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

by C. M. Owens

  Krysta’s face is suddenly in front of mine as she kneels, worry on her expression as she starts pulling me back up to my shaky legs. It all happens so fast, but feels like it takes forever, as more people trample by, almost toppling onto us.

  Pain shoots up my arm, and bodies start closing in.

  “Get out of the fucking way or get stepped on!” some guy shouts at us, as the building gets more and more crowded. “The main event is about to come on stage after these guys finish the last of their short set,” he adds like he’s ushering us to move as he shoves a few people away to give us room.

  Krysta curses as I freeze, just staring at the throngs of people who are coming in by the hordes. Surely there’s a fire-safety limit that’s lower than this.

  We almost lose each other again, but Krysta clings to my hand, getting knocked around by rushing bodies until she crashes into me.

  “Everyone is trying to hurry and get a good spot. It’s going to turn into a fucking mosh pit,” Krysta says, wincing as she steers us out of it.

  My hands are still shaking, and my left hand is throbbing. It takes me a second to realize that my hand actually hurts really, really bad.

  “Krysta, I think someone stomped my hand when I was crawling,” I call over the music.

  “Someone got my ribs,” she says through a grimace as we manage to squeeze out a side door.

  We both make a surprised, terrified sound when we get rushed by a flurry of people waiting in line around the building, breaking for the door we really shouldn’t have used.

  We barely manage to get out of the rush after being bobbed around, and she makes a frustrated sound as I spot an uber pick-up area. My hand hurts so badly now that tears are springing to my eyes when I make a poor judgment call to reach for my phone with it.

  “I think I need a hospital,” I tell Krysta, who is nodding like she agrees as she limps beside me.

  “Me too,” she says just before she drops to the ground, her hand gripping her side.

  Someone actually steps over her instead of offering to help, and I drop to the ground on my knees beside her, that panic quickly returning because I don’t know what to do.

  “Shit, I need a minute,” she says through strain. “Don’t leave.”

  “I-I’m not,” I stutter, swallowing thickly.

  My vision is boxing in, growing smaller and smaller, as my breaths come quicker and quicker, growing shallower with each one.

  Everyone is everywhere, and too many are too close, and so many are so loud. The music is still so loud. All of it is too loud, and I can’t tune any one thing out as it all presses down on me, trying to come all at once.

  Base is still singing, because I can hear him, and he’ll never hear his phone. And—

  My thoughts cut off as my remaining vision lands on my brother just as he pushes away from his car, eyes widening as he just stares at me as if shocked.

  I look around, wondering if my panicked mind has somehow tricked me into thinking this is really happening, since that makes more sense than Dane actually being here.

  He hurries toward us, looking very much real, since people dart out of his way to keep from getting trampled as they fight over who was in line first.

  He cuts through them all like a knife and doesn’t even bother asking what happened as he lifts Krysta. She whimpers in pain, and points out her ribs. I…I can’t really concentrate enough to hear her.

  My hands start shaking as though the panic has doubled, and he gives me a tight expression as I force myself back to my feet, working through it.

  “I wasn’t stalking. I promise,” he assures me as he gestures for me to follow him, his jaw ticking as he keeps any anger out of his tone. “I just worried, since this place is known for horrible crowd control, and they have two big bands coming up later. Talk to me, Britt. What do you think?”

  “You were right to worry. And it’s more uncaring than violent,” I tell him, even as my voice shakes just a little, but I focus on this one conversation, just like I’m supposed to. “It happens so passively and so quickly that you don’t realize it’s happening.”

  “I imagine,” he says, keeping his voice neutral as my nerves begin to calm. Safe. I feel safe. “I’ve been in rough crowds before. It escalates quickly.”

  My vision slowly starts expanding as I sit down in the passenger seat of his car, cradling my injured hand to my chest.

  “I think I got stepped on,” I say as he puts her down in the back. “Her ribs are hurt. Don’t be mad at Base. He was playing. He couldn’t see. There’s a lot of important people he gets to meet tonight, and the lights—”

  “I won’t say a word,” he says tightly, cutting off my spitfire rambling and giving me a more forced smile when I look over at him.

  “Promise?”

  He just nods.

  “He just isn’t as cautious as I am,” Dane tells me as he drives quickly through the traffic. “I’ll deal with this very peacefully, if you promise that next time you’ll skip a club I warn you about.”

  I nod, definitely deciding that’s a smart decision I should have made.

  Dane reaches over, clutching my shoulder, and I exhale shakily again.

  “You’re in my car. You’re safe,” he says very quietly.

  “I know,” I tell him as I shut my eyes, feeling my muscles begin to relax. “I know.”

  “I’m so glad you’re her brother,” Krysta groans from the back seat. “Imagine that. Britt Sterling’s first bad life decision is the one time I’m with her. Ruby is going to kill me.”

  “Ruby isn’t going to kill you,” Dane assures her before looking over at me as Krysta starts muttering something about being cursed.

  Dane wastes no time grabbing a wheelchair for Krysta, and I go in, letting him takeover as he signs us in and starts doing the paperwork for both of us.

