Some Like It Geek: A Really Big Set of Romances

by Box Set

  My head whips back to her. She has the paper folded neatly back, exposing a third of her treat.

  “Yes. Exactly.” And the words lodge in my throat to tell her that there’s no need for me to wait for her to somehow soak in past this weird veil between me and the world that’s always been there—she’s already inside.

  She smiles, and a silent “I get you” seems to pass between us and link us more together.

  Chapter Nine

  Luke

  A kid nearby shrieks in excitement, and our moment of understanding passes. Pepper turns back to her ice cream sandwich.

  I tense on the bench as she licks the vanilla along the edge. And she’s doing it without any kind of air about her—totally innocent. She looks up, catches me staring, and her eyes widen. She pulls away, looks at her treat, then me, and her cheeks blush under the glow of the lamp tucked into the palm above us.

  Then she holds my gaze, leans down, and takes a deliberate lick.

  Just like that, my dick pops against my zipper.

  Shit.

  I clear my throat.

  “So what got you into sports medicine?” Dinner was spent with us tiptoeing around the obvious attraction we feel and finding safe conversational topics. We mostly caught each other up on different people we discovered we had in common in high school.

  She takes a huge bite out of the sandwich, polishes it off like a champ, wipes her fingers on the little square napkins, and folds her arms on top of the table. The harsh light from above transforms when it hits her skin, and in this new position, it enticingly highlights the upper curves of her breasts.

  “I used to be a cheerleader.”

  I cock my head, because one, I know this already and she knows I know, and two, it’s a weird answer to my question.

  She continues, “Some of my teammates were injured at one of our state championships, and, well, watching the doctors on staff made me want to do what they did—make my teammates better.”

  She traces her index finger across the tip of her thumbnail, and I know there’s more. You don’t get to be a SEAL without being able to read people. Should I push? Fuck it, I’m pushing.

  “What’s the real reason?”

  She looks up sharply, her forehead wrinkling. “You don’t believe me?”

  I choose my words carefully. “I think that’s the surface truth. Perhaps what you tell others, and what you tell yourself most of the time.”

  She tenses and wraps her hand around the napkin, a frown marring her forehead. She pushes her lips sideways. “You’re right.” She sighs. “I… They were injured because of me.” She says this in a rush of guilt that sounds as if it’s been filling her up, waiting to get out, all this time.

  I lean forward. “How so?” I don’t insult her by saying something like, “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” If Pepper says so, I choose to believe her. She hasn’t struck me as someone prone to hyperbole.

  Her hand is opening and closing over her napkin, and I grasp it. Not because I’m trying to take advantage and get in her pants. I mean, I do want to be inside her pants again, but that’s not why I grab her hand.

  She just looks so…vulnerable. As if, for a moment, she needs someone to hold her hand with no expectations.

  She relaxes a fraction, which for some weird-ass reason makes a warmth fill my chest. Huh.

  “It was the state championship our senior year. It was the first year our squad got that far, and we’d all been working hard with our routines. We had a killer pyramid. I had a major part in it—at least two girls depended on my strength and ability for us to pull it off flawlessly.”

  She looks down at our hands. Somehow my other had joined in the hand-clasping fest.

  “What happened?” I whisper, squeezing her hand.

  For a moment, I wonder if my voice was too low to be heard above the traffic behind her, but then she raises that defiant chin of hers.

  “I kept quiet about a sore back. It was just a pain I’d gotten used to whenever I leaned back. There was no way I was going to jeopardize our chance. So I took some painkillers and went out there with the biggest, brightest smile. The show must go on, right?

  “You can guess the rest, I’m sure. That backache turned out to have progressed from a stress to a break. It was the weak link in our chain, and we went tumbling down. Thank God, none of them were seriously injured. A broken wrist for Heather, and a twisted ankle for Jules.”

  I pitch forward, leaning across the table. “Hold up.” I tug on her hand. “You broke your back? How could you not realize that? And how are you still walking?”

