America’s Geekheart

by Grant, Pippa

  I swallow hard when Wyatt nudges me. “Think you’re supposed to go get her, not gawk at her, dumbass,” he mutters with a grin, and my feet start working again.

  Mom gives me a little shake from the other side, and I realize I forgot I’m still holding her hand in my elbow. I let her go, and I head toward the stairs to meet my date.

  “Hurt her and you’ll only wish you were dead,” Judson growls as he and Sunny greet me at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I’m really falling in love with this growly thing,” Sunny murmurs to him. “Will you talk to me like that in bed tonight?”

  I try to focus on them, because I’m supposed to smile ruefully and shake their hands and thank them for being here with us tonight, but Sarah’s still waiting, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  Her thick dark hair is pulled high in a fancy twist, with a few expertly curled ringlets hanging loose. Her gown—she’s wrapped in golden lace, all of her curves on display, with two thin straps over her shoulders. Sunny’s clearly gotten to her with the makeup, and the dudes up in the International Space Station can probably see her lashes from there. And the rose on her lips—of course it’s perfect.

  But it’s her eyes that have me completely captivated.

  Big, dark orbs of apprehension mixed with anticipation.

  They’re even more uncertain up close.

  “Hi,” I breathe when I reach her.

  “I really hate that your underwear is so comfortable but you refuse to do that kind of magic to the monstrosities known as women’s shoes,” she says through a fake smile, and even though I know she’s probably already in need of some TLC on those poor feet of hers, I can’t help smiling even bigger.

  “I’ll put research and development on it first thing Monday morning.” I brush a kiss to her cheek, close to her ear, and whisper, “I missed you.”

  “I miss me a little bit right now too, but I missed you more. Let’s let all these people take your picture so we can go eat. Someone I know has me obsessed with food now.”

  “I don’t think they want my picture,” I tell her honestly, which earns me a pursed-lip, straight-laced, don’t be ridiculous eyebrow arch that I’ve watched photographers spend hours coaxing out of female models. “If your feet hurt that bad, I could carry you.”

  “Don’t you dare. This dress is so tight it’d probably split and flash my Slimzies at every last reporter down there.”

  I tuck her arm into my elbow and lead her down the curved steps. “Why so tight?”

  She sighs, eyes on me. “Because I loved it,” she confesses. “Apparently I have some of my mother in me after all.”

  “I have a tailor—”

  “Beck. My mother is Sunny Darling. This dress has been through six tailors. Even my Slimzies has been altered.”

  I can’t stop smiling. “I mentioned I missed you, right?”

  “I missed you too,” she whispers again with a soft smile, and boom.

  My heart implodes with happiness, then builds itself back up again to fist-bump my stomach. “I’m going to ask you out on another date,” I inform her, “but this time, I’m not going to start it with a really bad post on social media.”

  She finally laughs, then grimaces. “Did you hear that? Or was that my imagination?”

  “What?”

  “I swear I just popped a seam.”

  “Where?”

  “My back.”

  “You know if I lean back and check it out, there will be a million pictures of me checking out your ass all over the tabloids tomorrow. Not that I don’t want to check out your ass—I totally do—but my PR team would kill me, my mother would disown me, and Ellie would die laughing, at which point Wyatt would find my cold lifeless body and bring it back to life to kill me again for killing my sister.”

  Her nose wrinkles while she laughs again. “You are utterly insane and I really, really missed you.”

  “You had important work to do. Like that blog post. Which was excellent, by the way. I had Ellie translate the big words for me.”

  “Beck.”

  “Okay, okay, I read it and understood every word. Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “I like you more than I like your reputation.”

  We get to the bottom of the stairs, and I catch Charlie’s eye and manage to communicate a request that she check Sarah’s back seams while my parents hug her and Judson gives me the we’re heading out to the pasture for me to put a bullet in the back of your brain and bury your body amidst the tumbleweeds glare, which has to be for the cameras, because we’re at least two thousand miles from the nearest tumbleweeds.