  I sit down beside him as Krysta stays in the wheelchair.

  “Britt, believe it or not, I’ve been behaving and giving you your space to be a grown up,” Dane says to me as he continues to fill out my paperwork for me.

  I should be filling out that paperwork, but right now, I’m content to cradle my hand.

  “There’s a but coming,” Krysta stage whispers before grimacing.

  “There’s no but. I’m just wondering if this is really the sort of relationship you need. He’s going to travel a lot, and he’s about to take off for a tour, and there’s likely going to be a contract in his future. You said nothing serious, but the guy is living in your house, and now you’re taking off on weekend trips and visiting his mom on the way. I’m worried there are unintentional mixed signals that are confusing you,” Dane goes on.

  Krysta just sort of eyes him before looking over at me.

  “He has a point.”

  I start to speak and stop, unable to formulate any sort of logical argument.

  Dane’s eyes look away from mine as though he doesn’t want to pressure me for an answer, and I slink down in my seat.

  I can’t really form a debate when he lays it out so clearly.

  Chapter 29

  BRITT

  “What the hell happened to your hand?” is a very startling question to hear when you think you’re alone in the copying room.

  I whirl around to find Base’s stare on my cast, lips parted like he’s not finished asking that question.

  “I fell and it was stepped on by mistake,” I tell him dismissively as I try to hide it a little behind me.

  I’m not entirely sure about the lie Dane told him; I’m just glad he agreed not to tell anyone the truth. Even I know everyone will misplace blame, and it seems like a lot of trouble for my own personal decision.

  “Krysta cool?” Sticks asks as he pokes his head in. “She’s not answering any calls.”

  “Krysta decided she wasn’t much of a road-trip groupie, and she’s happily deep-sea fishing with the local rowing team to see if that’s her new kind of man,” Ruby says as she pushes into the room. “Don’t take it pers
onally.”

  Sticks’s smile falls a little, and I almost want to tell him that’s a lie. But Ruby’s the one lying, and that feels like a betrayal to her. I really don’t understand people, but since my brother is lying to spare Base, per my request, I have no right to judge.

  Things really can get complicated fast.

  “I see the party is in the copy room,” Harley says as she needles her way through, eyes my cast quickly, and moves along.

  “Who stepped on your hand?” Base pries, trying to move closer. “And when? Is that why you really left? Because I find it hard to believe you left because you got your period, and your brother just happened to be close by. I thought maybe he’d just shown up and snatched you because he’s way too overbearing like that. Hard to tell, since you haven’t answered your phone.”

  Dane is a terrible liar. Why would he use my period in his lie? He can’t even handle me mentioning my menstrual cycle. He physically cringes every time I have to bring it up.

  Base finally shakes his head when I stutter, and he closes his eyes almost as though he’s mad, while scrubbing a hand over his face. I’ve never been good at lying.

  “I didn’t want you to miss your important stuff. Crowd control isn’t managed well there. It’s a minor fracture,” I ramble on.

  Sticks looks horrified. Base isn’t even looking at me.

  “Dane was there because he was worried it might get ugly with so much going on in one night,” I finally confess on a very nervous breath.

  Base just keeps his head turned, as Harley exhales harshly.

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it has to be,” Harley says, even though I overheard her using her fierce tone when she called the club first thing this morning when she saw my cast.

  “You said you’d be ready twenty minutes ago. Can we please get out of here?” Ruby asks Harley.

  “So that’s why the cold shoulder the past two days?” Base asks me, cutting between them as they both dart a glance at me on their way through the door.

  “I sent texts,” I tell him as I start walking out.

  “Very limited words on the texts. Something you were instructed to do?” he asks as he follows me.

  “No. I’ve just been thinking, and I assumed we’d talk face to face eventually.”

  “Eventually is here. Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?” he asks as he lifts my cast in his hand.

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” I say as I turn to face him.

  His eyebrows go up, and I exhale heavily as I stop in front of him.

  “I think it’s best if you and I stay friends,” I tell him, causing a lot of surprise to form in his eyes. “You’re leaving in a few months, and you won’t have sex with me because you don’t think I’m emotionally capable of losing my virginity without feelings. But the truth is, I don’t want those feelings. I’m too young to risk falling in love. You and I have very different life courses, life experiences, social circles, and life plans.”

  His expressions shut down completely as he backs against the railing.

  “It could have been fun, but it was already getting complicated because we know too many of the same people. I’ve looked over all the lists I’ve made, and we aren’t a good statistic for a probable future.”

  He gives me a slow nod, pocketing his hands as he clears his throat and looks down.

  “Let me get this straight, you’re done with me because I’m trying to show you respect as a woman,” he says like he’s pointing this out.

  “I really don’t want to be done with you at all. I want to be friends—like I think we are. I just don’t want to risk falling in love, and it feels like that’s what you’re unintentionally trying to make me do. I’d think respecting me as a woman would be to respect my ability to decide what I want at this point in my life. I’m sorry.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He merely nods sort of absently.

  I don’t know if I’m supposed to stay or go, so I decide to walk away.

