Talk Nerdy to Me

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

She took a deep breath. "Once I heard your name, I figured out you had to be Rose Shepherd's son. I thought about your SATs and your magna cum laude and I was afraid to."

  "Afraid to?" He abandoned the drilling and turned around. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. I may be a lot of things, but one thing I'm definitely not is scary."

  "Oh, yes you are, Charlie Shepherd. You not only have an excellent brain, you know how to use it. You ace tests and you win academic honors and you march in graduation processions with special tassels hanging from your cap. I... can't seem to do any of that. I just fool around with inventions."

  He stared at her in amazement. She was without a doubt miles ahead of him in brainpower, and yet she had no confidence in her mental abilities. Somebody, or several somebodies, had done a number on her. Her teachers might be partly to blame, but in Charlie's experience the buck stopped with the parents.

  He hoped he was wrong. A genius born to unsupportive parents could live in agony. "I can't believe no one ever told you how smart you are."

  "I had one science teacher who told my mom and dad that maybe I should go to a special school for gifted kids. My mom was willing to consider it, but my grades were horrible, and my dad said if they paid the money for anyone, the person who should go to a special school would be Denise, who was making straight As."

  "And now she's an economics professor at Yale."

  "Yep. She fulfilled her destiny. And so did I. When the science teacher, Mr. O'Hurley, suggested a special school for me, I was already doing commercials. My dad found me an agent who told my folks that I'd make a fortune in modeling. So I've fulfilled my destiny, too."

  Charlie's jaw clenched. Her parents had been given an exotic flower with incredible potential, and instead of letting her grow in a fertile bed where she could send down roots and expand her abilities, they'd planted her in a pot that was way too small. Before he left this town he hoped to convince her that she was worth more than she'd ever dreamed.

  He couldn't do that by holding himself aloof from her, either mentally or physically. He hated to think he might be the first guy who appreciated everything about her, but he could be.

  "I think you might have some more destiny to fulfill," he said.

  Her gaze held his. "You make me feel that way, Charlie. That's why I'm glad you offered to help. And I'm worried about the electrical system of the hovercraft. Structurally I think it's okay, but the electrical system may not be quite right."

  "Don't worry. I'll check it all out." He blew out a breath. How he longed to take her in his arms and tell her how beautiful and smart she was. "I really need to finish this door."

  "Go ahead. I didn't mean to distract you." He smiled. "You would be a distraction just standing there."

  "Want me to go in the other room?" "No! I love knowing you're there." He picked up another hinge and positioned it halfway down the door.

  "Why don't you tell me about Lyle?" He sensed her hesitation. "Never mind."

  "No, I'd like to tell someone who would understand. God knows, my friends and family didn't. Which isn't completely their fault, because I'm not sure I completely understood it until just recently."

  "What would Lyle have thought of you building a hovercraft?"

  She laughed. "That's a funny thought, Lyle coming upon me building this hovercraft. He'd probably stroke out."

  Just as Charlie had suspected, Lyle had been clueless about this side of his girlfriend.

  "The fact is, I wouldn't have built a hovercraft if I'd stayed with Lyle," she said. "He would have expected me to become like my mother, a society matron who spends all her time with charity functions. I'm not knocking what my mother does. She helps plenty of people and she works damned hard at it. But if I had to live her life, I'd end up in a padded cell."

  Charlie was in awe of what he was witnessing. By moving to Middlesex and starting to build her hovercraft, Eve had transplanted herself out of that confining pot she'd been placed in. He was lucky enough to be around when she was finally starting to grow.

  He forced himself to work on the damned hinges. "So Lyle's proposal was what tipped you over the edge?"

  "Absolutely. You know how you can be vaguely dissatisfied, but you don't let yourself face it because everyone tells you that your life is great? So you just convince yourself they're right."

  "Believe me, I know." He dropped to his knees to drill the holes for the final hinge.

