Page 65 of Protecting the Nerd

He looked down at himself, where his semi made a tent in his underwear. “I figured I’d get dressed first.”

“Nah, don’t bother. I like the view.”

A slow smile spread over his face, and my heart skipped a beat. “Then I won’t.”

I made him an omelet with spinach, mushrooms, onions, fresh tomatoes, and a heap of cheese. York loved cheese, and according to him, it was a food group in itself. That was debatable, but I wasn’t gonna argue with him.

“How did you become such a good cook?” he asked as I plated his omelet.

“I ate crap for many years in the Marines, so when I got out, I wanted to enjoy good food. Because I was single, I either had to cook myself or eat out all the time, and that quickly got too costly, so I learned to cook. My mom had taught me the basics when I was a teen, so it’s not like I had to start from scratch.”

“I never learned,” he said with his mouth half-full. “In that sense, my mother was a traditionalist. She didn’t think it necessary for boys to learn to cook.”

“Honestly, I think that’s a disservice. Everyone should learn. Not teaching boys only reinforces stereotypes about the role of women.”

“I agree, though I’m not interested in learning.”

“No? I would think cooking would appeal to you. It’s a form of science, isn’t it?”

He chewed thoroughly, studying me as if trying to determine whether I was serious. “Science? Cooking is science?”

“It’s all about chemistry, how certain substances react with each other, complement each other, or clash with each other. Certain processes bring specific results, like fermentation, rising dough, or caramelization. Milk has to be brought to a specific temperature to start the process of yogurt making, for example, and you need a starter, of course. But it’s also knowing that searing a steak first preserves the juices inside it and that letting it rest after grilling will bring out the flavors even more.”

“I never looked at it that way.”

“For a while, the world’s best restaurants were all about molecular gastronomy, like the famous El Bulli restaurant in Spain, which was considered the best restaurant in the world.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I like it when you teach me stuff.”

“The roles are reversed for once, right?”

His smile faded, and he took a bite of his food and chewed slowly. “I know I lecture too much about things I find interesting.”

I stepped close and hugged him from behind, pressing my cheek against his. “No, you don’t.”

“You couldn’t possibly be interested in Fermat’s Last Theorem, which I prattled about for nearly thirty minutes yesterday.”

“You mean your fascinating account of a mathematical problem so complex it took almost three hundred and sixty years to solve it and how several people throughout those centuries tried and failed? I didn’t understand anything about the problem itself and why it was so challenging, but I loved hearing about it and seeing your face light up when you talked about it.” I nuzzled his neck, mouthing kisses all over his skin. “I’m interested in you, nerdy, and that means wanting to hear anything and everything you’re fascinated with.”

He pushed back his empty plate and nudged my arms until I let him go. He got up from his chair, and for a moment, I was worried I’d said something wrong, though for the life of me, I didn’t know what. But he turned around and crawled into my arms again, hiding his face against my shoulder. I held him, not saying a word. Something was at play I didn’t quite understand, but he’d tell me in due time.

He didn’t speak for a long time but leaned against me, sheltering in my embrace. When he finally looked up, his eyes glistened. “Will you take me to bed, Quillon?”

21

YORK

I’m interested in you, nerdy, and that means wanting to hear anything and everything you’re fascinated with.

Those words kept reverberating in my head, their impact as powerful as a slap to my face would have been. They’d been so simple, so heartfelt, yet they’d shocked me to my core. How many times could the realization that my parents had never given two shits about me distress me? Apparently, I hadn’t reached my limit yet.

How could one experience intense joy and profound sadness at the same time? I wasn’t sure, but those two emotions were warring with each other. Quillon loved me, and gratitude and wonder filled me that this man had chosen me. Yet my heart was also squeezing painfully with the sorrow of parental rejection. Or maybe the better description was indifference.

My parents didn’t care, and they never had.

I’d thought deciding to let go of them was a onetime thing, but I’d been wrong. It was a choice I’d have to make again and again and again until the pain had subsided and become bearable. In the meantime, I’d have to focus on the good things, on the worthy things, on the positive things.

On Quillon.

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