Nerdy: A Fake Relationship/ Surprise Pregnancy Romantic Comedy (Unexpected Lovers Book 2)

by JB Heller

  Nerdy- An Unexpected Lovers Story

  Copyright © 2020 by JB Heller

  All rights reserved.

  Published by- Author JB Heller

  Cover Design by- JeBDesigns

  Editing by- Creating Ink

  Proofreading by- Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Formatted by – JeBDesigns

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Also By JB Heller

  About the Author

  A note from JB

  Flicking my eyes to the clock on the wall, my gaze narrows. She’s late.

  I snatch my cell off the corner of the table in The Brew Guru and shoot a text to my incredibly pushy agent, Calliope.

  ME: She’s late. I don’t have time to sit around waiting for this chick to show.

  Her response comes through before I’ve even put my cell down.

  CALLIOPE: She’ll be there. And be nice. Her blog is huge. This interview will give your debut a massive boost.

  I scoff. Nice? I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.

  Lifting my gaze, I scan the room once again—easy to do from my seat in the back corner. But all I see are two chicks with babies, a small group of dudes in bike tights—gross—a kid examining a particularly large booger on the tip of his finger, and nope—she’s definitely not here.

  My eyes dart back to the clock, and I scowl. Is it really that hard to be punctual? I’ve been here since five-thirty, and I told her I would be in my reply to the email she sent to confirm our appointment. She’s the one who didn’t want to meet until seven, something about her not being a morning person—like that’s my problem.

  Calliope keeps telling me how great this woman is and how all it will take is one article from her and I’ll have readers banging my metaphorical door down. I’m all for this interview putting me on the map as a must-read author, but I would rather remain anonymous.

  My agent, however, believes the fact that I have a penis is a selling point that we can and should use to our advantage.

  So here I am, waiting on this blogger to show when I should be focusing on the words on the screen in front of me in the limited time I have to do so each day. I have a day job to get to, and my employers are very demanding. I don’t have time to scratch myself, let alone ponder plot holes when I’m on the clock.

  With a frustrated groan, I close my laptop and pick up my coffee, taking a large swig of the now lukewarm brew, which only serves to piss me off further. Grabbing the mug, I saunter to the counter and slide it over to the barista. “Can I get a fresh one please, Mel?”

  She gives me a sultry smile and winks as our fingertips make contact for the briefest of moments when she takes the mug from me. “No problem, sweet cheeks. I’ll bring it over.”

  I nod, ignoring her advances like I always do, and return to my regular table. The last thing I need is to bang the barista who makes my morning caffeine fix and end up having to find a new haunt when she realizes I’m not interested in a repeat performance.

  Unable to stop myself, I check the time again. Seven-thirty. My jaw clenches. I need to be out of here in fourteen minutes to make it to work on time.

  “Excuse me.” A feminine voice draws my attention away from my cell.

  I peer up into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Yes?” I say, a little dumbstruck.

  She blushes then runs a hand through her wild red hair. “I was supposed to meet someone here, and I’m running a little late. I don’t suppose you noticed a woman working on a laptop in this corner earlier, did you?”

  “Umm, I don’t think so. I’m usually the only one working here in the mornings,” I tell her as I eye her up and down. She’s wearing a hoodie that says Books are Better than Boys and clutching a Harry Potter notebook in front of her as she gnaws on her bottom lip. I keep my gaze on her then make an educated guess. “I think you’re looking for me.”

  No. Nope. No way. The ridiculously good-looking man seated where my interviewee is supposed to be cannot possibly be her. I clear my throat, smooth my hair down again, and say, “Oh, I don’t think so. Sorry to bother you.”

  He sighs then tilts his chin on an angle, which only serves to draw my eye to the sharpness of his stubbled jaw. “You’re looking for S. Bailey. Correct?”

  My jaw drops. “Umm, yeah…”

  “Then you’ve found me, late as you may be.”

  My brows furrow. S. Bailey… is a dude?

  “You’re wasting precious time gawking at me when you’re already extremely late, Miss Moss. The clock is ticking, and you only have thirteen minutes of my time left,” he says, crossing his sculpted arms over his chest.

  What the hell is this—The Twilight Zone? Hot dudes don’t write romance novels.

  “But, I—you’re a—” I start to say when a pretty brunette practically shoulder-barges me on her way to delivering the stud at the table a steaming mug of coffee. And somehow, she manages not to spill a drop.

  “Here you go, Sebastian. I made it just the way you like it,” she purrs, lingering as she pushes her arms together at her sides, accentuating her cleavage.

  If I wasn’t so shocked, I’d gag. She’s trying way too hard. The guy pays her no heed, not even acknowledging her as he keeps his amber gaze locked on me throughout the exchange. Which she doesn’t like at all, judging by the icy glare she throws my way as she passes me on her return to the counter.

