Geek God (Forever Geek Trilogy #1) (2 page)

I love email. I love being able to talk to people without having to get into all the awkward conversation bits. It’s far more efficient being able to just say “This is what I need, this is when I need it, can it be done?” than the pointless pleasantries of “How are you? Some weather we’re having, etc. etc.” Not that I don’t like conversation, but I prefer to have it with people I want to hang out with. Not every human I need to connect with for a quick question.

Oh God. There he is. How did I not see him earlier? He’s sitting about ten tables away. Too far to be able to hear anything. He’s with Eddie. Just the two of them. He’s having a burger and fries. And they’re engrossed in something in binders. He must be a grad student. Or maybe he’s a late bloomer. Maybe he’s just gone back to school. Regardless, he is beautiful. It wasn’t just a trick of the imagination. This isn’t the dimly lit cavern under the clock tower. This is one of the most well lit spots on campus, with windows lining both sides of the long food court.

His hair is somewhere between brown and blond, depending on how the light hits it. Little curls dance just above his collar. It’s thick. Looks soft. I’m willing to bet no product goes on his hair other than good old shampoo and conditioner.

Evan. It suits him. Google tells me its Celtic meaning is Young Warrior. Yum. I can deal with that.

So now is the time when I need to make a decision. I’m not a wallflower by nature. If there’s a man I like, I have no qualms making the first move. If I were still in grad school, I know I’d be walking over there right now. No questions asked. But he’s the uncle of a student. And most likely a student himself, although I’m fairly certain he’s not studying classics. My male cohort tends to have a far more studious and academic look. Or they look like hipsters. They don’t look like Roman soldiers ready to march into battle and tear the Gauls limb from limb.

But maybe there’s a first for everything. Fate is a recurring theme in Roman history, and I know what happens to those who tempt it. It would be just my luck if he showed up in one of my classes. And therefore, I can’t do it.

Mark this down in the history books. I, Jillian Carew, am going to do nothing.

It’s not that I’m afraid of rejection. I’ve been rejected plenty in my life. But I once had a friend who wasn’t that good-looking who always had amazingly beautiful girlfriends. I asked him how he did it. His advice was life-changing for me. He said: “I flirt with anyone who interests me. I play the law of averages. At some point, one of them is bound to want to flirt back. And the law of averages tends to be in my favour more often than not.”

He was a stats major, of course. So clearly he knew what he was talking about.

Yup. I’ve had plenty of rejections in my life, but there have been an almost equal number of expressions of interest. But alas, Evan. We shall never know.

Tossing my laptop in my bag, I grab my cup of coffee and make a split second decision to not walk past Eddie and his hot uncle. Now that I’ve made up my mind, it’s best to just not tempt the gods. So long, handsome. You don’t even know how close we were to having an amazing affair.

I
love living in the same neighborhood as a bakery. My Saturday routine has become one of the best parts of the weekend. I get up, boil the kettle, and haul on comfy weekend clothes. Put some tea bags in the ceramic pot that once belonged to my great-grandmother and let the tea steep. In less than two minutes, I’m at the bakery around the corner where I grab a dozen bagels that are still warm (don’t judge). By the time I get home the tea is ready, and I get to sit in front of the big window overlooking the street.

It’s an eclectic neighbourhood. Minimum wage workers mix with university students. Homeowners and renters. Retirees live next door to young professionals. You never know who, or what, you’ll see on a Saturday morning. When I was growing up, this was a part of downtown my parents frowned on me going to. Now, my mother is invading my space far too often with things to help decorate. She’s also taken an interest in my paltry garden. God help me.

I have a busy day planned. I’m meeting with the contractor shortly, and then I’m going to play a computer game. I know, I know. The first nice day of summer and I want to waste it indoors, playing a game. I’ve been searching for a download that will work on my Mac for ages and finally found out how to get it to work yesterday. I think I should get some credit for not cancelling my dinner plans with Ingrid last night. Which I should have done since she spent a good portion of the evening totally ruining the meal with telling me what a fool I was for not making a move on the hottie. As if she’s ever made a move on anyone. Gotta love friends who are quick to dole out advice they would never follow in a million years.

