Gone With the Nerd

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

Yes.

  Flynn closed the script, slapping the pages together so loud that Zoe probably heard him in the next room. But he couldn't read anymore, not in his current state. If he'd known the story was all about sex, he would never have agreed to come up here with her. Oh, hell yes, he would have, because he'd been too dumb to realize the dangers.

  He'd stupidly thought that once he'd decided Kristen would be his future, no other woman would ever appeal to him because lusting after someone else would be counterproductive and illogical. His current counterproductive and illogical obsession lay a short walk down the hall in a bed that would be much more comfortable than this one.

  She would let him into that bed, too. She didn't seem overly concerned about compromising her relationship with Trace Edwards. Flynn didn't admire that lack of loyalty, but he couldn't very well condemn it when he was nearly as guilty, maybe more guilty. He'd initiated their kiss, after all.

  And the fondling. He had to take full responsibility for the fondling. Maybe he hadn't anticipated that the fondling would extend to giving her a climax, but he should have. She was a passionate woman. He knew that from her movies.

  Throwing back the covers, he got out of bed and grabbed his laptop. He'd write a tender e-mail to Kristen, that's what he'd do. While writing to her he would picture how wonderful next weekend would be. Maybe she was more passionate than he remembered.

  But as he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers resting on the keyboard, he couldn't think of a single thing to say to Kristen. He had a hundred things he wanted to say to Zoe and even more things that he wanted to do to Zoe, but when it came to Kristen, his mind was a blank. Snapping the laptop closed again, he put it back on the dresser and took off his glasses. Then he turned out the light and stretched out on his too-short bed.

  Lying in the dark with his hands propped behind his head, he listened to the sounds of the forest. They were normal sounds now—the wind through the tops of the trees, the hoot of an owl, the scrape of a branch against the roof of the cabin. No Sasquatch howls.

  For hours he drifted between oblivion and wakefulness. He was a guy who liked routine, and his routine had been seriously compromised. He also liked his own bed, his own sheets, his own pillows.

  Sometime in the early morning he thought he heard soft footsteps near the cabin, but he was too exhausted to get up and investigate. Maybe Luanne was out skulking around again. Or maybe some creature of the night, like a raccoon, was prowling the perimeter.

  Or maybe it was his imagination, still on overdrive from seeing the Sasquatch footprint and then making out in the woods with Zoe. With a sigh he turned on his stomach, hooked his toes over the edge of the mattress, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zoe slept well, probably as a result of the orgasm Flynn had provided the night before. She'd love to thank him for that, but the subject was better left closed. The sun was up, but the trees filtered the light coming in the window. Zoe was used to full-blast sunlight at her place on the beach.

  This felt different, more fuzzy and intimate, like a movie shot slightly out of focus. Outside the cabin the birds were chirping their little hearts out. What a happy sound. Morning might be a good time to make love, although she'd never settled in with a guy long enough to find out. She wondered if Flynn was awake.

  She imagined creeping into his bed when he was still half-asleep and seducing him. Of course she didn't have the nerve, and besides, it was the wrong thing to do. But all her thoughts about sex made her too restless to go back to sleep, so she climbed out of bed and got dressed in the sweats and sweatshirt she'd worn the night before.

  Amazing how comfortable she felt in such geeky clothes. She'd never in a million years walk down Rodeo Drive in an outfit like this, but out here in the woods fashion didn't matter. It was more liberating than she would have thought.

  Leaving her feet bare so she wouldn't make so much noise walking around in the cabin, she left her room. Flynn's door remained closed, so maybe he was still asleep. Or he could be awake with a morning woody.

  She'd heard that could happen with guys, especially frustrated ones. But she couldn't dwell on that possibility or she'd get herself worked up again. Today they would behave like brother and sister.

  Although she'd like some coffee and it was even something she knew how to make, she decided against starting it yet. Brewing coffee might bring Flynn out of his room, and then they'd have the whole sexual thing to deal with again. For a little while she'd enjoy the peace of this hazy sunlit morning.