  She gives a shrug. “It sounds bad, but spondylolysis is common with cheerleaders. The insidious thing about it is that the pain feels the same when it morphs from merely being stressed to having a fracture. And it wasn’t my ‘back’ that broke, but a joint between two of my vertebrae.”

  “Jesus.” I swear to God it felt as if my heart went into free fall for a split second.

  “Anyway, I didn’t lie earlier, though. I was inspired by the sports medics who came rushing up. It’s just their impact on me wasn’t something I realized until later. I think first I had to get over my shame and guilt.”

  “So you studied medicine…” I run a thumb across her skin.

  “Yes, and after I got my MD and completed my residency, I did a one-year fellowship to specialize in sports medicine. I don’t think I would’ve stuck it out eight years post-grad if it wasn’t a true calling. I really enjoy it.”

  And while I can see she still harbors some guilt for letting her team down, I totally get why. It also makes her a better doctor.

  Pepper

  I’m surprised to realize we’re holding hands as we stroll back to his Scout in the parking lot behind Smuggler’s Cove. His grip is strong and warm and way more comfortable than I’d like. This date isn’t what one would normally picture as romantic—soft music, soft lighting, beautiful setting. Instead we’re in a parking lot off a four-lane highway that runs through Sarasota, with old strip malls, fluorescent street lamps, no-name hotels I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep in, and some rather unsavory characters lurking in dark recesses.

  But it’s been perfect.

  I swallow hard, not wanting to examine exactly why that could be.

  I’m not an idiot. I know it’s to do with the man whose hand I’m holding, but I’m not ready to examine why that is.

  The date took a different texture than I’d anticipated. Instead of firmly putting him in the “high school friend catching up” category and inoculating myself to him, the night went a long way to adjusting my contradicting images of High School Luke and Man Luke. I’m holding the latter’s hand. The one I slept with.

  The one who is a former Navy SEAL. Yeah, I’ve been trying to digest that tidbit the whole night.

  Totally explains his body. I catch myself before I can snort out loud.

  Earlier at the picnic table, I’d been afraid to poke at that memory of my failure—the emotions have been successfully locked away since high school. But I’d been amazingly okay with relating it. And that experience had been a trial run compared to the emotions I had to learn how to wrangle during my residency.

  We reach his vintage Scout. “So a SEAL, huh? What was—?”

  My words are cut off because he’s swung me around and pressed me against the side of his Scout and is kissing the hell out of me.

  Instantly, all the tension that’s been zinging between us all evening—hell, since our sexcapades—ignites in my chest and arrows down to my core. I wrap my arms around his neck and inch up on my toes, my breasts pressing deliciously against his hard chest. How could I think to ignore this? I’m burning up inside just from a kiss.

  Granted, the guy knows how to kiss, but come on.

  As soon as I get reacquainted with his taste, and my breaths are coming a little faster, he pulls away and smiles, his green eyes dark and mischievous and blistering in their intensity. He then pecks me on the forehead, ope
ns the door for me, and hustles around to his side, leaping in his topless car without opening his door.

  Okay, that was hot.

  He grins at me as if I’d said that aloud, but I’m pretty sure I hadn’t. I think. My mouth hasn’t had a good track record around him in that regard.

  “What was that for?”

  “The kiss?” He turns his key, and the engine roars and settles into a purr.

  “Yeeesss.” I settle against the seat, pretty sure a dopey grin is plastered on my face.

  “Your goodnight kiss.”

  “Not sure how many dates you’ve been on, sailor, but usually that’s done after you drop a girl off and walk her to the door.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not happening.”

  “It’s not?” I hate that I sound whiny. What the hell, whiny-self?

  “Nope.” He grins. “Don’t trust myself to stop with that, so…” He puts the car into drive and pulls out. “So I took it early and can just drop you off.”

  And the bastard does just that.