  “Eleven minutes, Miss Moss,” he mutters, glancing at the clock on the wall behind me.

  I swallow then plonk down in the seat across from him. “I’m sorry, I just—I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re a guy.”

  He arches a brow. “Is that a problem?”

  “No,” I say immediately. “I was expecting a woman. It threw me.”

  His eyes dart to the wall clock again as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Ten and a half minutes.”

  Christ, what is his problem? I drop my notepad on the tabletop then sit back in my seat. “Have I done something to upset you, or are you just an ass?”

  He scoffs. “How am I the ass here? You were supposed to be here at seven. And instead of working, like I should have been, I was watching the clock and wondering where the hell you were for the last thirty-nine minutes.”

  I blink at him. It is way too early for this crap. I heave a sigh then rest my elbows on the table, sliding my hands into my hair at my temples. “Look, I’m not a morning person. I got out of bed at six-thirty this morning to be here for this interview.” I pause, and he opens his mouth in an attempt to start speaki
ng.

  I hold my hand out. “Shh, I’m not done,” I say. “Then my Uber got a flat, and I had to order another one. I didn’t have your number to let you know I’d be late, since we’ve only communicated via email where, by the way, you neglected to mention that you have a penis. So, when I walked in, I was looking for a woman for almost ten minutes before I approached you.”

  He sips his coffee as he silently examines me after my little tirade. Eventually, he sighs and extends a hand toward me. “I’m Sebastian Bailey. Perhaps we should start over, Miss Moss.”

  Taking his hand, I give it a firm shake, the way my brothers taught me. “Fine by me,” I say. “And call me Emory.”

  Sebastian nods as he releases my hand. “As riveting as this little introduction has been, Emory, I have to go. Day job and all that.” He swallows the last of his coffee, slides his laptop into a sleek brown leather shoulder bag, then stands.

  “Would you like to reschedule?” I ask, tipping my head back to maintain eye contact now that he’s standing above me.

  He shrugs. “If you can be punctual, we can try this again tomorrow.”

  I promptly bang my forehead on the table. “Fine,” I grumble. I’m being super unprofessional, but I’m too tired to even care. When he doesn’t reply, I lift my head to see him striding out the door and onto the street.

  He glances at me through the picture window, an unimpressed expression on his handsome face as he points to the table. I follow his gesture and pick up a piece of paper with a cell number on it. He’s gone by the time I look back up.

  Sebastian Bailey may be sexy as shit, but the dude’s a total asshole.

  At six-fifty-five, the chair across from me makes a godawful screech as it’s dragged out from the table, and the hot mess that is Emory Moss drops down into it.

  Her hair is a wild mane of bright-red curls as she stares at me. Her bright-blue eyes tell me everything she’s thinking in this very moment, and I can’t help but smirk.

  “Oh, look, she does know what punctuality is,” I murmur.

  Her gaze narrows. “I got up extra-extra early and forwent my morning coffee to be here. So, you better give me something good for this interview,” she says, pulling a notebook and pen from a cotton tote bag with the word BOOKWHORE in capital letters splashed across it.

  I hit save on the file I’m working on then close my laptop and sit back in my seat. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you actually arrived on time?”

  She throws her hands in the air, gesturing like a madwoman. “Yes! My roommates are going to think I was kidnapped through the night when they realize I’m not at home. I told you; I don’t do mornings.”

  “Or professionalism, it would seem.” I’m being a prick. I’m well aware, and I don’t even care. She’s cute when she’s pissy.

  Emory huffs, stands, and goes to the counter—I’m assuming to order that morning coffee she was complaining about missing. “I’ll take a flat white,” I call over to her. “In a mug. No sugar.”

  She glares over at me then turns back to the barista with an epic eyeroll. And I just grin. At our initial encounter, she made quite the impression. I think I’m going to enjoy this interview process more than I’d thought.

  After placing her order—and I hope mine too—she returns to her seat, dropping down into it with a light thud. I eye her apparel and smile.

  She narrows her gaze when she notices me staring. “What?” she snaps.

  “Yesterday, it was books are better than boys, and today, you’re dating the figment of another person’s imagination?”

  One of her shoulders rises in a shrug. “Yeah, and?”

  I grin. She’s sassy for someone so small. “No and. It was just an observation.”

  Emory quirks a brow and crosses her arms over her ample chest. But she remains silent.

  It’s my turn to ask, “What?” as her blue eyes rake over me.

  Again, she shrugs. “Yesterday, you were an ass, and today... you’re still an ass.”

  I burst out laughing. “That I am, Emory. That I am.”

  Mel approaches with our caffeine hits. She quickly slides Emory’s in front of her without a word, then slowly, she places mine directly in front of me as she positions herself to block Emory from my sight. “Here you go, handsome,” she drawls.