  Maybe she'd go out and sit on the front porch in one of the rockers. Being here incognito meant she could do that kind of thing without attracting attention. She ought to take advantage of it.

  Opening the door carefully so she wouldn't wake Flynn by her exit, she stepped out on the porch. The weathered boards were a little scratchy on her bare feet, but no worse than sand and seashells. She loved going barefoot, always had. Summers as a kid she'd never worn shoes. She used to weep when school started each fall and she had to imprison her freedom-loving toes.

  Shivering slightly in the chill of early morning, she took a deep breath, and the smell of fresh pine needles made her nose tingle with pleasure. Under that scent lay something more subtle, the musty aroma of all the dry needles carpeting the forest floor. That scent brought back a memory of last night's episode with Flynn, and more than her nose started to tingle.

  The birds she'd been hearing continued to warble as they hopped from branch to branch of the trees that nearly touched the sides of the cabin. If she lived here, she'd hang up a bird feeder so she could watch them more closely. But who was she kidding? She'd probably starve the little critters by leaving town and forgetting all about her bird feeder.

  This cozy spot was giving her a false sense of living an ordinary life. She was miles away from an ordinary life. Even this weekend wasn't turning out to be particularly ordinary, considering Bigfoot. She wondered if the footprint was still there or if Flynn had obliterated it when he'd dropped to the ground and pulled her down with him.

  In daylight the idea of Bigfoot running around in the forest seemed ridiculous. And yet she'd heard the heavy footsteps and the howl. And she'd seen that oversize print.

  Staring out at the place where the footprint had been, she groped behind her for the nearest rocker, sat down, and began to rock. A faint buzzing noise told her there were bees somewhere in the vicinity. A little trickle of uneasiness ran through her. She hadn't thought about the possibility of bees when she'd decided to come up here.

  Oh, well. Bees didn't normally sting if you didn't bother them. If she did get stung, though, she had no idea where the nearest emergency room might be.... Okay, then she just wouldn't get stung. If she saw bees, she'd avoid them.

  The rocker creaked a little bit and she smiled, thinking of what her friends would say if they could see her rocking away on a porch while wearing the equivalent of bag-lady clothes. Well, they wouldn't see her this way, and her reputation as a cool chick would remain intact. This was peaceful, though. At least it had been before she'd heard the bees.

  Maybe she should go in. No, damn it, she wasn't going to run inside because she heard a couple of bees buzzing around. That was being paranoid. They really didn't sting unless provoked or if they were stepped on, which she'd accidentally done that one time. Then there were killer bees, which was a whole other story. But surely she wouldn't have that kind of bad luck.

  A bee flew past and she flinched. Then she blew out a breath, impatient with herself. What a baby. The bee was probably on its way to suck nectar, or whatever it was bees did. She wasn't entirely clear on the process, but she admired the results.

  She'd think about honey instead of bee stings. Honey ladled over a buttered English muffin straight from the toaster was one of life's miracles. Picturing how the butter and honey combined as they sank into the warm craters of the muffin made her tummy growl.

  Another bee flew by, and another. Goodness, now there were quite
a few bees, and they were circling her chair. Maybe she shouldn't stay out here, after all. A bee sting would not be good, not good at all. And where were all these bees coming from?

  She stood up, and the bees seemed to multiply as they continued to mill around. Now the buzzing seemed angry instead of industrious. But they had no reason to be angry with her. She hadn't done anything. Except she'd read that killer bees didn't need much of a reason to be upset. They had a bad attitude from the get-go.

  "Look," she said. "I only eat honey once in a while, okay? And I really shouldn't have it at all, I suppose, so if that's your beef, I'll give it up right now. I'll take the pledge. Call off the troops."

  Instead more bees arrived, and she finally figured out they were coming up from a knothole in the porch floor. She was afraid to make any sudden movements because there were too many and she might bang into one and get stung.

  Oh, dear God, what should she do? A bee sting probably wouldn't kill her, especially if Flynn could get her to the emergency room fast enough, but several bee stings ... she didn't want to think about what that might do to her. She might not make it to the audition next week.

