Page 143 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Oye, I really do want to hide.
“In the severe column, one of your problems is that you can’t quickly adjust to new scenarios and need time calculating new odds before committing to a large decision when it’s not an obvious good life choice.”
I say nothing, just tapping my foot.
Relief fills me when the leather folder is returned to the table. “Thank you for dining with us, Ms. Sterling,” Alex says before hurrying off to another table while I quickly fill in and sign the appropriate spots.
“I was a shit life choice to make three months ago. I get the hesitation now, and you were right,” he tells me as I put my card up. “You saw me spiraling, and instead of becoming my crutch, you decided to be my anchor.”
My eyes come back up, landing on his as he studies my face with an impassive expression.
“I thought I was teaching you to walk, while you were busy learning to fly,” he goes on, eyes serious.
“I should go,” I tell him as I close my purse at last. “I’m happy that you’re happy, Base.”
“I know you are,” he says quietly as I stand, his eyes staying on me as I do.
“Good luck with the next phase of your life,” I add, remaining as calm as possible as I start to head toward the door.
His hand gently snatches my wrist on my way by, and I swallow down the sound that tries to escape. His touch elicits that dormant heat he always ignites. Why? Just why?
I don’t fight or move—remaining still as his thumb smooths up the inside of my wrist. My head turns so I can look down at him as he stares at my hand.
“The chart points out the most obvious difference between us at the very top. I think with my heart; you think with your head.”
I nod in agreement, since he seems okay with that assessment.
He doesn’t look at me to see the nod, but he must catch it in his peripheral as he brings his other hand over to toy with my fingers.
Innocent touch has never existed with him. Each touch, no matter how innocuous it would be with anyone else, elicits too many illogical and improbable sensations.
His gaze swings up to meet mine, and I sway toward him as if I have no control.
“The past three months have taught me to think more with my head. It’s your turn to meet me in the middle when you’re ready,” he says, still holding onto me.
An irrational bereft feeling chills my bones when I wriggle free of his grip, and he lets me go easily enough, though his eyes stay on mine.
“I unknowingly did that already,” I tell him with a false mildness to my tone.
Steeling my knees, I add, “It’s not you who’s the problem, Base. I’m still not able to handle conflict, and any serious romantic entanglement demands the ability to resolve conflict in order to remain healthy. I’m simply not ready for that, and it’d be unwise to end up in the same place all over again, despite the best intentions, when we’ve already learned what we needed to from our parting. I think it’s best to focus on moving forward in our own separate paths now.”
I walk away before he can formulate any sort of argument, because he’s much better at this than I am.
“Says the girl who just handled impromptu conflict,” he calls out.
I pause, turning to look back at him, ignoring the curious eyes on me.
“Harley fills my head with the what-ifs. I was actually prepared for this particular conflict,” I say before walking out the door.
I quickly hand my ticket to the valet, and I make the mistake of glancing back, my subconscious working my reflexes before I can actively stop them.
Base is staring directly at me, and a small smile turns up one corner of his lips…as though he knows I didn’t mean to look back.
I jerk my head back toward the front when my car is quickly brought around, and I actively work on not looking at him again as I get in and start driving home.
His new song comes on the radio to torment me farther, and I hear the lyrics I know by heart.
I was the boy who didn’t understand the talk, too busy overlooking the reasons why. I was foolishly teaching her to walk, while she was learning to fly.
He essentially quoted that to me, which makes this song feel too real, or it makes his words feel cheap and generic. Either way, it’s not healthy to dwell, so I shut off the radio and drive home in silence, trapped with the lingering sensations only he leaves behind with his touch.
It’s a blur of motion until I’m pushing through my front door and heading directly to my bathroom to do my unhealthy thing of seeing his toothbrush under the counter. It’s still in the sealed bag, so it’s not too unsanitary.
I sit down in the floor and just look at it, unsure why I keep doing this to myself.
Taking a deep breath, I pull the baggie out, stand up, and toss it into the trashcan. Then I pull it out and toss it back under the sink, because I’m not quite ready to part with it.
“Tomorrow will be easier,” I tell myself as I let my eyes shut.