  Though definitely not that far from the nearest pastures.

  Huh.

  “You certainly clean up nice,” Sunny tells me with a bright smile. “And what are your intentions for my daughter after this evening’s over?”

  “Ice cream,” I reply without hesitation. “We’re going out for ice cream.”

  We’re among the last to arrive—as planned—so I’m not surprised when Charlie gives me the keep moving, slowpoke head jerk. Along with a thumbs-up indicating Sarah’s dress is fine.

  We pair up and head through the exhibits toward the tilted dome theater. Sarah pauses as we make our way through the winding hallways, sometimes pointing out a particular moon on Jupiter painted on the walls, and sometimes, I’m pretty certain, just to catch her breath, and I have to wonder just how tight that dress actually is, and if she’s going to be able to sit in it.

  Copper Valley’s mayor, who’s straggling behind enjoying the artwork, does a double-take and gawks at Sarah.

  So do two pro soccer players and the quarterback for Copper Valley’s football team when we finally enter the theater.

  “They’re waiting for me to fall on my face, aren’t they?” she whispers as she accepts a flute of champagne from a server.

  “Not a chance.” I squeeze her hand. “They’re wondering how a dumbass like me got the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

  She snorts softly. “Uh-huh.”

  “Too bad for them, they don’t know I got the smartest, biggest-hearted one with the worst taste in dates too.”

  That gets a smile, and also causes a guy in a tux to trip over his date’s chair as he tries to get to an open seat.

  Sarah stops and glances at him. “You okay?”

  “Ergalaaargh,” he replies as he stares into her eyes.

  “You need a paramedic?”

  “Sit down, Jeremy,” his date hisses. “And stop staring at her boobs.” She mutters something about implants as I nudge Sarah along our path toward the front of the room.

  Her brow furrows. “Did I miss something?”

  “You are so fucking adorable,” Ellie declares with a grin.

  Which doesn’t help Sarah’s confused expression.

  But my whole family is clearly falling in love.

  As they should be.

  I gesture her into the front row, greeting familiar faces behind us because that’s what I’m supposed to do, before I take my spot beside her. When she glances at the dark curved walls around us, I decide I’m putting a planetarium theater exactly like this one in my place if it’ll make her smile again.

  Shit.

  I don’t have it bad. I have it baddest.

  And that’s before she slips her hand in mine and squeezes when the planetarium show starts with the livestream of Persephone pacing in her enclosure at the zoo. “I forgive you for making me wear Slimzies,” she whispers.

  “Next time my tailor’s in charge of your dress,” I whisper back.

  “I don’t think so,” Sunny murmurs on my other side.

  Before I can ask if she means there won’t be a next time, or she’s fighting me over the rights to dress Sarah, the zoo curator steps to the front of the room to welcome us all, to thank the Friends of the Zoo for putting together tonight’s event, and to give a special welcome to one very dedicated blogger for bringing Persephone to the attentio
n of so many people around the world.

  The lighting in the theater is low so that we can all see the video of Persephone pacing in her habitat, but I can easily make out Sarah’s cheeks light up with that unique blush.

  She gets a round of applause so long that she starts shifting and mutters something about her damn dress.

  The curator doesn’t mention her parents. Or me. Or Charlie, who basically ran the Friends of the Zoo this week to pull this all together.

  Which is how it’s supposed to be, because tonight’s not about me, or Charlie—who clearly never sleeps—or about anything other than Persephone, and Sarah.

  When the applause dies down—seriously, it reminds me of back in the day when the guys and I would finish a concert and there were demands for an encore—the curator smiles at Sarah once more. “And we hope we’ll be seeing many, many more of your very enlightening videos. Solo, I mean. Without the aid of a camera hog.”

  Everyone chuckles, Sarah smiles and blushes harder and hides it behind a sip of champagne.

  We’re treated to a twenty-minute show about the big bang theory—sung to rock music, because dude, that’s way more awesome than somebody talking—and then we’re led into a conference space that’s set up for a formal sit-down dinner.