  Chapter Ten

  Pepper

  I’m boiling water for macaroni and cheese—the deluxe kind with the cheese already gooey, thank you very much—when my doorbell rings. I freeze with the open box poised to pour in the elbow noodles. Who the hell could that be? I’ve never had a Jehovah’s Witness at the door, but there’s a first time for everything.

  I turn the heat dial to a low simmer and squint through the peephole.

  And just like that, my nerves remind me we’re here and we’re going to throw you off balance—because it’s Luke on the other side. I close my hand on the door knob. Can I pretend I didn’t hear the bell? Then he holds up a box of…something. Whatever it is, it’s distorted in the fish-eye lens of my peephole.

  Oh, what the hell. I’m weak. For him.

  And curious.

  I yank open the door and smile faux-sweetly. “You rang?”

  My heart’s pounding, though, because I’m still dealing with how last night had not gone as I planned. I’d thought spending more time with him would cure me of him. Plus, the conflict of interest is still an issue, but only until I turn in my report. That should be done soon—the last three stragglers have finally signed their releases. I now have Conor’s and Patrick’s medical histories, but I’m still missing Eamonn’s—a delay supposedly due to the state of his records in his part of Ireland.

  Part of me wonders if their delay had been on purpose, but Conor and Patrick had checked out fine. Hopefully Eamonn will too. I’d hate to think he’s stonewalling me.

  “I brought you something.” He holds up his gift again. A box of chocolates. Not very original on his part, but it’s also chocolate, so I’m not going to complain.

  “Bribery won’t work on me.” I have to say it, even though I know that’s not what he’s doing here. He doesn’t strike me as that kind of guy, and that’s too small of a bribe anyway, despite it being chocolate.

  He leans against the door jamb, and I do not notice what that does to his shoulder muscles beneath his gray T-shirt. He takes up the whole door, he’s so large.

  “Now you’re just insulting my character.” But he says this playfully as if he knows already I don’t really believe he’d do this.

  I sigh. “Come in.” I step back and open the door wider.

  He hands me the chocolate and breezes by me with a smirk that says he knew I’d cave. Part of me wants to renege. Lord knows, my life will be much simpler if I nip whatever potential we might have right now. Save myself the emotional turmoil. I’m at a crossroads and have complete power to make my path go in one particular direction. Without him.

  But, oh, that other path beckons. Yes, it’s lined with places I could trip and fall flat on my face, but it also seems to be bursting with so much more…life.

  So I let him pass by, and I lean in a fraction and take a sniff. I know I’m weird, but screw it. Maybe I can get by on just little intakes of his scent, as if it’s some drug that’ll allow me to have an alternate, safer path with him.

  I hold up the chocolate. “I know this wasn’t meant as a bribe, but in all seriousness, you can’t talk me out of doing my job if that’s why you’re here.”

  He halts by the couch and pivots, arms crossed. His large, warrior body dominates the space, but I’ve dealt with male posturing enough not to be daunted.

  “I have no intention of stopping you.”

  “Why are you here then?” My blood races a little at that, as if I’m prodding a sleeping giant, and I’m not sure I want it awake. But I also kind of do.

  He stands there, but he doesn’t do or say what I expect—a flirtatious step forward, an innuendo. Instead, he looks down.

  And it hits me that he’s uncomfortable. Unsure. Not in control. And it throws me. Makes my heart go out to the Unsure Giant in my living room.

  Perhaps just hanging with him a little won’t cross a professional line. I’d been weak yesterday during our date, so maybe I can reestablish the ground rules. “I’m making mac and cheese. You want some?”

  His head snaps up, and there’s a quick flash of relief in his eyes before he shields it.

  “Thanks. I’ll pass.” But he heads for the kitchen, as if he’s been here a number of times and this is something we do every night. He settles down onto the stool at my breakfast bar, which totally illustrates how tall he is. I have to hike up onto it. “We’re on a JERF restriction until Saturday.”

  “JERF?”

