Geek God (Forever Geek Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “And how is it any different than still playing video games?”

  “It’s totally different.”

  “It’s not. It’s way more social than hanging out home alone with just a TV and console. I’m hanging out with people, talking, eating, drinking and having fun.”

  What’s curious in this discussion is that he’s not getting angry or embarrassed. He seems to have no problem with admitting that he does this.

  “How does it work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your game. How does it work?”

  I don’t know if I’m asking because I want to know, or if I’m just trying to keep him here a bit longer. One thing is certain. It’s clear that he’s not interested in me that way. If going and playing a geek game with his geek friends seems better than hanging out with a woman who’d done her damnedest to look as sexy as she can, then I’ve already lost this battle.

  He might look like God’s gift to women, but clearly there’s a very good reason why he’s single.

  What if he’s gay? Maybe Dungeons & Dragons is code for an all-male orgy.

  I don’t think so, though, because he’s talking about characters and dice and encounters, and I’m not even following half of it.

  “You could come watch us play sometime, if you like. Maybe I could get our DM to make up an NPC for you to play.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. And I’m not sure I want to.

  Shaking my head, I politely bow out.

  “Do you have to leave right away?”

  He looks at the clock on my stove. It’s just after eight.

  “Shortly. We don’t start till nine. We play at my friend Sam’s. His wife just had twins so he’s basically housebound in the evening. So we wait till the babies are in bed and then play.”

  “And his wife doesn’t mind?”

  “Mind? She’s our DM.”

  The look I give him must show my confusion.

  “Dungeon Master. That’s the person who runs the game. She’s basically the controller of our universe.”

  “How can she do that with twins?”

  “She’s done this so long, she could do it with her eyes closed. Hey, you might know her. She works at the university library. Does something with archives.”

  The pieces are falling together. Archivist. Twins. And what he’s leaving out is tall, blonde and gorgeous.

  “Melanie Fitzgerald plays this?”

  “Ooops. Have I let her secret out? Maybe she keeps it hidden, the same way you don’t tell your friends about your video games. You women and your secrets. Guys don’t hide their hobbies. I couldn’t care less who knows what games I play. Or shows I watch.”

  “Yea, well, when you look like you do, you can get away with it. No one would think you were a geek, and if anything, you just make nerd pursuits look cool.”

  Dear mouth. Please stop speaking before the brain has given you clearance to communicate.

  “I’m flattered. You wouldn’t say that if you saw my high school pictures. Unlike yours, I’m certain.”

  “That depends on the grade. I did have a very brief goth flirtation.”

  “Goth can be hot.”

  Sweet Caesar. I’m getting hot, that’s for sure.

  “I’d like to see those pictures.”

  “I think my mother burned them. Or maybe had them Photoshopped.”

  He’s handing me the present he brought. “Doesn’t matter, really. Seeing you in person is better than any picture.”

  My breath catches in my throat. He’s so close right now, his hand holding the gift out to me.

  Now that I see it up close, I realize what I thought was brightly coloured gift wrap is actually a silk scarf. It’s a beautiful blend of ivory, yellow, pink and red.

  “This is beautiful,” I say as I slowly untie it. The gift is a board game. Ticket to Ride. A game I’d talked about wanting to play during one of our texts. I’d confessed to playing the iPad version and he’d convinced me the real game was better.

  “I bought the scarf new, because the game is used. So many of my friends have it that I won’t miss my own copy.”

  It looks pristine. Is this guy for real? Sure, the mixed signals are a bit hard to deal with, but he certainly knows how to impress.

  “Thanks a lot. Maybe we can play it sometime.”

  “Tomorrow? I’d blow off the game tonight but we’re in the middle of a huge battle and I don’t want to let the party down.”

  Ugh. How can I get upset at a guy who respects his friends? Unlike me, because I’m already mentally thinking up a good reason to cancel my normal Friday evening supper and drinks with Ingrid. Instead, a bit of good friendship slips in.

  “Can I text you later? I normally have a Friday supper thing. But I’ll see.”

  “No, don’t cancel your plans. Besides, if you get home later and I’m around, I can come over.”

  Booty call? Or game call? Ugh. This man.

  “You need some help cleaning up before I go?”

  “Ha. As if. There’s still plenty of food left over. I’m going to have seconds in about twenty minutes. Unless you want to take some with you?” Normally, I try hiding my voracious appetite but I don’t think he’s likely to judge.

  “No, you enjoy it. Game nights are always a junk fest, so I’ll be good.”

  He tilts his head towards the hall.

  “I gotta go.”

  I’m not gonna lie. I’m disappointed. I want him to stay. There’s something about him that I like. Maybe it’s the easy way I can talk to him. Or perhaps it’s because I’m trying to figure out what this thing is between us. Either way, I don’t want to be alone. Still, I walk him to the door.

  “What time do you normally stop playing?”

  “Late. At least midnight.”

  Our eyes meet.

  “I might still be awake then.”

  That’s code for you can come over if you like.

  “I’ll text when I’m done to see if that’s true.”

  Is that code for anything?

