Page 5 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Chapter 4
BRITT
Why did I tell him I’d give him a ride? Bruce would have done it. Maybe he’ll still be in the parking lot.
I should have told Raya my cognitive functions aren’t properly performing around him.
As well as I’m doing so far, I’m worried I’ll grow more socially awkward by the second. And Base is friends with most of my family, so that will likely cause discomfort within the group.
“You anti-conversation?” he asks almost randomly.
Am I not conversing? I’ve answered every question he’s asked.
“No,” I answer.
“Ah, so it’s just me you don’t want to talk to.”
I turn and feel my forehead creasing as I try to see him in the dark to no true avail.
“I don’t understand the reasoning that led to that conclusion,” I confess.
He chuckles as though I’ve said something funny, but how can that be funny?
“Are you always this odd?” I muse, curious if he’s just as weird as I am. Maybe that’s why he’s laughing at nothing.
He laughs more, which I find relieving. Good. He is weird. Just like me. Even though it’s a different sort of weird than me, it still makes me relax a little.
“So, Britt, what’s got you working tonight?” he asks as I start trying to find my way through the dark club, inwardly groaning when that same vicious barstool blocks my path again.
“I had to help,” I answer.
A hand finds the small of my back, and my breath hitches in my throat. Why is he touching me? Is there a hidden meaning?
“I can navigate this club in the dark a little better than you,” he says by way of explaining his welcome/unwelcome hand.
Now I get it.
His hand is almost burning my skin through the fabric of my dress as he guides me. It shouldn’t be a literal sentence, but it feels like it is.
“Are you always this hot?” I ask, which seems to provoke his mysterious roar of laughter once again.
Is there anything he won’t laugh at?
I’m almost tempted to form a list of non-humorous topics just to test the theory.
“Is that you’re way of saying I’m you’re type,” he asks, sounding distinctly amused.
Type? I asked if he was always this hot. I didn’t say anything about types—oohhh.
“I mean your hand. It’s hot,” I explain, quickly recovering.
I know you’re not supposed to just blurt out a man is hot. I’ve been told that very directly by seven different women.
His chuckles continue, and I start to worry he’s not just weird, but also making fun of me.
He asked me about Dane, so obviously he knows who I am. I find it hard to believe he’d make fun of me. Everyone says he’s so nice.
People should come with manuals that explain their reactions.