  "I guess you would. Your Hoover Dam and my hovercraft have a lot in common. Anyway, Lyle had planned the quintessential proposal. He took me to dinner at Jean George's, and between the main course and dessert, he got down on one knee, popped open a ring box just like they do in diamond commercials, and asked me to be his wife. It was kind of embarrassing, to be honest. But Lyle likes the grand gesture."

  "I take it Jean George's is fancy." Charlie drilled the holes with a vengeance. He didn't like this image of some slick Wall Street type proposing to Eve, but there was no point in pretending that he was worldly enough to know all about Jean George's.

  "Oh, yeah, fancy. Lyle was in a suit. I was in a long, slinky dress, which I've since given to the Salvation Army. Did not want to wear that thing again."

  "You might not have had a reason to, anyway. There's not much call for a long, slinky dress in Middlesex." All the screws were resting in their appointed holes, so he switched the drill bit for a screwdriver attachment.

  "To be honest, that's one of the joys of living here, although I have a closet full of clothes I may never wear again." She paused. "But that gives me an idea. Would you like me to put one on?"

  He glanced over his shoulder. "Now?"

  "Why not?"

  He looked down at his sawdust-covered flannel shirt and jeans. "Because I seem to have left my suit at home."

  "That would make it more fun. Every time I've put on a sexy dress, I've either been on the runway, in front of a camera, or headed to some fancy party or elegant restaurant. I'd love to dress up for the benefit of one special person."

  He gazed at her and couldn't imagine her looking more desirable. "You don't have to dress up to get my attention."

  "That's what would be so great about it. You don't require me to do that, so it's a treat, a bonus ..." She paused and uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "Unless you think I'm being vain? Trust me, looks aren't a big thing with me. I wouldn't want you to get the impression that I need the ego boost."

  "I'm the one that would get the ego boost. I've never known a woman who would go to the trouble of dressing up when I'm the only person who will see her."

  Her expression became luminous. "Then I'll do it. I'll be back in ten minutes. Let's synchronize our watches."

  Instinctively, Charlie glanced at his digital watch, a marvel of craftsmanship calibrated to stay within a split second of Greenwich Mean Time. He'd bought it for himself a year ago.

  Eve laughed softly. "I didn't mean that literally, but ten minutes should be about right. You should be finished by then." She started to turn away. Then she spun back to him and reached in the pocket of her overalls. "Here." She handed him three condoms. "What I have in mind doesn't have pockets." Then she hurried down the hall.

  Charlie wondered if he could be dreaming this. In what reality did a gorgeous model hand him three condoms before going off to change into something long and slinky? In Eve's reality, apparently, and he was the lucky son of a bitch who'd stumbled into her world of hover-crafts and high fashion.

  Some cool jazz drifted down the hall and snapped him out of the daze he'd fallen into the moment she'd placed the condoms in his hand. He checked his watch. He'd been standing there like a dork for a full minute. That left only nine minutes to finish up this job so he'd be ready for... whatever happened after Eve appeared in her slinky dress. He'd better start screwing.

  Eve was beginning to believe that tonight would be her one and only chance to have a romantic interlude with Charlie, and she might as well capitalize on it. Tomorrow Denise would arrive. If
Eve could think of a way to keep her sister from showing up, she'd do it. But Denise was a force of nature. Once she was set in motion, nothing could stop her.

  So Eve would have to make the most of what little time she had left with Charlie before Denise swept in and changed the dynamic completely. In her bedroom she flipped on her CD player and chose soft jazz to provide some atmosphere. Then she stripped down to her panties and started the transformation.

  First came the makeup. Charlie deserved the complete package tonight. She grabbed the smudge-free stuff so he wouldn't get it all over him when they ... whew. She'd almost jabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand just thinking about what would happen between them tonight.

  In less than five minutes she inspected the job in her magnifying mirror and was reasonably satisfied with the results. If they ever had a time trial for makeup application, she'd win hands down. Because she thought it was hideously boring she'd taught herself to do it at warp speed.