  “Thanks, Mel,” I say then shift so I can go back to watching Emory.

  Mel gets the hint and disappears a moment later. I’m probably going to have to do something about her soon unless I want her to start spitting in my coffee for constantly brushing her off.

  “She’s awfully friendly,” Emory comments.

  I shrug. “She works in customer service. It’s an important part of her job.”

  Emory snorts. “That’s why she completely ignored my existence.”

  Instead of replying, I pick up my coffee and take a hearty swallow of the heavenly liquid.

  “Shall we get to it, then?” she asks after drinking some of her own beverage and sighing contentedly.

  “Sure,” I say, sitting back in my seat.

  She flips open her notebook and clicks her pen a few times, looking at the page in front of her. My gaze locks on her mouth as she nibbles on her full bottom lip, and I’m shocked when my dick perks up for the first time in months.

  He’s been uninterested in the world since Jayla and I broke up six months ago, so this is a very welcome development.

  The delicate sound of Emory clearing her throat pulls me back to the present and out of my head. “Sorry, what?” I say.

  She frowns but repeats herself. “I’m just going to record this on my phone as well as take notes, if you don’t mind.”

  I nod and wave her on.

  Hitting a few buttons on her cell, she puts it on the table between us then asks, “Why romance?”

  Ah, of course she’d start with that. Gripping my hot mug in one hand, I rub the side of my tense neck with the other. “It just kind of happened, I suppose. I didn’t set out to write a romance when I started. But that’s what it evolved into.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” she murmurs as she scribbles notes in her book. “Why did you start writing?”

  “Honestly, I needed something for myself. My day job is very satisfying, but at the end of it, I have nothing left. Nothing that’s mine. And I wanted that. I set out to create something solely for me that I could be proud of and call my own.”

  Her eyes slowly lift to meet mine, and she examines me as though I’ve said something profound. It’s as though she knows exactly what I’m talking about and can see right inside me.

  I swallow and avert my gaze. “Next question?”

  “Right, umm...” She glances back down to what I’m pretty sure is her list of questions. “Where did the inspiration for Drown with Me come from?”

  “Everywhere, I guess. So many things inspire me: my sister’s relationship with her fiancé, a scene in a TV show, a couple holding hands on the subway. It’s everything and nothing,” I attempt to explain.

  Emory nods. “I’ve heard that before. I’m endlessly fascinated by the things that cause that spark of creativity to flare to life. I couldn’t write a book to save myself, but my love of words has always been a living, breathing part of me. Becoming a blogger and professional reviewer is something I pursued relentlessly until it was my reality. Is writing the same for you? When Drown with Me becomes a New York Times bestseller, will you quit your day job and devote your life to the written word?”

  I don’t even have to think about my answer. “No.”

  Her big blue eyes widen. “No?”

  “No,” I confirm. “I love my day job. I don’t foresee anything making me want to give it up.”

  “Okay then, that brings me to my next question. What is your current job?”

  I’m not sure I want to tell her. It will lead to more questions that I definitely don’t want to answer. Picking up my coffee, I sip it, buying myself a little time.

  Emory does the same, placing her
pen in her open notebook and watching me as we drink in silence.

  Eventually, I say, “I’m a caregiver.”

  Understanding washes over her features. “That must be very demanding. No wonder you feel as though you need something for yourself.”

  I nod. “It is, but very satisfying and fulfilling.”

  She smiles at me then, and I’m struck by just how beautiful she is. Her porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, bright-blue eyes, full pouty lips, and wild red hair make a stunning combination. I have no doubt I could sit here with her all day, but I have places to be.

  Forcing my gaze away from her to the clock on the wall, I sigh. “I have to get going. I’m sure you must have more questions, judging by that list.” I gesture to her notebook with my chin. “Maybe text or email them to me. I’ll get back to you when I can. I’m pretty busy through the day, but I’ll reply when I get a few minutes here and there.”

  “Okay,” she says as I stand.

  After sliding my laptop into my satchel, I down the dregs of my coffee. “I look forward to hearing from you, Emory,” I say as I extend my hand to her.

  “I look forward to hearing your responses,” she replies, smiling and accepting my offered hand and giving it a firm shake.

  “That’s some grip you got there.” I chuckle as we release our hold.

  She blushes and licks her lips. “Yeah, only girl in the family with four older brothers.”

  “Wow, that would have been intense. You can tell me about it sometime,” I say, walking backwards, not quite ready to take my eye off her just yet.

  “Maybe,” she calls. “If you’re lucky.”

  Then her eyes widen. My ankle catches on a chair leg. I stumble. She laughs her ass off, and I groan. Damn it.

  “Goodbye, Emory,” I say, shaking my head at myself.