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

by C. M. Owens

  “Exactly,” I tell her, walking a very frayed and fragile rope.

  She nods. “That’s the first time a male has given me that advice. Maverick told me to make sure I brought up my hymen as much as possible. Corbin said to always be upfront with letting men know how much I was ready to be done with my virginity. Even press the issue. That way they don’t overthink it.”

  I choke on air, then burst out laughing, my body shaking with the force.

  “They sabotaged me, didn’t they?” she asks as I try to speak through my guffaws.

  “Yes,” I manage to say, expecting her to be angry when I look up.

  Instead, she’s smiling thoughtfully. “They sabotage each other a lot,” she says as she nods like it makes perfect sense.

  “Any more tips?” she asks as she pulls out a notebook that seems to have one list after another on every page she turns.

  “On how to get a guy in bed?” I ask incredulously.

  “It doesn’t necessarily have to be done in bed,” she states dryly. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  I am…going to get punched by a Sterling.

  Chapter 12

  BRITT

  “Base Masters has been staying at my house all week, has no interest in taking my virginity, and rarely wears a shirt, even though I’ve expressly told him he arouses me. A lot,” I decide to tell Harley on Friday at lunch.

  She chokes on her sandwich, then guzzles her drink like she’s trying to force an oversized piece of food down her throat, as her wide eyes stay fixed on me. She stomps her foot. Stands and sits. Finally, she slams her hand down on her desk, tears springing to her eyes as she struggles to dislodge the food apparently stuck in her throat.

  We’re eating in her office today, so I’m the lone witness to the entire scene. I feel as though I should react…

  “Do you need the Heimlich?” I ask her very seriously.

  She waves me off and shakes her head, so I decide it’s safe to continue.

  “I’ve barely been home, but when I am home, I smell him everywhere. See him everywhere. And he’s filling up my guest room with his things,” I go on, as she makes some sound of frustration, coughing now as she drinks more water. “Not that I mind, since he’s nice, and usually he has food for us. But I’m confused about his motives, since he’s clearly not interested in me sexually.”

  She makes a sound, something akin to a whine, I believe.

  She twists her body toward me, gripping one edge of her desk and gripping my hand. “Base Masters is in your house!” she hisses. “And you came into work?!”

  I frown. “Of course I came in. I’ve been coming in all week. He was even disappointed that I didn’t come to his show on Monday at Silk, even though I explained Dane was back and better at handling the club. But again, he doesn’t have a sexual interest in me. He states his intentions, but I’m still confused. And you said I could come to you when I’m confused.”

  “And he doesn’t wear a shirt?” she asks, her eyes staring at me as if she’s using her creative-dream-gaze.

  “You’re not helping me sort this out,” I point out.

  She shakes her head, but a grin continues to travel over her lips. “You’re fired. Now go home to Base.”

  I just stare at her.

  “I can’t be fired. I have a lot of work to do, and you’re supposed to be grooming me for partner.”

  She groans. “You’re not really fired, Britt. But feel free to miss as much work as necessary when Base Masters is at your house. In fact, take a couple of weeks off. Or work from home. I’ve offered you remote access plenty of times.”

  I go over all her words carefully, but none of them are the answer to my question.

  “Why is he there?” I ask her.

  “Did you invite him to be there?” she asks me, seeming to focus a little now.

  “No. He came to my house when Krysta got sick, and he’s stayed there. I only see him for about an hour or so a day, but that’s still confusing me. He’s confusing me. He wants to know things about me others don’t, and in return he’ll tell me things. I’ve apparently only given him one thing so far that was what he was looking for.”

  She fans herself a little with one hand as she props up on her other.

  “Momma always said the artists and musicians were the oddest. Daddy always said that they’d be considered weird under any other circumstances.” She sighs. “I hate both my parents, so what do they know?” she adds, chirping the words as she grins.

  Maybe I glare at her. I’m not sure. But I am feeling unusually irritated right now.

  “What does he do in the guest room?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.

  “He writes lyrics and composes music there—mostly on the walls. He asked for permission first.”

  I think she whimpers. “What’d I’d have done to look like you when I was a teenager…” She gets a serious expression. “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-two, but what does that have to—”

  “Hold on. I need to text that to the girls,” she says distractedly as she pulls out her phone.

  “Harley!” I shout…and then blink as my eyes widen in the same surprise hers do. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea why I just raised my voice,” I tell her, somewhat horrified.

  “Of course you don’t,” she says, smiling at me for reasons I—unsurprisingly—can’t discern. “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

  Still irrationally irritated, I sit back.

  “But seriously, work from home for a while. And go to his shows when he asks you to.”

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I stand up, not feeling any less confused than when I came in. And Harley insisting I work from home just makes me confused about her.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dale,” she says primly.

  “Will he have a problem with me working from home?” I ask, still confused.

  Her smile grows so wide that it looks painful. “I really do freaking adore you, you know?”

  “I know,” I tell her, since she’s said that a number of times, usually when I’m confused. Which makes no sense. I’m not confused about her adoration for me, and I’m never asking about it when she says it.

