Talk Nerdy to Me (11 page)

And
he had such great eyes to look up into, especially when the light didn't
reflect off the lens of his glasses. Right now there was no reflection at all, and
she could study those intelligent brown peepers for as long as she wanted.
"There are lots of things we don't know about each other."

"Guess
so," he said softly. His eyes got all warm and dreamy. He looked like a
man thinking seriously about a kiss. Then he backed off and took a deep breath.
"To tell the truth,
I
'm
not very interesting."

Whew.
Charlie wasn't sure what had happened, but he'd been damned
close to kissing Eve at least twice. It was that mouth of hers, those
incredible lips that had helped make her famous.

Obviously
he was as susceptible to that mouth as the rest of the world, especially when
she used it to explain her theory about sleeping in round beds to shake up her
brain and promote creativity. He'd also allowed himself to stand next to that
round bed of hers for way too long.

Then he'd made the colossal
mistake of offering to build her one in the shape of a trapezium. When was he
planning to do that? He had places to go, jobs to interview for. He needed to
forget about beds and sex and get his hands on something mechanical fast.

He
tucked the pamphlet on rotary engines in his hip pocket. "So where's your
washing machine?"

"Down
this way. The washer and dryer are in a closet in the bathroom." She led
the way down the hall.

The
hardwood floors felt great under his socks. He was renting an apartment with
the standard beige carpeting, and he'd never realized how much he hated it
until now. He'd been renting for years, always telling himself that buying a
house was the first step in admitting he'd never leave Middlesex.

But
he liked the feel of Eve's house. Sure, the place was a little cluttered, but
he'd decided that was Eve's style. Ordinarily clutter drove him nuts, but he
was so impressed with Eve's thought processes that he forgave her the clutter.
He suspected she had a much higher IQ than anybody guessed. Although he was
pretty smart, she might be smarter, maybe even genius level.

She
kept that brain hidden away, but the hovercraft was like a giant neon sign
advertising her superior intelligence. He was drawn to that bright light like
a moth. And he shouldn't be.

Eve's bathroom smelled of
her perfume and shampoo, which sent Charlie's libido into operational mode once
again. He pictured Hoover Dam and tried to block the incoming sensual
messages.

'The
washer's in here." Eve opened a pair of bifold doors.

The
washer and dryer were piled with more clutter. In an attempt to forget that Eve
was standing right behind him, so near he could hear her breathing, he started
cataloging the stuff. He noted supplies for scrapbooking, several skeins of
purple yarn, three empty flowerpots and a trowel—minus any dirt—a book on
herbs, packets of seeds, a box of watercolors, a table easel, a book titled
How
to Draw Nudes ...
whoa. Maybe cataloging the clutter wouldn't
work to take his mind off sex.

"I
keep trying to have normal hobbies, but it never works out." She continued
to stand very close.

"I
never could get into the hobby thing, either." Being so near Eve felt like
standing in a thermal belt. Ambient heat teased him, and he fought the impulse
to turn and pull all that warmth right into his arms. Instead he picked up a
stack of junk and started to put it on the floor so he could get to the washer.

"I'll
take that," she said. "I really should get rid of some of this,
because I never follow through. I just go back to working on that crazy
hovercraft. If I didn't have all this stuff around, then I probably wouldn't
have misplaced my hovercraft notes."

"You
did?" This was how genius could flounder. No doubt the notes were
brilliant, and they could be anywhere in this mess. What a crime. Maybe Eve
needed someone around to help her organize, someone like him, only not him.
Definitely not him.

"I'm
sure I'll find them." She didn't look all that sure, though. "It's
just that I lose other stuff, but I've never misplaced something from the
hovercraft project. And I could swear I left the notes on the workbench,
because that's where I keep them."

"But
you had that explosion." He had an image of papers flying everywhere.
Valuable papers.

"I
know. Stuff can happen. That's why I keep the notes under my Darth Vader mask.
It's cast in lead, and it's very heavy."

"Once
we get this finished up and have some pizza, I'll help you look." He
didn't like the idea of missing notes. Not at all.

"It's
not like I have to have them. Most of it's in my head, anyway."

"Maybe
you don't need them, but if you ever intend to market the hovercraft, you'll
need all the notes you can put together, to convince the money people to invest
in it."

She took a deep breath.
"Right. We'll find them."

"Yeah,
we will." He held up the pile of stuff in his hands. "Where do you
want this?"

"I'll take it."

He
handed her the pile, which involved some physical contact. Static electricity
arced between them.

"Ouch!"
She pulled back and almost dropped everything.

"Sorry."
Instinctively he reached for her hand to steady her. No shock this time, just
warm, soft skin. So soft. So very ... He let go abruptly as he realized they
were staring into each other's eyes again exactly as they had in the bedroom,
when he'd come so close to kissing her.

"It's okay." She
smiled at him.

No, it wasn't okay. It
wasn't okay that he was wildly attracted to this woman who had bought a house
in Middlesex and seemed to be putting down roots.

"You have a nice house,"
he said.

"Thank you."

"I guess you must like
the area."

