Page 10 of Totally Geeked

He frowns at the road, pulling into a park a few shops down from the bookstore.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to get a shirt,” he says, climbing from the truck and moving around to my side. He opens the door, and his gaze trails down my chest. “You can’t wear that on your first-ever reading. Here,” he says, taking the coffee and book from my hands and placing them on the roof of his truck. He then loops his fingers under his shirt and lifts it clear over his head.

“Wear mine.”

“What?”

“It will be fine. Besides, at least it isn’t stained.”

I take the shirt from him, my stare unable to not sweep over his bare glistening chest.

“I’m sure I have a jersey in here somewhere,” he says, rifling around in the back. While his head is down, I strip off my shirt and pull his on over my head, careful not to knock off my glasses, if I broke them, there would be no reading today at all. The shirt is made of a stretch fabric that hugs every muscle on his body, but now the elastic fibers are knitting closer together, enveloping me in the warmth of him. The shirt is still a little big for me, so I tuck it into the waist of my pants and pray it doesn’t look ridiculous. It smells like cinnamon, and reminds me of Christmas, eggnog and family, so at least I’ll smell good at this thing.

“Yes!” he calls, emerging from the back with a neon orange and blue baseball shirt. Animal Control written in cursive across the front.

“Right, are you ready?” he asks, grabbing the coffee and book from the roof of the truck and holding them out to me.

“Ready, yes, me,” I mumble, and he laughs and pulls back the hand holding the coffee.

“I think I’ll wait until after the reading to give this back.”

“It was the pothole,” I argue, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t take any chances. That’s the last clean shirt we’ve got, and as much as watching you read bare-chested might be my kind of thing, I’m pretty sure the parents will not approve.”

A flutter crosses my chest, my heartbeat picking up its pace. Is he flirting? He can’t be. Not a guy like him, he’s…perfect. I try to laugh it off and grab the book, then lead the way inside. Unlike every other time I’ve even thought about this reading, my stomach isn’t a churning pot, my hands aren't dripping with sweat, and my skin doesn't feel like it's on fire either. I feel good. Like I’ve got this. And when I take a seat and look up to see Harrison sitting cross-legged on the floor with the other children, I know I do.

Chapter five

Harrison

A little girl looksback at me, frowning.

“Parents are supposed to stand,” she says, matter-of-factly.

I lean forward. “I’m not a parent,” I whisper, glancing side to side as if to check who else might be listening. “I’m actually from the future but I got sent back into this old guy's body, shhh.”

Her eyes widen a little, but I don’t think she’s convinced, so I sit back and pretend I don’t see her still staring and try to focus on Arlo.

He’s fidgeting with the neck of his shirt, my shirt. His gaze meets mine, and I mouth, “Breathe”to him. His chest rises and falls slowly three times, and then the woman beside him steps forward.

“Please give a warm welcome to our special guest, Arlo James.” The children and parents clap, and Arlo’s cheeks grow a nice shade of pink. “Today, Arlo will be reading to us his new book, Gordie Goes Bananas. We are the lucky first people to hear the story, so let’s all try to listen quietly, and after the reading,Arlo will be signing any copies you might like to purchase. Enjoy.”

She steps aside, and Arlo lifts the book from his lap. I’m at the back of the seated children, but I can see his hands shaking from here. He turns the book to face the children and glances up, and when his gaze lands on mine, he smiles, and it’s like whatever nervous energy is built up inside him dissipates, and his shoulder relaxes as he turns to the title page.

“Gordie Goes Bananas,” he reads, his voice coming smooth and melodic. He turns the page and glances my way again before reading the next line. He does this at every turn, and it’s almost like he’s reading to me and not a room full of people. The kids laugh at the funny parts, and when the story is done, everyone applauds.

“Wooo,” I cheer, gaining a few looks from both children and parents, but I don’t care. He was amazing. I haven’t spent a huge amount of time around kids, other than my sister's little monsters, and he had them all captivated. The parents, too. I swear I caught more than one mom checking him out.

I grab a copy and line up with the others waiting to get it signed. It’s a good thing he didn’t break his writing hand, it looks hard enough to turn the page with that cast on let alone write anything. I don’t know what he did to break it, but I remember when it happened, Gordon and I were at lunch, and he got a call from the hospital. He left right away, and when I messaged him later to see that he didn’t need anything, he filled me in on the basics. Brother, broken wrist, all good, was what he replied. At the time, I still wasn’t totally sure they were even real.

Arlo spots me in line and shakes his head as I step up to the table.

“You don’t have to wait,” he says.

“Yeah, I do. I paid for this book, I want it signed by the incredibly talented author and illustrator. Can you sign the page with me on it?”

“You bought it?”

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