  “Just Eat Real Food. Too much artificial stuff in that, but…” He groans at the sight of the box of mac and cheese open by the stove. “You got deluxe? Shit.”

  “Yeah, none of that powder mix for me.” I pour the box of noodles into the boiling water and stir.

  He pins me with a steady but searing gaze. “You’re definitely testing my willpower, Pepper.”

  And then I don’t know what to do with my hands, with my body, because I’m not sure if he’s telling me something more here. Luckily the boiling pot gives me direction, so I hustle about the kitchen as if I’m channeling Gordon Ramsay and it’s super important to get this dish done right. The whole restaurant’s future is on the line.

  Having him sit here on my stool in my apartment makes him real in a very weird way. “Do you want something to drink?” Shit. All I have to offer probably won’t fit his food restriction. “Water?”

  He takes a longing look at the mac and cheese box, but says, “That’d be great.”

  I grab a glass. For a minute the small kitchen is filled by the clunk of ice pinging the sides and then the hum of the refrigerator as the cool filtered water streaks into his glass.

  Because small talk can smooth all bumps, I ask, “Are you guys ready for the game Saturday?”

  He crosses his arms on the counter and leans forward, watching me bustle around the kitchen. I feel as if I’m on a stage.

  “We’re ready.”

  He says this so confidently. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been quick to judge him. Quick to pigeonhole him into a ‘type,’ but he’s been stubbornly showing me in small ways that there’s more to him than high school jerk turned warrior turned jock.

  I hand him his glass of water, and he nods his thanks. He isn’t Phil, who was full of swagger. The man lived and breathed hockey, and I’d just been filling in his “off time.” I think he also found it convenient to date a sports medicine doctor. Saved on co-pays. But not every athlete has to have an ulterior motive for dating me, or even flirting with me.

  “Is this a qualifying game for the division playoffs?”

  He takes a sip. “No. More like an exhibition game, though hardly anyone will be there to watch except for our friends and family. We don’t have a lot of other hurling clubs in the Southeast, so this is one of the few times we get to actually play against another team. We flew to Atlanta earlier in the season to play their top team, and we play Tampa and Orlando, but we’re all so new to it that we’re evenly matched for the most part. But New York teams are t
op-notch. It’ll help to compete against a tougher team than what we’ll face in the playoffs.”

  “What got you playing? You’re not even Irish-American, are you?”

  “Aiden is.” He laughs and takes a sip of water. “Aiden played at his college and wanted to keep playing, but there was no team here…”

  “So he strong-armed you guys into playing?” I do another stir of the noodles and tap the wooden spoon against the side of the pot. Yeah, I’m a regular Gordon Ramsey.

  “Something like that.” He stares to the side. “I was just back from being discharged as a SEAL and looking for something to get involved in. Something that would keep me in shape as well. I saw a notice in the weekly paper…”

  “And the rest is history.” The noodles are soft enough, and I drain them and stir in the cheesy goodness. I divide out some for me into a bowl and put the rest away. When I sit down at the counter, his bulk taking up most of my vision to the side of me, he makes another teasing comment about resisting my dinner, but this time I look closer.

  Yeah, he would’ve helped himself to the meal if it wasn’t shortly before the game. Yeah, he really appreciates the goodness of deluxe mac and cheese. But it’s not at all hard for him to resist it. He can just do it. No problem. Because he wills it. I admire that quality more than I’d like to admit.

  What could happen if I give in to this attraction? Maybe it won’t make me lose my way. But what if it does, and I cross that line again?

  As I settle in and try not to be self-conscious as I eat, it’s hard to ignore that his thigh is right next to mine. I can feel the heat from it as if it’s already pressing against me.

  And now it is pressing against me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke

  I’m probably pushing it, with the thigh press and all, but I can’t resist. I can resist that mac and cheese, but I can’t resist Pepper apparently. And I’ll take her however I can, even if it’s just my thigh getting action.

  God, I’m pathetic.