  “That whole speech sounds coached, Britt,” he says just as I reach my office door. “Who typed it up and had you memorize it?”

  I almost don’t speak, since he doesn’t usually listen. But I take a fortifying breath, and ‘look away from those panty-melting eyes that make smart girls stupid,’ like Rain said to do when I have something I really need to say.

  Staring at the receptionist, who turns away like she’s uncomfortable, I say, “I’m not intending to be offensive when I point out how hypocritical that is. People around me may voice how they feel, but you’re the only one trying to tell me what I need that I almost listened to. I have a plan, and for whatever reason, you felt as though you—a guy who barely knows me—had the right to tell me how my first time should be. I don’t have to do this your way, and you’re by no means obligated to do it my way.”

  I keep my tone neutral, trying not to antagonize him or make him too defensive.

  My eyes collide with his, and I realize it’s a mistake, because I want to take all the words back. It’s easier to tell others to stand firm than to tell myself. It took me two days to prepare all those words.

  “I think, given our different views, it’s better to keep things just friends. I do love hearing you sing, though. I didn’t want to tell you that in a text.”

  I shut up before I start rambling even more disassembled things that can possibly contradict all the things I just said, as I turn and push through the door.

  My phone chimes with a text from Harley that has a winky face beside her like a boss message that makes no sense.

  I don’t look back, because I feel horrible and I don’t want to feel worse. I don’t think we broke up. I mean, we’ve been living together, and had some intense moments, but I don’t think that means we’re in a relationship that constitutes the need for a break up.

  I dwell over that the entire car ride home, and I ignore Krysta’s call because I think I did just break up with him. Which makes me an idiot, because we weren’t dating.

  We are already just friends, so I don’t see why I had to bring us down to that level—

  Someone knocking at the door is a welcome distraction from my inner tangents as I go to open it. There’s just a second to register Base’s intense stare trained on me, because he’s kissing me in the next second.

  Well, now I’m even more confused about what I just did.

  I hear the door shutting as one of his arms winds around my waist and pulls me closer, and his other hand goes to my hair as he backs me against a wall.

  He breaks the kiss, and I take a couple of really desperate breaths, wondering when my hands dug into his shirt like my body made the decision to keep this situation in play.

  “You’re right,” he says quietly against my lips, nipping my bottom one. “Let’s do this your way.”

  His mouth comes back down on mine, my his hands slide up his chest until they’re tangling in his hair. He actually lifts me from the ground. My legs go around his waist on instinct, and he kisses me harder as he carries me to my bedroom.

  My back hits the bed, and he comes down on top of me, grinding against me just hard enough to create that perfect friction. He makes a sound in his throat that does inexplicable things to my body that make zero anatomical sense.

  We only break the kiss long enough for him to tug his shirt over his head, and I quickly do the same with mine before the spell can break—yet another metaphor I’m now more understanding of.

  “Tell me to slow down if you need me to,” he says as he breaks the kiss and slows things way down, taking his time as he kisses his way down my neck.

  My body goes so still that I almost worry I’ve frozen again. He doesn’t stop this time as he continues kissing his way down, sending rows of chills up me in crescendos of scattered waves that leave the slightest shudder in their wake.

  “Where’s your head at right now?” he asks as he kisses his way down my stomach, his fingers toying with the button o
n my pants.

  “Bad poetry,” I confess.

  He snorts against my waist, his shoulders suddenly shaking. I practiced dirty talk; I just didn’t know when that was supposed to start.

  Apparently, it needs to be immediate, because him laughing is not the sexy Bella told me to bring when the time came.

  “Sorry,” I say awkwardly as he just sort of rests his weight on me, only causing his body to shake a little harder. “It was bad poetry for good thoughts, but I’m not a poet and…I’m a virgin for a reason; I’m not magically good at this.”

  He leans up, mouth sealing over mine, possibly to stop it from running incessantly and making it all worse. The mood comes back with effortless ease, as he continues to kiss me into a stupor.

  With one-handed expertise, he unhooks my bra. I’m not sure why I grin. I’m not sure when I started grinning.

  I can feel his grin growing to mimic mine. I’m going to make this weird again if I don’t resist the stupid urge to speak the second his lips break from mine.

  This time, as he kisses his way down my throat, he peels my bra down with his descent. I’m positive my eyes try to swap places when they cross hard enough to feel them tug. It happens the second his mouth connects with my nipple. I don’t know or care which one. All my nerves fire on one united circuit as his hand slips down, working my pants down as his mouth…his mouth…

  I can’t even properly praise his mouth because I’m so bad at poetry.

  “Still thinking of bad poetry?” he asks, lips teasing me a little as he pulls back to remove my pants.

  I keep my eyes closed as my jaw moves like it’s trying to form words without my voice. I finally catch up. “I-I just cycled back to it.”

  I feel his grin against my skin this time as he starts kissing his way down. Even a virgin knows where he’s going with this, and my entire body squirms in anticipation as he slowly starts tugging my underwear down.

  I go ahead and put my hand with the cast out to the side so I don’t accidentally forget about it and give him an unintentional concussion while he’s trying to give me an orgasm.