  Leaving the room, I grab my things then head home, mostly going through the motions on autopilot.

  Just as I pull up, Sticks is also pulling up. His eyes go a little wide when he sees me.

  “Hey, I didn’t realize you were going to be here. Base said you worked until late most nights.”

  “Should I go?” I ask, assuming he wants time alone with Base.

  He visibly restrains a smile. “Uh…no. This is your house, and I’m really fucking sorry that Base has just insinuated himself into your life. Usually it’s characters in a TV show he draws his muse inspiration. Not the actual people. He says the emotions they fake are more genuine than the emotions they display off camera. He’s never had a real-world muse before, and believe it or not, his creative process is one of the least crazy I’ve come across in this business.”

  “Okay,” I state warily, unsure how to proceed.

  “Look, I know he’s intense, and I know he’s like a bull going ninety to nothing toward a red flag, but I do appreciate you letting him invade your space. When he writes like this, gold comes out. And he’s our only chance of ever getting a headlining spot. However, if it gets to be too much, let me know. I’ll reel him in.”

  He’s apologizing for him. That’s something people usually have to do for me when I’ve said or done something too inappropriate. When I smile, Sticks arches an eyebrow.

  “He’s weird, isn’t he?” I ask, feeling excited by the prospect Base Masters is significantly weird. Just differently weird than me.

  “He can be,” he agrees, smiling tightly. “But he’s also brilliant when it comes to music. By far the most brilliant I’ve ever encountered. Brilliant artists are usually considered weird.”

  “Geniuses” are considered weird as well.

  “I’m
glad he’s weird,” I tell him, relaxing a little about Base being in my house. “Are you going back in?”

  “If that’s cool with you. I’m not so musically brilliant in the creative aspect, so I’m respectful enough to wait on an invite before simply walking into someone’s house. I was going to draw Base out here.” He grins like he’s made a joke, and I smile back in return, not getting the joke but not wanting to look stupid either.

  “You off work?” he asks as I push the door open.

  The loud wailing of a guitar has Sticks grimacing, as I answer, “Yes.”

  “Shit. Is he always playing this loud?”

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t play when I’m home unless it’s just the acoustic.”

  “At least he has that much sanity left,” he grumbles. “Is he even sleeping or eating?”

  “He eats with me nightly,” I answer, frowning when he relaxes.

  “Should I worry that he won’t eat?” I ask loudly to make my voice carry over the even louder guitar.

  “We’ve been trying to get him out so I could check to see how far off the reservation he is, but he’s too deep in the zone to get out. He’s only gotten out once since coming here, and that was Monday night for our gig at Silk. Tomorrow we’re playing three hours away. And today he didn’t answer any of our calls, which means he’s slightly losing touch with reality. It happens.”

  Now I’m worried. I didn’t know he was this weird or had weird tendencies that could cause him not to eat or sleep, and I have no idea if he’s been sleeping since I’ve hidden in my room.

  “Damn, it’s loud, but it sounds fucking amazing. He really is in the zone. No wonder he’s avoiding our calls today,” Sticks says, closing his eyes as a smile spreads over his lips. “Most people wouldn’t be so cool with him doing this,” he goes on, his eyes opening and seeming to regard me carefully as I lead him toward Base’s room.

  The music grows louder with each step we draw closer.

  “I’m weird too,” I tell him, causing his smile to return.

  When we push open the door, there Base Masters is. The small silver hoop seems out of place on his bottom lip, since I’ve never seen him wearing it before. However, like every other detail of his lips, I have noticed the very small piercing holes.

  My eyes are also raking over his tribal arm tattoos, because as usual, he’s shirtless. His eyes are closed, and a smirk is on his lips as he plays, seemingly oblivious to our intrusion.

  His hair is damp, and his skin has a hint of a shine to it, like he’s been exhausting himself. All of his muscles are flexed as he makes the guitar scream or sing or whatever they call it.

  “Holy…shit…” The words Sticks says are almost lost over the music, and I look over to see his eyes searching the walls that are full of musical notes, some of which I’ve recently started learning, via the internet.

  Though the playing part is not quite so simplistic. My hand-eye coordination doesn’t cooperate.

  Several lines of random song lyrics are scattered amongst the walls, having no obvious order.

  “Yo!” Sticks shouts just as Base lingers on what seems to be the last note.

  Base’s eyes fly open, and an easy grin forms when he sees me and winks. His gaze flicks back to Sticks.

  “How long you been standing there?” he asks him, as he starts removing the guitar and twisting knobs on the amplifier.

  “Long enough to see why you’ve holed up in this poor girl’s guest room without warning, and started writing all over her walls like this is your place instead of hers.”

  Base just grins broader. “I told her she’d have to tell me when she wanted me gone, and I’ll paint over all of it before I go.” When his eyes find mine again, those weird little butterflies erupt, finally making me understand that concept after redundantly hearing the figure of speech. “She hasn’t told me to leave.”

  Sticks just grunts a comment I miss as he moves farther into the room to read some of the lyrics. Base’s eyes stay on me, which I notice from my peripheral, because I’m pretending not to be awkward as I strain to focus on Sticks.