There’s the contractor’s truck pulling up. I suppose I should go make sure there are no poppy seeds stuck in my teeth before I answer the door.

A quick look in the hall mirror, and on cue, the knocker reverberates off the old wooden door.

I don’t know who I was expecting to see when I opened the door, but you could knock me over with a feather in this moment, so shocked am I.

It’s him. Eddie’s uncle. Evan.

“Lovely morning,” he says as I stand there, the door half-open where it halted in my shock. “Let’s see if we can get this done quickly so you can get out and enjoy the sun.”

I’m frozen. Unprepared for this.

“This is the right house, yea? You wanted an energy audit and quote on retrofitting?”

I nod and pull the door open. “Of course. Come in.”

He extends his hand. “I’m Evan Sharp.”

“Jillian Carew.”

“Nice house. I’d guess it was built in the 1920s?”

“Good guess. The deed says 1921.”

“That might not be good news for you. Could be a lot of work to upgrade. Can we start in the basement?”

Crap. The basement is a proper state.

“There’s a lot of clutter down there. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.” And likely never will.

“You haven’t seen my basement.” His laugh is deep. Deeper than his voice, which has a slight accent that places him from around the bay somewhere. I don’t have a lot of friends who aren’t from St. John’s, so I can’t even guess where on the island his particular twang comes from.

For the next hour he pokes and prods his way around the house, gabbing the entire time. There’s nothing shy about him, that’s for sure. And he seems to know what he’s talking about. He’s a smart guy. Knows a lot about houses and energy and the environment. By the time we get back to the kitchen, he already has a plan. He just needs to figure out what it will cost me.

As I pour up two glasses of water, he looks at my raggy yard.

“What a great garden.”

“Yea, for the weeds.”

“No way. You could have some fantastic raised beds out there and have a nice kitchen garden. Herbs, greens, some veg that doesn’t need a lot of depth.”

Is he nuts? He wants me to turn my backyard into a farm? He must be a hippie. Mom’s vision for this garden involves new sod, lots of easy to care for flowering shrubs—because she knows I’m not capable of growing anything—and some tidy beds of annuals. My vision for the backyard is something I can look out at without wanting to shudder.

“I’m not a gardener. Anything I plant out there will die from neglect.”

A shoulder shrug is all I get in return. “Self-reliance isn’t for everyone.”

Woah. Judgey much?

“It’s not that. I just prefer to get my veg from the farmers’ market than from my own hard work.”

Any minute now he’s going to tell me he’s a farmer too and has a booth set up at the market. A full-on environmental granola type who would balk at my misuse of power by playing games on a 50-inch television.

“So, Professor Carew, I’ll work the numbers and get back to you by Monday with some options.”

“How do you know I’m a professor?”

God, his smile is to die for. “I recognized you. You’re my nephew’s teacher. I saw you at MUN earlier this week.”

Eddie’s words came back to me. “My uncle thinks you’re hot.”

Oh shit. This could get messy. Play it cool, Carew. Play it cool.

“Oh, who’s your nephew?”

“Eddie Sharp. He’s in your Latin class. We all find it hilarious that he’s taking Latin. But when I saw you this week, I called my brother and told him I now understood why.”

Stomach, stop clenching. Heart, quit racing. Mouth, say something not totally stupid.

“He’s a sweet kid.”

There’s nothing I can do to get out of this conversation other than walk away. I need to get him out of the house before I start to blush.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly. Just email me your quotes whenever you’re ready.”

By the time I’ve reached the door, he’s caught up to me.

“What game is that?”

He’s staring at the TV that has the intro screen for the game on display in all its fifty-inch glory. It’s my little secret. I don’t tell my friends I play video games. It would dash their image of me as the sophisticated academic. But he’s looking right at it. What am I supposed to say?

“It looks old,” he says. “I thought I knew every computer game out there but this is new to me.”

“It’s Caesar III. It’s from the nineties and I’ve wanted to play it forever but couldn’t find it for my Mac. I figured it out last night, finally.” Oh, what the hell. He wasn’t going to judge me. “I’m going to play it now.”

