Page 38 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“Relax,” I tell her, smirking when she presses up closer to me, while Sticks opens the door to two rowdy pricks.
“So he’s actually getting out. How bad has he lost touch?” Taylor asks while doing zombie arms and staring blankly in front of him.
“Surprisingly, not as bad as we thought. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get gone before he thinks of a tune he has to get out before we go,” Sticks prompts, shoving at them to go back to the Scooby van.
“You’re riding in style tonight, Sterling girl,” Taylor says, opening the back doors to the Mystery Van.
Britt stares at it for a second, but doesn’t bat an eye before climbing in.
Taylor just grins over at me, since she does it without complaining and takes a less-than-safe seat on his homemade, self-upholstered bench seat.
I slide in beside her, putting my arm back around her shoulders, hoping she relaxes a little so she can at least enjoy a night out.
Everyone loads up, with Randy taking shotgun and Sticks sitting on the opposite side of us. Britt stays quiet as everyone talks around her.
When the guys and I try to include her in the conversation by deliberately asking her questions, she pauses to think for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, and commits to the smallest answer she can manage, as though there’s a maximum word count she’s sticking to. Five being that maximum.
Sticks casts a look at me, since he saw like I did that she was looser in her own house when it was just the two of us. I’ve essentially been in her personal space for days and she’s still not completely comfortable with me.
But she’s trooper enough to mask her discomfort with soft smiles and polite nods. As though she’s been training the hell out of herself to blend in without drawing attention.
When the guys cut the music up and start singing obnoxiously loud to Metallica, I lean over, ignoring her sweet little shiver when my lips graze her ear.
“Do the Sterlings make you limit your word count or something?”
She frowns as she turns to face me. “Why do you want to vilify them? You keep asking antagonistic questions like that.”
My lips twitch at the fact she’s definitely saying more than five words when it’s just with me.
“You’re trying really hard to overthink things. Just making sure they haven’t tried to filter you.”
“I’ve asked for their advice on conversation material that won’t get me gawked at when I speak to people. I say what I want to when I’m around them or when they bring people around me, because I can relax. They find my nature to be charming, but they’re in a minority.”
Twirling some of her unnaturally soft hair around the tip of my finger, I smile down at her.
“Sorry. I won’t assume that again,” I tell her, watching as the subtle bit of ire flees from her eyes immediately.
So fucking expressive, even when none of her other facial features give anything away.
“But don’t filter yourself around them.” I gesture to the guys. She opens her mouth to say something, when I add, “I’m serious.”
She heaves out a breath, still looking uncomfortable, but doubling her efforts to appear comfortable. It’s cute as much as it is frustrating, and it’s a revelation as to what life is like from her eyes.
I stopped giving a shit about what people thought about me a long damn time ago. She honestly doesn’t give a shit what people think either, but she cares if it causes her protective family issues.
I think. To be perfectly honest, I’m still working out how she thinks. It’s not easy. At all.
As soon as we get to the club, which seems to take longer than an hour when you’re stuck in the car with Randy, who is belting out off-key lyrics to every fucking song on the radio, I pull Britt’s hand into mine.
Her fingers thread with mine, as I pull her toward the door. Taylor lifts his eyebrows and not-so-subtly looks between us several times before he goes still and simply stares expectantly.
I don’t answer the unspoken question, since I’ve answered it a hundred times since I moved myself right the fuck into her spare room and started composing some of my best work to date.
We’re not even halfway in when we’re bombarded by a very small, familiar group of girls. Taylor throws his arms around two, dragging them toward the dance floor. Randy is vying for one’s attention, who is trying to get mine.
Britt tries to escape, but I pull her closer.
Groaning, I turn to look at Sticks. “Who posted where we were going?”