  “Living life without lies or regrets, comes at the price of having no secrets,” Sticks says, grinning as he looks over his shoulder at Base. “I want to hear the rest of that with the music.”

  “Later. It’s not finished,” Base answers, finally looking away from me as he grabs a notebook and hands it to Sticks.

  When Sticks eyes widen, he says, “That’s ten songs. You’re saying—”

  “I’m saying I have enough already for a new album, and I have even more to write. I also haven’t gotten out the more complex ones. So fuck off until I’m dried up or she finally realizes I’m a nutcase and kicks me out.”

  Sticks laughs under his breath, his eyes flicking to the walls full of candid shots Base has taken of me with his Polaroid during this past week when I’ve shared tidbits of thoughts with him.

  Most of the images have been reduced down to only my eyes, but a lot of them have my full face.

  “If she hasn’t figured out you’re insane by now, I think it’s safe to say you’re in the clear,” Sticks tells him while clapping his shoulder, then grimaces before wiping his hand on his pants. “Dude, take a fucking shower. Then get dressed. You’re getting out before you start really losing touch.”

  “I’m good,” Base tells him, waving him off as he goes to scribble on the wall.

  Sticks casts a look over to me, then gestures like he’s prompting me to speak or something.

  “You should shower,” I tell him, even though he doesn’t stink.

  I’m tempted to take a picture of him for a change, because he possibly looks the sexiest he’s looked yet. Or my hormones are simply raging. One or the other.

  Sticks covers his mouth and turns as his shoulders shake. Base looks over his shoulder at me, eyebrows up as he grins.

  “Fine. I’ll take a shower. But I’m only going out if my muse does. I’m staying in the zone, so it’s her space or her presence.”

  Sticks turns a clear, expectant look toward me. “What d’you say, Britt Sterling? Can you handle a Friday night out? And do you have a fake ID?”

  “I have fake IDs,” I tell him, finally grateful for those.

  “Plural?” Base asks, turning as he drops his pen.

  “People at college gift them to me all the time so they can say their fake ID was good enough for a Sterling,” I explain. “Apparently it’s good marketing, according to them. They tell me as much every time I try to refuse them, and they say it’d help them out. I like helping people.”

  Sticks cocks his head, then shakes it as he says, “Rich people.”

  “Get dressed,” Base tells me. “Maybe I’ll find out what you do that makes men too aggressive when they dance with you.”

  If I’m not mistaken, he looks amused as he says that. And out of context, it sounds entirely too ridiculous.

  “It was the environment,” I tell him. “Most were drinking despite the absence of alcohol, and there’s a certain violent dancing method some men believe to arouse a woman.”

  “I’m missing something,” Sticks says, looking between us.

  Base wipes away his smile as he begins telling him too much.

  “Britt tried to pick up guys in a bar, since she loves dancing, but every time she ended up with guys too aggressive. Her brother made her take a bodyguard when she went, since she flew solo at a lot of under twenty-one hot spots. Naturally, I’m curious. This was supposed to be something most people don’t know.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” Sticks says as though that makes all the sense in the world.

  “See? Sticks gets me,” Base says, reaching down to start undoing his jeans.

  I whirl around, putting my back to him, and…then pretty much run out of the room. Maybe everyone is right about me not being ready for sex if I’m running away from a guy undressing. A guy who I asked to devirginize me.

  Webster’s should accept that as a valid word, because it’s
quite practical.

  “For fuck’s sake, dude, wait until she’s out of the room to start undressing. Or are you trying to get murdered by a Sterling?” I hear Sticks asking, and I almost break my no-eavesdropping rule.

  Instead, I hurry to my room and take an inordinate amount of time getting ready.

  Because apparently I’m going dancing.

  On a Friday night.

  With people I barely know.

  I distinctly remember telling them I had fake IDs. There was never a vocalized agreement that I’d go. Apparently I somehow said something to allude to going.

  How did I get myself into this?

  Chapter 13

  BASE

  I’m dressed and waiting in the living room with Sticks as we wait on the other guys to arrive, and for Britt to come out of her room.

  “You’re seriously walking a thin, very fine line of super creepy; just sayin’,” Sticks says as I finish posting some pics to Instagram from Monday night’s show.

  “I’m perfectly aware that I’ve already crossed that line, but Britt has zero friends outside of her brother’s circle. Even those role-playing people just know her as the Valkyrie princess and not as herself. I’m going to change that so it feels like I’m giving back.”

  “How generous,” Sticks says dryly.

  I flip him off, since he makes me sound like a dick.

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I tell him distractedly.

  Before he can fuck with me anymore, Britt emerges, and I forget all the words. And all the music. And everything else. For a solid fifteen seconds…

  My eyes rake over her very fucking tight, strapless, black dress and stilettos. I quickly forget we’re not in the room alone.

  Sticks clears his throat and mutters, “You’d better be a motherfucking saint, you stupid bastard.”

  Her long, silky, red hair looks even brighter against the black as she stares at us, blinking. Expressionless. Though I can tell in her eyes she looks uneasy.

  “Am I not dressed right?” she finally asks.