"I
adore the area." Her expression softened. "When I was house-hunting
there were sappy Halloween decorations everywhere. I could hardly wait for the
cardboard turkeys at Thanksgiving and the plastic reindeer at Christmastime."

"You're serious."

"Absolutely.
I
love
plastic reindeer. My
parents wouldn't be caught dead with one, though. Middlesex is the hokey small
town I used to dream of when I was growing up in Boston."

"Well...
that's good, then." And they were miles apart. She was settling in and he
could hardly wait to leave. Charlie turned back to the washing machine and
lifted off the rest of her hobbies-gone-wrong material, which included the
easel and her book on drawing nudes.

"I
made the right choice, that's for sure, although I did expect to get into some
of these hobbies now that I live in a small town. Hobbies and small towns seem
to go together."

"I guess." He
wished he could stop thinking of her drawing nudes. "Except I don't really
have any." "Isn't playing pool a hobby?"

"Absolutely
not." He exerted some force to pop up the top on the washer. It didn't
come easily, so he had to put more muscle into it. The effort felt good and
helped get his mind off the image of Eve sketching a live model.

"It's
not? Well, there goes my only shot at a normal hobby."

He
gave a mighty heave and the top came up with a metallic bang. "Playing
pool, if you do it right, is a science." He could never pose nude for
someone. Rick had that kind of chutzpah, but he didn't.

"I suppose it is a
science. That's probably why I like it."

"No
doubt. You play like a pro." Sometimes Charlie wished he could be more
uninhibited, like his cousin. Rick wouldn't worry about whether he was leaving
town. He'd put the moves on a woman anyway.

"I do enjoy it."

For
a moment Charlie lost track of whether they were talking about pool or sex. But
his answer would apply to either one. "Me, too."

"That stick of yours
is awesome."

"Thanks."
Okay, it had been pool. He'd been thinking about sex while he talked about
pool. But now he needed to stop all the talking and thinking and fix this
machine.

He
glanced down into the bowels of the washer and discovered that she was using
the wash basket for storage, too. Right on top was a book called
Kill
That Clutter!
That made him smile. He left the stuff where
it was because it didn't interfere with the repair work.

"Now
that I live three blocks from a place with a pool table, I should buy my own
cue," Eve said. "That is, if you'll be willing to play with me."

He
managed to turn a bark of laughter into a cough.

Then
he cleared his throat. "Sure." This was the point where he should
explain about his job change, but he couldn't bring himself to do that yet. She
seemed so happy at the prospect of him hanging around for a friendly game of
pool that he hated to tell her he hoped to be gone in less than a month.

Reaching
down, he wiggled a couple of wires. One was definitely loose. And so were his
thoughts. He fantasized about fixing the washer, ranting it on, and propping
Eve up against it to have sex. He'd heard that the vibrations of a washing
machine could make a woman come in no time.

"I'm glad there's no hard feelings," she
said.

"Not
at all." Other parts of him were hard, but not his feelings.

"Some guys don't like it when a woman kicks
them."

He
wished she'd chosen a different way to phrase it. "Doesn't bother
me." He checked the hoses, and they seemed to be okay. This might be a
really easy fix, once he had a screwdriver.

But
once he had a screwdriver, they'd have to go back to the kitchen and join the
party in progress. Although he was flirting with disaster by staying here with
Eve, his ego loved the idea that she found him good company. He hated to give
up that heady feeling.

"It's nice that we're well matched," she
said.

He
pretended to fiddle with the hoses. "Even if we weren't, that would be
okay. It would be a learning experience for me." He studied the inside of
the washer and pretended to be thinking very hard about the repair.

"Not
many men are secure enough to learn something from a woman."

Charlie
could think of no further excuses for staring into the innards of the washing
machine, so he turned around. "Maybe not." He looked into her eyes
and knew he'd be deliriously happy if she'd teach him anything at all.
Underwater basket-weaving would be fine. The subject wouldn't matter—he'd be
her willing pupil for the duration.

"That's
something special about you, Charlie. You don't have those stupid macho
hang-ups." She gazed at him, her eyes very blue behind the thin wire
frames of her glasses.

"I
like things to be straightforward." Like this, where they were both being
totally honest with each other. He'd had no idea the chemistry would be this
compelling or he would never have offered to fix her washer.

"Okay,
so how's this for straightforward? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't have a
girlfriend."

"Oh."
Chagrin flashed in her eyes. "Then you must not find me attractive, after
all."

"Not
true." He took her by the shoulders, more contact than he'd ever dared
before. But he didn't want her thinking that she wasn't good enough. Never
that. "I find you incredibly attractive, but why you would even care what
I think is a mystery."

Her
expression grew soft. "I like you, Charlie. I like you a lot."

"That's
crazy." He had the sensation of sliding into a vast pit that would swallow
him. Maybe he was never, ever leaving this town. She was the equivalent of a
siren song, luring him to crash on the rocks of this Connecticut village and
never make his journey out West. If he didn't believe his mother was a bastion
of integrity, he'd think she'd bribed Eve to rope him and tie him securely to
Middlesex.

"I don't know why you
think it's so crazy," Eve said.