he looks so amused.
I can’t tell if I’m the one making this situation awkward all on my own or if he’s intentionally piling on.
I unlock my car, and Base stops, letting his eyebrows cock up in surprise.
“That’s a very expensive car,” he says, stating something random and obvious, even seeming confused by it.
He is weird, see?
“Yes, it is,” I say, uncertain why he found it necessary to bring it up at all. Since he’s just staring, I try to guess the reason for his hesitation. “Is it somehow offending you?”
He gives me a look that I don’t understand, and then he decides against whatever he was about to say as he climbs in. It’s already after three in the morning now. I wish he’d stop dallying. I’m exhausted.
“How far are we going?” I ask him as I busy myself with all my pre-driving checks.
Again, his eyebrows cock up, and his eyes rake over my body. Why am I blushing right now? I can feel my cheeks burning. I’ve seen guys look at me like that before.
That look is usually only involved when there’s cleavage. I don’t have cleavage today.
Focus, Britt. Admittedly, he’s weird, but still has enough other qualities to make up for it. And girls don’t seem to mind weird guys as much as guys mind weird girls.
It’s one of those double-standards I find unreasonably unfair.
Reasons to avoid Base Masters start ticking off in my head like a checklist.
I don’t need to set myself up for utter failure.
The rejections are starting to become redundant.
Tria calls Base the forbidden unicorn.
From what I gather, it’s the guy no smart girl should try to catch because he’s too pretty and he’s a musician—her words. I don’t understand the link between a pretty musician and fabled horned creatures.
“Don’t I wish,” he says on a breath to himself, confusing me. But then he brings his eyes back up to meet mine. “Take a right on Jordan, and follow the beach until you see a house with every light on.”