  Maybe it’s just me, but it seems as if my hallway has gotten much narrower. He seems to fill the space. I step a little closer. The internationally recognized invitation to kiss. Message received, it seems.

  Okay. So it’s not a grab me in his arms, sweep me off my feet kind of kiss. Instead, it’s a peck on the forehead. And a whispered, “Talk to you soon.”

  And he’s gone.

  He’s gone and I’m still confused. What does a forehead kiss mean? Friends kiss on the cheek. Lovers kiss on the mouth. What the hell does a forehead kiss mean?

  That’s it. This confusion isn’t healthy. I have a new plan for the night. Devour the Chinese food, turn off my cell, and fall asleep reading some Cicero. In Latin.

  Friday morning.

  There’s a reason why Ingrid is my best friend. That reason is that I can call her at six am and have her meet me in my office for breakfast so I can tell her all about Evan. Well, not all about him. Not the nerdy bits. Just the sexual frustration bits. All she needs to know is that he’s hot.

  “How hot?”

  “Think a cross between Matthew McConaughey and Bradley Cooper.”

  Yea. I’ve put a lot of thought into this since last night. I know how my friend works.

  “How is that even possible?” Ingrid nearly chokes on her bagel. “What genetic code exists in Newfoundland to create such a creature? If there’s a town on this island capable of making a man like that, tell me where it is and I’m there.”

  Ingrid was born and raised in St. John’s, and yet she’s managed to hold on to her parents’ general sense of self-righteousness that they brought here with them when they emigrated from Norway.

  She takes another bite of her bagel.

  “Sorry, Jill, but you must have it bad for this guy if that’s where your mind is going.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t understand this. I mean, lust I get. You know I understand that.”

&nbs
p; She doesn’t need to grin that way.

  “I don’t know, Ingrid. It’s stupid because I’ve hardly spent any time with him. And yet, I feel like I’ve met someone important here. Which is why I don’t want to screw it up by making the first move.”

  “Why not? Then you’d know. If he kisses you back, then it’s all good.”

  “And if he doesn’t, then what? Then I’ve wrecked any chance of getting to know him because we’ll have this awkward kiss between us. And then I’ll have to find someone else to do the work on the house, and I’ll end up reading all those text messages over and over and driving you and me nuts.”

  By nature, I am not neurotic. I swear. Pacing and dithering and generally being wishy-washy over a guy is atypical. And Ingrid knows it as much as I do.

  “Sit down. This office is the size of a broom closet. There’s not enough room for all that movement.” Her long blonde hair is swept back in a loose braid. It’s a little unnerving having a Scandinavian beauty as your closest friend, especially one who oozes creativity from her pores. She’s the host of a local news talk show and knows everyone. Unfortunately, she’s also opinionated and judgmental.

  “Now, here’s what you are going to do. Forget supper with me. Go out with him. And be upfront. If you don’t want to test his interest by luring him into making out with you, then do what you do best. Be blunt.”

  “Do you know how much I hate you when you’re right?”

  “About as much as you love me when I’m right. Now enough about you. You haven’t even asked how it’s going with me and rough neck.”

  This is an ongoing saga with Ingrid. Her affair with a married oil worker from Scotland is a source of much strife, mainly because she’s under the impression that he’s actually separated from his wife despite all signs that point to him being a dirty old liar.

  She’s just launched into a précis of their latest email exchange when there’s a knock on my door. It’s not even nine. I can’t imagine any students of mine being on campus this early in the morning during the summer semester.

  For the second time in a week, Evan manages to surprise me.

  “I come bearing tea and scones,” he says, leaning against the door frame. His hair is windblown. The grey knit sweater he was wearing the first time I spotted him is tight across his shoulders and chest. A green t-shirt is visible around the collar line. I could rip the clothes off him where he stands.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a meeting.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Ingrid says. “I’m late for work as it is.”

  There might be a way she could be more obvious about sizing him up, but it might involve her taking out a measuring tape and asking to measure his biceps.

  She’s barely out of sight when I get a text from her.

  -More McConaughey than Cooper. Dare I say maybe even Christian Bale? Yum.-

  Only Ingrid would think that. Regardless, Evan is none of them, really. Maybe I am delusional because he looks better than any hunky Hollywood icon I can think of. Certainly more real.

  “How was your game last night?”

  “Terrible.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I shouldn’t have left your house last night. Not without doing this.”

  Okay. Flick your mind to all those hot kisses you’ve seen in the movies. You know the ones. The guy walks into a room, strides purposefully towards the object of his desire and doesn’t stop until he’s kissed her senseless. That’s the kind of kiss this is.

  A “where have you been all my life” sort of kiss.

  A “you haven’t been kissed until you’ve been kissed by me” kiss.

  His confidence in his skill as a kisser of merit is evident in the way he moves so effortlessly from cupping my face to holding me so I don’t tumble to the floor in the unexpected heat of the moment. As if he knew the very instant when my body gave up its own will and succumbed to the overwhelming need to just be part of him.

  Message received. Loud and clear. And sort of minty.

  “Did you come here with that all planned?” Yes. I’m a little giddy. And breathless.

