Page 24 of Cocky Nerd
“Sure. Who isn’t. I’m curious. What, specifically, would you say is your weakness at this point in yourlife?”
Without hesitation, he says, “Youare, Olivia.” There’s no sarcasm. Is there? I don’t think he knows how to be sarcastic. It’s not a cheesy line. He’s not being flirtatious. He wasn’t even caught off guard. He’s just being honest. He looks vulnerable for a split second, before he turns his attention back to hisphone.
I have no idea how to take that. Especially because he’s so engrossed in the email that he’s typing out on his phone that it’s almost as if the exchange didn’t occur at all. I don’t know, maybe me expectations are too high. Maybe if I ask a question I should just be satisfied with the fact that he gave me an immediate honest answer and move on instead of being insulted because he’d rather look at his phone than stare at me. Oh, but I can’t. He needs to learn how to treat a lady on a date. He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t know how to behave socially, and this is my chance to finally teachhim.
“Really? Because it seems to me that your phone addiction is yourweakness.”
“I’m not addicted to my phone, I’m finishing up an email to a colleague in Boston who needs an answer tonight. You know what your weaknessis?”
I steel myself. “I have a feeling you’re going to tellme.”
He blinks, slowly, and addresses my mouth. “You have no idea how important youare.”
I make a face and laugh because I haven’t processed what he’s said yet. When I have processed it I am still not sure if I should feel offended ornot.
“Is that another way of telling me I’m living a life ofmediocrity?”
“No. It’s the only way I could think of telling you that you’re important. To me. Even while I’m typing an email on myphone.”
Sheesh. When you put it thatway.
My heart is racing. I lean towards him and lower my voice. “Well if that’s my weakness then how do you recommend I leverageit?”
He doesn’t look up from the email he has gone back to typing. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working foryou.”
My mouth feels dry, all of a sudden. My hands are trembling. What the fuck is happening? This doesn’t happen to me. Johnny B. Nerdballs definitely does not do this to me. I struggle with the cap on the water bottle. It won’t budge. John holds out his hand, offering to open it for me. I jerk it away from him just as the cap opens and water spills out onto my dress and my barelegs.
“Shit.”
“I got it, I got it.” John immediately puts his phone in his blazer pocket and reaches for a box of tissues. He dabs at the wet spot on the lower part of my dress, then lifts up the hem and uses a few more wadded up tissues to dab at my bare legs, from below my knees to my thighs. I am so glad I found the time to shave and lotion up afterwork.
I hold my breath as I stare down at him. He isn’t at all uncomfortable wiping my damp bare skin. Until he is. His eyes flick up to meet mine. He lets the wet ball of tissues drop to the floor. The tips of his fingers and his knuckles deliberately graze the smooth skin of my lower limbs as he reaches up between my legs for the hem of my dress and pulls it back down to cover my knees. His hand hovers there, while he decides if he should travel up further. I would welcome it, and he would soon find that there is another part of me that is quite moistened. He doesn’t lose eye contact with me until he picks up the discarded tissues and places them into the built-in waste receptacle, then pulls his phone back out of hispocket.
“You can use the hand dryer in the ladies room,” is all he says until we get to therestaurant.
I let out my breath as quietly as possible, hoping he doesn’t realize just how frustrated I am. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned the issue ofnothaving sex with him. Surely he isn’t going to restrain himself because of that. Surely he isn’t agentleman.
Oh shit, he is agentleman.
When we arriveat the restaurant, John gets out to open the car door for me and holds out his hand. I take it, and he watches my legs as they step out. We hold hands as we walk into the restaurant, his fingers comfortably entwined in mine, as if we did this all thetime.
He suddenly stops in his tracks when we enter the waiting area. “Actually,” he says, letting go of my hand and reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Are you following me on Instagram and Twitteryet?”
“Uh.No.”
“You should do that now. Search my name, I’m verified. Wait, let me take a picture first.” He holds his phone up to take a picture of us leaning in, touching cheekbones. He politely shows me the shot and asks me if I sign off on it, before posting it on Instagram. “I follow you,” he says. “I’m tagging you. Getready.”
“Get ready forwhat?”
“You’llsee.”
When I find his profile on Instagram I see that he has over two hundred thousandfollowers.
“By the way, Louisa Boehmer follows me on Instagram, so we’ll post a lot of good pictures ofyou.”
The Artistic Director of my ballet company follows him on Instagram. Geez Louisa.Who are you, and what did you do with Johnny B.Nerdballs?
Our dining companions are surprisingly pleasant. Phil is around forty, fit, mostly bald, very nice and super into Johnny (in a business-way). Elaine is under thirty, very well-groomed, fuchsia-lipped and smiley, and the first thing I said to her was: “What kind of lipstick is that, it’s perfect!” She told me it’s a Chanel lip crayon and she’s been smiling at me ever since. It is difficult for me to pay attention to these lovely people, because Johnny’s hand has either been holding mine on the tabletop, or gently resting on my thigh in a way that is intimate but not at all inappropriate given that the newlyweds across from us are also physically comfortable with eachother.