  Next she had to rummage through the pile of clothes still in their dry-cleaning bags that covered her bed. Oh, wait. She didn't want a pile of clothes on her bed. With any luck, things were about to happen in that bed and she didn't intend to stage the event on a mound of dry cleaning, although Eunice would probably have found a way to make something kinky out of that.

  She found the dress she wanted, tossed it on an overstaffed chair in the corner of the room, and gathered up the rest. Then she looked around for a place to put them. Theoretically they should fit in her closet, but in the absence of clothes being stored in there, other things had stacked up.

  They were not going back in the guest room. Once Eve had moved a pile of something, she had a policy that it would not return to its original spot. She liked to keep her clutter in motion, like airplanes in the pattern over JFK.

  They couldn't go on the floor, either. She and Charlie might trip on them during a critical moment. Pratfalls hardly ever added to someone's sexual experience. In desperation she finally hurried across the hall to the bathroom, pulled back her shower curtain and dropped the whole pile in the tab.

  Something would have to be done about that when Denise came, but Eve decided to worry about it in the morning. She had a slinky dress to get into and a date to keep. On her way back to her bedroom she heard the rapid whirr of the drill spinning those screws into place. Charlie sounded like a man on a mission.

  And she was a woman on a mission—a mission to make the next few hours unforgettable for both of them. She hoped while Charlie was striding around the facility of Hoover Dam he'd sometimes pause and think of her in this dress. The fabric was an iridescent dark purple that in certain kinds of light looked black. But even then, every time she moved the purple would flash.

  One thin strap held the dress up on her left shoulder. From there the neckline swooped across and down, leaving her right shoulder bare. The material had just enough Lycra to mold itself to her breasts, waist, and hips. Eve had never worn a bra with it, and with a sense of daring she decided to forgo the panties, too.

  Stripping them off, she stepped into the dress and wiggled herself into it. The slit up the side of the skirt allowed her ease of movement and gave anyone looking a view of her leg to mid-thigh. She'd always thought this approach was more effective than a miniskirt. Now you see it, now you don't.

  With two minutes to go she'd zipped the dress and put on the deep purple five-inch sling-backs she'd bought to go with the dress. She didn't have time to do much with her hair, so she took it out of the pins and gave it several swipes with the hairbrush. Rhinestone chandelier earrings, a touch of perfume at her throat, and she was done.

  No glasses, no contacts. She knew the way down the hall, and if everything was a little blurry, that would add to the gauzy, romantic effect. The soft jazz followed her out the door.

  The cordless drill had gone quiet. Heart pounding, she started down the hall. Then she heard a slapping sound and realized he must be trying to get the sawdust off his clothes. Pausing, she waited for the sound to stop. It didn't. Instead the slapping was now punctuated with muttered curses.

  Laughter bubbled in her throat. Poor Charlie. He had no idea that she found the matchup of a sawdust-covered guy and this elegant dress exciting. She wasn't worried about the dress. She was a favored customer at the Press 'n' Go, and they'd clean it beautifully.

  She hoped that once Charlie caught sight of her he'd forget about the sawdust. Taking a deep breath, she started down the hall, heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

  With that sound announcing her arrival, the slapping and muttered cursing sped up. Then she rounded the corner and he lifted his head. It took a second for the impatience to drain from his expression, and then ... there. Even without her glasses there was no mistaking that look, a look she would tuck away in the deep recesses of her heart... forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Over the years Charlie had seen plenty of magazine spreads of models in fancy dresses. He thought he knew what to expect when Eve rounded that corner. Not even close.

  Now he understood that expression about taking your breath away. Looking at Eve, he felt as if somebody had rammed a basketball against his diaphragm. He struggled for air and tried to remember the mechanics of using his lungs. Air in, air out. Such a simple concept. So difficult to execute while this ... goddess stood before him.

  "I guess you like it," she said.

  He nodded, incapable of speech.

  She took a step closer, and the shiny earrings dangling almost to her shoulders swayed.

  He was semi-hypnotized watching the earrings move. But he still had some of his faculties. "Wait." His voice sounded as if he'd swallowed a handful of the sawdust he'd been futilely trying to get off his clothes. "I need ..." He could think of only one thing that would make him worthy of being within ten feet of her in that dress. "A shower. I need a shower."