  We take our time getting to our seats, mostly because everyone in the room wants to talk to Sarah.

  About Persephone. Or something on her blog. Or about how gorgeous she looks tonight, which is the only thing she wrinkles her nose at.

  Like she doesn’t believe it.

  I’m starting to get pissed.

  Not because she doesn’t believe she’s pretty, but because nobody ever noticed before she slathered on the makeup and shimmied into Slimzies.

  We finally make it to our table and I pull out her chair for her.

  “No,” she says suddenly, turning to me with a spark of mischief in her eyes that once again robs me of the ability to breathe.

  It takes me a minute to find my voice. “No, what?”

  “No, I don’t care how tight this dress is, you may not have my single chocolate truffle for dessert.”

  “Arm-wrestle you for it,” I reply instinctively.

  “Beckett,” my mom hisses from across the table.

  I snap straight and turn to her, because I could be seventy-eight and that tone would still scare the shit out of me. “Ma’am?”

  “How many of these fancy dinners have you been to and you still put your elbows on the table and offer to arm-wrestle ladies for their desserts?”

  “To be fair, Michelle, we raised him,” Dad says.

  While leaning his elbows on the table.

  And eyeing Mom’s—what the fuck?

  He’s eyeing Mom’s dessert.

  “Why’s there only a single truffle for dessert?” I ask.

  “I’ll scalp your truffles if you don’t quit staring at my daughter’s chest,” Judson growls.

  “Excuse you, he was looking at her eyes,” my mom snaps.

  Judson blinks once, then twice, then slinks back in his chair. “Begging pardon, ma’am.”

  “We should come to these things more often,” Ellie says to Wyatt, who chokes on his water and vehemently shakes his head no.

  Sarah slides me a grin.

  I grin back.

  And slide my hand under the table to squeeze her thigh, which I can’t do very well, because holy shit that dress is really fucking tight.

  “Hands to yourself, Beckett,” my mother says.

  I point to Wyatt, who’s undoubtedly touching Ellie under the table.

  “They’re engaged,” Mom replies primly.

  “Don’t even think about proposing just to touch me,” Sarah says under her breath.

  My mind instantly snaps to the reminder that I need to prove myself in the bedroom, and suddenly, I wish I’d planned this whole week better.

  Sarah pats me on the thigh under the table. “But you can think about that,” she adds softly.

  My mom beams at her.

  Even though, yes, Sarah’s touching me under the table.

  And I’m certain my mom knows it.

  Actually, I’m certain that’s why my mom is beaming at her.

  Gotta love moms and their double standards. Especially since it means I get to hold Sarah’s hand while she inches it up my thigh.

  “Serendipity,” Sunny says sweetly to Sarah, “while he cleans up nicely, you don’t know where his leg has been.”

  “The lady has a point,” my dad agrees.

  “Christopher,” my mom hisses.

  Ellie and Wyatt snicker some more, and as the servers roll into the room with domed dinner plates, I just grin.

  Because this is as normal as normal gets. And when I need these people to have my back, they’re right there.

  And Sarah’s drawing circles on my leg with her thumb, and yeah.

  This moment?

  With my family and the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, no matter what I need to do to win her over?

  This moment is fucking perfect.

  Thirty-Three

  Sarah

  I am a two-faced asshole, but you can’t tell, because there’s so much makeup glooped on my face that I could actually be Cupcake’s twin and nobody would know there was a pig snout hiding under all these layers of construction-grade plaster.

  Here I am, in a dress I kinda love more than I’m willing to confess to Beck, even if I can only use about forty percent of my lung capacity right now, and I’m torn between wanting to just stare at him in his tuxedo all night long and rip it off him with my teeth.

  No amount of telling myself it’s because the man under the tux is a kind, sweet, sexy gentleman will convince me that I’m not two-faced for drooling over his utter physical perfection.