  “I don’t know about planned, but it was top of mind.”

  “You spit out your gum before coming here.”

  “You have an unusually high perception skill.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but let’s do that again.”

  And we do. Two more times, once pressed up against my office door, and then again maybe five minutes later. Okay. Closer to two.

  I don’t know where time has gone, but it’s getting close to teaching time.

  “Let me walk you to your class,” he says as he swings a backpack over his shoulder.

  Do I want that? Do I want his nephew to see us together?

  “Eddie won’t be in class today. He’s still out home.”

  “That’s spooky.”

  “What?”

  “How you can read my mind.”

  “That’s not spooky. It’s just common sense.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever? You just incapacitated me with kisses and now you’re giving me the whatever? Fickle female.”

  Honestly. I don’t know how to react around him. The traditional Jillian rules of flirting just don’t seem to apply here.

  “I’m kidding,” he says, giving me a playful nudge with his elbow. “Let me carry your bag for you. Then you can enjoy your tea.”

  “So aside from coming by to start my morning off perfectly, anything else bring you by?”

  “Two things, actually. First, I was hoping to maybe get started on the work this weekend. When you’re dealing with outdoor work in Newfoundland, it’s better to let the forecast set your hours and this weekend is looking good.”

  “Absolutely. Do you work shirtless?”

  Might as well put it all out there now. If he’s going to come on all strong, then he best be prepared for the hot mess he’s getting himself involved with.

  “I charge extra for that. But maybe we can work out a special payment plan.”

  “What? Letting you strip my walls bare isn’t enough?”

  “Dr. Carew, I have a suspicion you are a very naughty woman.”

  “There’s nothing suspicious about it. And this is my stop.”

  Normally, I love having a class on the same floor, in the same building, as my office. Now I’m sort of hating it.

  “I might still be here when you finish. Cell service is crap in the tunnels, but you might find me over where the kids hang out playing magic.”

  “Doing what?” He’s a magician now? How am I ever going to explain his hobbies to any normal person?

  Oh, Evan. He’s hot, right? Manly man. Works in construction and loves the environment. But he also likes to pretend he’s a dwarf, and he dabbles in the black arts. This is not going to be easy.

  “Propediem te videbo.”

  And now he speaks Latin?

  “Don’t looked shocked. I Googled it. Means ‘see you soon.’ But I guess you know that.” He winks.

  Yea, he might have Googled it, but at least he gave more than the standard vale, which is what most would come up with.

  I’m used to dating smart people. Intellectuals need to get frisky too, you know, and brains turn me on. But this guy is smart in a way I’ve never encountered before. What am I saying? He’s everything in a way I’ve never encountered before. He’s a bit of a paradox. Body of a Greek god. Mind of a geek. And he kisses like a sex god. Whatever this is between us, it’s going to be fun.

  Sunday afternoon.

  Remember what I was saying about sex god? Let’s amend that to kissing god. And third base god. Because that’s all I’ve gotten so far. Yea. And he’s slept over and everything. In my bed. Where he had no issues in showing me just how skilled he was in certain pleasurable areas, and yet, refused to go the distance. And it’s not like his equipment is faulty. That’s not the issue at all. He just said he would sooner wait a little.
r />   What? Wait! Who does that?

  I made the mistake of asking if he was a virgin. It went better than you might expect. He laughed about it. Which was good. But then he told me that since I’d gone so long without “it” that he thought we should just play around for a while. So that when it happens, it’ll be worth waiting for.

  This is a first for me. I’ve never been halted. I’m used to being the one to put the breaks on. It’s fun. But it’s also frustrating. Especially when it’s hot enough out to scald you and he’s working in nothing but shorts. And work boots. Which is an oddly erotic look.

  The great thing about living in a house that’s attached on both sides is that you only have to pay for half the amount of insulation. He started with the back of the house so he’s able to do all sorts of inappropriate things that might get him arrested for public indecency at the front of the house. Then again, if the neighbours on the back of the house happen to look out their window at the wrong time, then we could have a problem. Imagine the reputation I’d have in the neighbourhood.

  “Oh, that’s the professor with the kinky boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend. Is it too soon to start calling him that? He hasn’t even met my friends yet. I haven’t met his friends. But you just know when you’re with a guy and he’s boyfriend material. At least I do. For starters, they wouldn’t be waiting to seal the deal. Plus, this afternoon I’m going to do something I’ve never done in my life. I’m going to a Magic tournament.

  Yea. Magic. And not the abracadabra kind either. Turns out this collector card game has some cards worth a ton of cash. Evan is selling off a lot of his rare cards.

  As you might have suspected, there’s not a lot of money in St. John’s for eco-friendly retrofits. It’s still a bit of a niche market in a city that only recently got on the curbside recycling bandwagon. No. You’re not in a time warp. This is real. The twenty-teens and only now getting on with saving the environment.

  What there is money in is selling cards to university students too young to have collected certain ones.

  “Like hockey cards?” I’d asked.

  “No. Like a game. You’ll see.”

  The more I get to know Evan, the more I realize there’s a whole culture of gamers in this city I had no notion of.