Page 119 of Talk Nerdy To Me
He exhales harshly. “I really don’t want to talk about that right now. It’s…definite, though. I also probably burned some really important bridges today that will send my already laughable career careening off the side of a cliff, but fuck it at this point. It was Vince Jaggons who put one of his newer artists in our spot. Stupid, arrogant, self-righteous son of a bitch. Things got heated, because his pompous errand boy stepped all over us like we were dirt. You can’t be honest, hard-working, and get ahead in—”
He stops, exhales harshly again, and makes a frustrated sound.
“No tour,” he sums up.
“I’m so sorry,” I say genuinely, disappointment settling on my chest like I feel it for him.
He gets quiet for a minute, and I shuffle around people as they start exiting.
“The only silver lining is that you and I can do this thing for real now, Britt,” he says so casually.
My spine straightens as I hear the words, and a clock seems to start counting down in the back of my mind.
“Did you hear me?” he asks a little impatiently.
“I-I-yeah. I heard,” I stammer out, unsure what to say just yet as I try to quickly work my words into the right phrasing in my mind first.
“So? Are we doing this for real? No more expiration date?” he prompts.
The rain starts to drizzle twenty-three minutes earlier than the forecast predicted, and I step under a pavilion as it starts to build.
“Britt? You there?” he asks as the rain starts coming down harder and harder.
“I-I-I don’t know. I need time to think about how to communicate our problems together before we jump into a life decision of that magnitude, and—”
“Communicate what problems?” he asks, his voice coming from right behind me.
Turning around, I pull my phone away from my ear slowly, finding Base staring down at me. His hair and clothes are a little wet, and he breathes heavily. His eyes are intently on me, waiting expectantly, as I open and close my mouth.
“I-I struggle with being put on the spot,” I remind him, but he steps in closer, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“What fucking problems, Britt? We never argue. Hell, we don’t even get agitated around each other. Everything is too fucking perfect to say we have problems,” he assures me in that smooth voice that usually makes me really stupid.
But right now my mind is firing in panic mode, and I don’t speak as he gently caresses my cheek, as cars drive around the loop we’re standing in the middle of, sheltered from the now-pelting rain as it loudly crashes onto the pavilion covering.
“Is it Dane? I know he has issues with you dating, but he doesn’t have an actual say in your life,” he goes on, which only makes my brow furrow more.
“No. It’s not Dane. Dane has nothing to do with us. I need time to write this all down so I can properly communicate it after going over it with a few other sets of eyes, and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Britt?” he asks in what appears to be genuine confusion.
“I think I want to do this, even though it’s irrational, but—”
“You think you want to do this?” he asks, taking a step back as he makes a scoffing noise.
“See? I’m communicating this wrong. I need time to think so that I don’t say the wrong things to express myself in a non-attacking nature. You’re too defensive and certain of yourself.”
He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “What do you feel, Britt? Stop overthinking it and just answer yes or no. Do you want to be with me?”
“I do. I just need to ensure the unhealthy problems are addressed before we come to that agreement,” I go on, reaching for the right words.
“What unhealthy problems? Things like how you have to go to the Sterlings to ask them if what you say is fucking okay? You can think for your-fucking-self,” he says, then exhales like he’s trying to calm himself down as his jaw tics. “You don’t need them to analyze the shit you say. What problems?”
“You can’t just completely change the terms of a decision of this magnitude and expect an immediate answer with no preparation. Conflict is an area I’m not skilled in, and I handle situations with inappropriate finesse, especially to those who don’t listen well.”
“I don’t listen well?” he asks on a bitter laugh. “If you want to say I’m not worth your time, Britt, just say it. Don’t make up bullshit excuses that—”
“When I say stop, you push,” I interrupt, pointing out exactly what he’s doing. “You want my life story after I told you I just want to be who I am today instead of being seen for the sad girl I was. I gave it to you—”