  "Silly man." She kept coming, walking in time to that smoky jazz in the background.

  "Seriously. I'm covered with sawdust, and you—well, you're covered in something dry-cleanable only. I'd lay money that won't go in the washing machine, not that your washer is in any shape to clean anything after the job we did on it with candy, and magazines, and your decluttering book, so I—"

  "I love contrasts." She moved in and reached for the cell phone he had clipped to his jeans pocket. "You won't be needing this." Leaning down, she laid it on the floor, giving him a glimpse of mouthwatering cleavage.

  Then she wound one arm around his neck. The contact sizzled, and he knew that if she persisted, he'd cave, sawdust or no sawdust. The wail of a saxophone urged him to give in, give in, give in. He was a sucker for saxophones.

  With her free hand Eve took off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. "Thank you for fixing my door."

  He held his arms out, scarecrow fashion, so he wouldn't make the mistake of touching her with sleeves that had picked up sawdust like Velcro. Then he made one last stab at reasonable behavior. "Eve, you're going to get all messed up."

  "Mess me up, Charlie." She cradled the back of his head and massaged his scalp lightly with her fingertips. "Mess me up real good."

  He moaned softly. "You should let me get cleaned up first."

  "And take all the fun out of it? Not likely." Her heels gave her enough height to bring her mouth exactly even with his. "Let's kiss."

  "But you have on all that lipstick and stuff." He found it incredibly sexy to look at that red, red mouth that glistened and tempted him to dive in. Even a guy not wearing his glasses could find a target like that. "Afraid to get it on you?"

  "No." He wanted it on him. He wanted to drown in her, but she looked so perfect, and if he gave in to his needs, she would become smeared beyond belief. He couldn't imagine that she really meant what she said about getting messed up. Women didn't like that, at least not the women he knew.

  'This is professional-grade makeup. You could kiss me all night and it will stay put. If you don't believe me, feel free to
test it out."

  He held on for another couple of seconds. Then she ran her tongue slowly over her mouth, which only made it wetter looking.

  "Oh, what the hell." A guy could be expected to put up only so much of a protest. Charlie wrapped both arms around her, sawdust and all. "Let the kissing start."

  "Hallelujah."

  She tasted like raspberries. Whatever this professional-grade stuff was, they'd flavored it with fruit, and raspberries were fast becoming his favorite taste thrill. The delivery system was outstanding. Eve had a way of kissing that made him forget everything but the feel of her mouth on his—moist, supple, open ... oh, yes, very open. Exceedingly open to exploration, and he would do that. He most certainly would do that. Mm, sweet. Wet. Good.

  He would have sworn that he was only aware of her mouth, but that must not have been entirely true, because before he realized it he'd backed her up against the wall, and his awareness had extended slightly lower. One moment he was totally involved in mouth-to-mouth action, and the next he was incorporating other areas—her chin, her throat, her collarbone, her shoulder.

  His breathing shut out all but the deep bass coming down the hall. But deep bass fit the rhythm of his thoughts—his heated, incredibly focused thoughts. He wanted . .. everything.

  This dress. Oh, God, this dress. The material was stretchy. He loved that about clothing. The thin strap over her left shoulder went down without a fight, not even threatening to tear. He could live with getting sawdust all over, especially now that she'd said how much she loved contrasts, but ripping was not acceptable.

  She must have been helping him out in some subtle way, because he wasn't sure he could have found the zipper by himself. It was sort of hidden in the back, and she had to arch away from the wall to let him find it. While she was arching, she thrust her breasts forward, and that kept him occupied for a while so he delayed on the zipper situation.

  The thing was, she didn't have on a bra, so her nipples poked against the shimmery material and he couldn't resist that. He had to play with those nipples until she made little whimpering sounds in the back of her throat. Touching her through the material worked him up so much that finally he had to make use of that zipper in the back so he could get rid of the top part of the dress.