  Nor will any amount of reminding myself that he’s just as attractive in jeans and a Fireballs jersey, or in a teddy bear robe, or while letting himself be chastised by his mother.

  Although I’m definitely bothered that he’s not devouring every last bite of his steak.

  “Are you sick?” I whisper.

  “Hungry,” he whispers back, “but I’m officially on duty, which means I can’t make a pig of myself.”

  “You really can have my truffle if you want it.”

  “No way. If I eat your truffle in public, my reputation is officially shot and I’ll have to turn to modeling socks if I ever want to make enough to help my parents retire.”

  I get a jolt of lusty need straight between my thighs when he says eat your truffle, but when I try to suck in a breath, my Slimzies and my dress squeeze me so tight that all the circulation is cut off to my nipples and I end up simultaneously trying to suck air back in and choking on my own lack of air.

  Beck’s eyes go wide, and he pats my back. “You okay?”

  “Woman problems,” I blurt.

  And then I go so hot that half my makeup is probably going to melt off.

  My mom, Beck’s mom, and Ellie all lunge for their clutches. Most likely to grab tampons.

  “Dress problems,” I correct quickly. Dammit, I swear the people at the two tables behind me heard that.

  “Just breathe shallow, honey, it’ll be okay,” my mom advises.

  “My Slimzies are killing me too,” Ellie says.

  “I told you not to wear that shit,” Wyatt mutters.

  I like him. He’s very practical.

  “I’m okay,” I tell Beck, who’s still watching me so closely that I’m starting to wonder if I have an errant nose hair or something. I nod to his plate. “Are you sure you don’t need more food?”

  “We’ll grab takeout somewhere later. After we get you out of that dress. Ow! Mom! It’s physically hurting her.”

  He still grins at me though, and my heart takes up a new rhythm at the implication that I’ll be with him for takeout.

  And out of my dress while we’re eating it.

  “I gave birth to you. I’m aware of what’s going through
your head,” his mother says.

  Nope.

  Not killing the buzz at all.

  Maybe there’s something wrong with me after all.

  “Serendipity’s staying with us tonight,” my dad growls.

  “Um, no, we’re having a girls pajama party,” Ellie corrects.

  “We are?” Wyatt asks. And then he, too, mutters ouch and rubs his leg under the table. “Oh. Right. I guess you are. Without warning me. Ouch! Okay, okay, I’m shutting up.”

  The curator of the zoo suddenly rushes to the front of the room, where staff are hastily pulling up a projector screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for one moment,” he calls, “I’ve just received word that Persephone is in active labor.”

  I straighten. Beck shoots a look at Charlie two tables over, like she arranged this and he’s going to need to give her a raise. She rolls her eyes and mouths back only you.

  I snort.

  Because I think she’s right.

  Only Beck could have this kind of luck.

  “He’s just saying that to get a few more donations, right?” he murmurs to me.

  A projector flickers to life, and a woman three tables back screams.

  “Ah, nope,” I tell him while I look at the very pregnant, very squatting, very delivering giraffe on the screen.

  “Oh my,” my mother murmurs.

  The Ryders all put their forks down.

  My dad goes pale.

  Persephone gives a mighty push, expelling baby giraffe legs and amniotic fluid, and my dad wipes his brow.

  The mayor’s still eating at the next table.

  Murmurs are going through the crowd.

  “I can’t eat through this,” someone whispers.

  “It’s nature, Felicia. You can too,” someone else whispers back.

  “Oh, god, she’s so beautiful, I might cry.” The curator shakes out a white handkerchief and wipes his forehead.

  Persephone snorts and shakes her head atop her long neck.

  Beck’s enraptured. “She’s so fucking strong.”

  “Most women are, dear,” his mom says.

  Persephone pushes again, and I poke my mom and point to my dad.

  “Oh, here we go again.” She scoots her chair back and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Head between your knees, Judson. Just breathe. Breathe the love in, and breathe the pain out. Love in, pain out.”