America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(72)

“Ah, man, you’re eating something. Not popcorn. Popcorn’s too loud. I really didn’t want to stop kissing you. You’re just so—so—”

I cringe, waiting for him to say different. Because that’s what I am.

I don’t wholly fit into the geek community, but I don’t fully fit into my parents’—and also his—lifestyle either.

“Special,” he finishes quietly.

Warmth spreads through my chest, out to my fingertips, and I put my ice cream down so it doesn’t melt, even though I’m familiar enough with thermodynamics to know that it’s impossible for my skin to heat enough to instantly melt an entire bowl of ice cream through the ceramic.

“Everyone’s special,” I say quietly.

“But you’re Sarah special. That’s specialer.”

I laugh softly. “Specialer?”

“It’s my word. I like it. I’m keeping it. Can I see you after our two weeks are up? I meant it. I hate the contract. I just want to date you.”

“Why?” I catch sight of my goofball grin in the mirror, and instead of blushing, I grin bigger.

“Because I like you. Like you like you.

“Why?” I press.

Not because I don’t like him like him too, but because the lifestyle he comes with isn’t one that’s ever appreciated my brand of specialness before, and I had eighteen years of living it before I finally escaped to find where I thought I fit.

“Because you have excellent taste in movies and TV shows, your friends love you enough to threaten me with things that’ll send me to therapy for years, and you didn’t have to ask to know that fried onions are the best extra topping ever invented for a hamburger. You know how to use a taser, you keep bees to try to save the world, and the only thing you want from me is for me to step up to the plate and do my duty as a citizen of the Earth to help save it. Also, you haven’t asked me for free underwear, or if I’ll sign your boobs—though I totally would for you, because I’m shameless and I’ll take any excuse to touch you—or if I’ll get you hooked up with free tickets to Levi’s concerts or Cash’s movie premieres. And also because you have high enough standards to demand that I deliver a double orgasm in the bedroom. Nobody ever wants me to be better. They just want me to be naked. You’re…real. And unimpressed. And it makes me want to impress you.”

“What happens when that novelty wears off?”

“You’re too fascinating to ever not be fascinating. Aaaaannnd I’m the dumbass who just said that really lame sentence. Sorry.”

I smile at my melting ice cream. “No, you’re actually really sweet and adorable.”

“And sexy and hot and you want to strip me out of my teddy bear robe.”

“You are not wearing a teddy bear robe.”

My phone gives me a text alert, and I pull it away from my ear to glance at it.

Sure enough, that’s a picture of Beck. In a fluffy white robe with brown teddy bears all over it.

I bust out laughing. “Is that your normal evening wear?”

“I wasn’t watching what I grabbed when I saw you were calling. Tripp’s kids gave it to me for Christmas. James was on a bear kick. And now we know it’s good luck for the Fireballs, so I’ll have to wear it every time they play a game.”

“Do you have any idea how attractive it is that you love your family as much as you do?”

“Not a clue. You’re going to have to spell it out for me. Use lots of complimentary words. My ego needs a boost.”

“HOME RUN! OH MY GOD, SARAH, HE HIT A HOME RUN!”

“Hold on,” I tell Beck, and I put him on hold while I play my toilet flushing app. “That’s great,” I call back to Mackenzie.

“Stay! Stay in the bathroom!” she shrieks back. “And whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!”

Beck’s chuckling when I lift the phone back to my ear. “We have to keep talking, don’t we?”

“Yep.”

“Awesome. What’s her email address? I’m sending her season tickets tomorrow.”

I blink.

Then blink again, because my eyes are getting hot. “You know most guys would say flowers, right?”

“I know I sent you some earlier, but the truth is, I hate sending flowers. You grow them, they’re happy and all connected to their roots and eating and drinking and basking in the sunshine—or a grow lamp, I guess—but then you cut them, send them to someone, and they die well before their time. Season tickets are the gift that keeps on giving. Until October, anyway. Or until she decides going in person is bad luck. Shit. What if she decides going in person is bad luck? Then I’ll have ruined baseball for her.”

“She won’t decide it’s bad luck to be there in person,” I tell him. “She’s more likely to decide her seats are wrong, but she won’t say that, because she’s more polite than she is superstitious. But you do know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“Sarah?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d really like to be kissing you right now.”

“AAAHHH!!! A DOUBLE!” Mackenzie yells. “DARREN GREENE JUST HIT A DOUBLE!”

I swallow hard. “Did you see that?” I whisper.