  What was a person supposed to do when surrounded by bees? Even in the chilly air, she began to sweat. She couldn't just stand here.

  Very carefully, she took a sideways step toward the door. The bees buzzed louder, and now there seemed to be hundreds of them. They started landing on her clothes and in her hair.

  Her heart began to race as the bee population grew. "Go away." She discovered she was hyperventilating, too. Definitely getting scared. Really scared.

  "Look, I'm not your queen, or your hive, and I can do absolutely nothing for your honey production."

  The bees continued to buzz around her.

  Finally she couldn't think of anything else to do but call for help. And she only had one avenue for that. She waited until no bees were near her mouth, opened wide, and used her best voice projection. "Flynn! Help?'

  She heard a loud thud, as if he'd fallen out of bed, then a scuffle and quick footsteps as he ran out of his bedroom.

  "Don't open the door!" she yelled. "I have a trillion bees out here!"

  He sounded out of breath. "What kind of bees?" "Hell if I know! They're not carrying ID!" "Killer bees?"

  "It's possible! Flynn, I'm allergic! Can you do something?"

  "Yeah! Hold on!"

  Immediately she felt calmer. Flynn was on the job. She couldn't imagine that he'd know any more about bees than she did, but he was smart. He'd think of something. In the meantime, she would show no fear. Maybe bees could smell fear, which would cause them to attack.

  So far, no attack, and for that she was very grateful. To most people, this was only a swarm of bees, but to her, they could mean the end of all her plans. A few little bee stings and it was good-bye audition, good-bye nerd role, good-bye Nicolas Cage and Steven Spielberg.

  The door opened, and Flynn came out wearing his glasses and his flannel pajamas, neither of which would win him points for hottie of the year. But his rumpled hair and morning beard created a manly effect that almost trumped the glasses and pajamas.

  Even more exciting, he waved a flaming torch and smoke billowed all around him. He looked like a cross between the Nutty Professor and Indiana Jones. He was her hero.

  He blinked in the sunhght. "Jesus! Where did all the bees come from?"

  Zoe spoke without opening her mouth much, in case a bee might be flying by and mistake her mouth for the entrance to the hive. She couldn't even imagine how a sting inside her mouth would affect her, and she didn't want to find out. "Under the porch."

  "Damn." Flynn swept the smoldering torch in a wide arc. "Go away! Get out of here!"

  The smoke and flames seemed to have an effect. The bees grew calmer and drifted away until only four or five continued to buzz around Zoe. With great caution, Flynn moved the torch closer to her, and the last bees left the porch.

  "Quick," he said. "Get inside. They might come back."

  She dashed through the door and he followed, the torch still in one hand. Wrenching aside the fireplace screen, he tossed the torch into the fireplace, where it continued to crackle and burn.

  Smoke poured into the room. Swearing, Flynn dropped to his knees on the hearth. As he and Zoe coughed and choked, he reached into the firebox and pulled a squeaky lever. At last the smoke spiraled up the chimney.

  Zoe collapsed onto the sofa and wiped her watery eyes. "Whew. Thank you. How did you know to use fire and smoke?"

  "Read it somewhere." Flynn coughed and replaced the fireplace screen. "I'm glad it worked. Sorry about the smoke in here. I didn't stop to think about the flue being closed. I just wanted to get rid of the torch before it burned my hand."

  "I'll take smoke over a hive of bees any day." "Did I hear you say you're allergic?"

  "Apparently. I stepped on a bee on location about three years ago. Didn't you see the story in the Enquirer? They had me as good as dead."

  "Sorry. I don't read the Enquirer. I didn't know." He gazed at her with obvious concern.

  "It shouldn't be a problem here, though. Bees don't normally go after people." The adrenaline rush left her a little shaky, so to calm herself she watched the rolled papers in the fireplace blacken and curl as they burned. Something about the material he'd used looked familiar. "What did you use for the torch?"

  He followed her glance to the fireplace. "My copy of the script. It was the first thing I could find."