“Can I watch?”

“You want to watch me play a video game?”

“Why not? Don’t you watch your friends when they play?”

“My friends don’t play video games. They’re—”

“They’re not geeks.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Hey, I’m cool with being a geek. Now a nerd, that’s an entirely other thing.”

“There’s a difference between nerds and geeks?” Clearly. Because this guy didn’t look like a nerd.

“I think so.”

“Like what?”

“Well, social skills, for starters. Geeks have friends. Girl friends. We’re social. We don’t hide out in our house and play by ourselves.”

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

“I’d never call a woman like you a nerd. Besides, I get the feeling that you’re a closet geek, you just don’t know it yet.”

Those were fighting words. And yet, instead of getting mad, I’m inviting him in to watch me play. My brain is messed up.

A
lright. There’s something insane happening. I haven’t talked to Ingrid about it because, well, I don’t think she’d understand. It’s hard to explain anyhow. It’s Evan. I’ve never in my life met a guy like this. I think he’s attracted to me. He sure as hell made no attempt to be subtle when he complimented the dress I wore when we walked down to pick up some Indian food for supper Saturday evening. And he was quick to point out that he liked my hair down better than up yesterday when he came over to drop off some other games he thought I might like. And then he stayed until nearly ten when I said I needed to get to bed because I had to work in the morning.

Still, he didn’t make any move to hint that he’d like to stay. There was no sexual banter about going to bed. No almost kiss before he left the house. He’s not behaving the way any of my guy friends do. And he’s not acting like a guy who wants to sleep with me. I can’t figure it out.

All I know for certain is that I’ve had more fun in the past two days than I’ve had in a long, long time. Real fun. Not the sort where you reluctantly go along with someone’s idea of a great afternoon and then later admit that it was a good day. This was actual fun. As in we did things I wanted to do, and talked about things I found interesting. And the odd thing is, I think it was the same for him.

What’s not the same, I think, is that I feel as if I’ve met someone special. I know, I know. Two days. No kissing. I get it. But I can’t help it. This is why I can’t talk to anyone about it. Because it seems ridiculous. I know it’s probably because he’s cute, and smart, and nice and clearly has no interest in me as anything beyond a friend that I’ve deluded myself into this train of thought. But there it is.

You know what it’s like? It’s like this crush I had on Chris Power back in grade eight. Chris used to come over and we’d play Scrabble or Super Mario Brothers or just do our homework together. And then one day, Chris called and asked if he could come over. He had something important he wanted to talk to me about. I remember putting on the shell ring he’d bought for me when both of our families were on vacation in Florida and we’d met up at Disneyworld for the day. And what did Chris have to say that was so important?

“Hey, Jill. Do you think Ingrid would go to a movie with me? I’ve liked her ever since that party you had here last weekend.”

Yup. Not only was that the end of me and Chris, it was almost the end of me and Ingrid. Who thankfully realized that dating Chris Power wasn’t as important to her as the friendship we’d had since we met in violin lessons when we were four.

Something like that is bound to happen with Evan. It’s inevitable. I’m not flirting with him because I like hanging out with him too much to use my normal tricks. And he’s not flirting with me because, well, because he’s not.

Now it’s Monday and he’s supposed to call me with quotes on the house, and I’m checking my phone and my email obsessively.

There’s something wrong with me.

E
van’s great-aunt died and he’s gone around the bay for the funeral. That’s why I didn’t hear from him yesterday, other than an email with the quotes and a quick note to apologize for not calling me. Spotty cell service and a five-hour drive kinda made sure that wasn’t going to happen.

I did what any normal, new friend would do. I texted him a smiley face (yea, this from the girl who abhors emoticons) and said:

-Text me anytime you need a smile.-

Turns out there’s one area of the church where Great-Aunt Audrey is waking that has two bars of service. Those two bars are why I was up most of the night texting with him. He’s from some small little place where wakes are a serious business. Seems people sit with the body during the whole thing, and last night he and his brothers were keeping his mother company.