  "Oh." She couldn't very well be upset with him after the way he'd gallantly saved her, but using the script was awfully convenient. Maybe he thought that would end any future read-throughs with her. If so, he was wrong. 'That's okay. We can share mine."

  "Uh, Zoe, maybe we should discuss that."

  "What's to discuss?"

  "I read a little more of the script last night, and there's a lot of sex in it"

  "I know." She folded her hands and tried to look wise and scholarly. "I want your feedback on those scenes. With so much sex in the script, it's crucial for me to be on target with my nerdy reaction to sexual situations." She gazed at him and discovered that she wasn't scared anymore.

  And exactly like last night, the absence of fear made room for other emotions. Like lust, for example. His pj's weren't what she'd call sexy, but he was probably naked under them. At the moment, that was enough to charge her batteries.

  "After last night I would think you'd know my reaction to sexual situations."

  She thought about what had transpired so far. "I've been a little too close to the forest, if you know what I mean. I haven't been analytical enough. I need you to break it down for me. Deconstruct the process."

  He swallowed. "I see."

  "I realize we have a slight problem, but this is important to me. Considering the stakes, I'll keep this strictly professional. However, I can understand if you don't think you'll be able to do that."

  His gray eyes revealed the struggle going on. He obviously wasn't sure he could control himself, but he'd die before admitting that. He cleared his throat. "I have a suggestion."

  "What's that?"

  "Let's schedule the read-throughs during the daytime. Humans are naturally stronger and more logical when the sun's shining. At night their defenses come down. They can more easily make errors in judgment."

  "All right. That works." She would have said that differently though. In her view, during daylight hours humans maintained their protective armor. At night their more vulnerable selves showed up. She cherished the moment when Flynn had kissed her. It had been a pure, uncomplicated gesture.

  He nodded. "Okay then. I'll shave and get dressed. Then we can ... uh-oh." He gazed out the window toward the porch.

  "Please don't tell me we've attracted paparazzi already?"

  "No, not yet anyway. But the bees are back."

  Flynn hated like hell to get Margo involved, but he didn't think they had a choice. "We'd better call your friend."

  "I guess so."
Zoe didn't seem any happier about doing that than he was, but she stood and headed for the kitchen, where the cabin's only phone hung on a wall. "She'd know who around here takes care of things like relocating bees."

  "I hope they have somebody in Long Shaft who can handle it. If we have to wait for a company from Sacramento, it could take all day." He followed Zoe into the kitchen, all the while wishing she'd worn a different outfit. He'd pulled off that Einstein sweatshirt and breached the elastic of those sweats. Such events were tough to forget.

  "Yeah, a local pest company would be better." She paused beside the small bulletin board on the wall beside the phone. Margo had tacked up a slip of paper with her number scribbled on it. Zoe stared at the number and sighed.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I just hate to have someone come out to remove the bees. There will be paperwork of some kind, even if we don't have to pay for it. I've introduced us to Luanne using the names Tony and Vera, but we can't be Tony and Vera if they ask us to sign something verifying they've removed the bees." She glanced over at him. "You don't have some secret way to lure them out, do you?"

  "Nope. I got lucky with the smoke thing. If you're allergic, we can't take a chance on having them around. Maybe there won't be any paperwork. If it's a small local operation, there might not be." And if you don't make the call soon, I'm liable to grab you and kiss you, so do it.

  "Okay. I guess we have to try." She picked up the receiver and punched in Margo's number. After some time, still holding the receiver to her ear, she turned to Flynn and made a face, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue.

  "What?" He remembered how good that tongue felt in his mouth. He wanted to kiss her until they were both out of breath.

  "There's no answer. Not even a machine. Who doesn't have a machine these days?"

  He controlled his urges so he could focus on the problem. "Your friend Margo, apparently. Could she be at work?"

  "Quite possibly. And I don't have that number, damn it." She opened a drawer beside the phone and rummaged around with one hand while she continued to listen to Margo's phone ring. "No phone book. No advertising flyer from the Sasquatch Diner. How do they expect to get tourist business if they don't leave flyers in the rental properties?"