Talk Nerdy to Me (Nerds, #5)(3)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

Lifting the rack, she glanced at him. "Got a quarter?"

"Yeah, but there’s no jukebox here. Archie decided that—"

"We need a quarter to toss so we can see who breaks."

"Oh." He was losing it fast. He’d been worried that she’d been affected by the explosion, but obviously she was functioning just fine. He was the one acting as if he’d taken a blow to the head. At this rate he’d be lucky to remember which end of the cue stick to use.

"Yeah, I have a quarter," he said. Digging in his pocket, he produced one and held it over the table as he bounced it in his palm. With the way his reflexes felt, he didn’t trust himself to catch it, so he’d let it land on the table. "Your call."

"Tails."

The quarter dropped tail side up on the green felt. "Tails. Your break."

"Okey-doke." She leaned his stick carefully against the cue rack and pulled out a house cue for the break.

Could this woman be any more perfect? On top of her X-rated mouth, intelligent eyes, and sexy fingers, she understood that you didn’t use a custom cue for the break. He had to hope that she wasn’t interested in him, because if she had even a smidgen of attraction going on, his plan to move to Nevada was in serious jeopardy.

As she lined up for the break, he stood at the opposite end of the table staring like a love-struck fool. She handled that stick like a pro, but it was the wiggle in her butt as she concentrated on the cue ball that made his equipment twitch. The break came fast and furious, scattering balls to every corner of the table and dropping two solids.

"Nice break," he said. He would call it a spectacular break, but she might think he was patronizing her.

"Thanks." She retrieved his cue, adjusted her glasses, and lined up for another shot.

It was a fairly easy one, so he wasn’t too worried when she made it. But when she executed a complicated combination, he began to wonder if he’d fall without firing a shot. She could run the table.

If he’d thought he’d beat her and get the answer to his explosion question, he had another think coming. He was more likely to get his ass whipped. Reaching for his beer, he took a couple of fortifying swallows. In the process he happened to glance over at the bar and noticed Archie leaning on it watching with a big smile on his face.

Suddenly Charlie had a horrible thought. Archie was old enough to be Eve’s father, but he’d never let little details like that stop him. As much as Charlie loved Archie, he didn’t love the idea of Archie putting the moves on Eve. Charlie had seen her first, dammit. But Charlie was going to Nevada. Wasn’t he?

He became so absorbed in thinking about leaving town right when he’d discovered the perfect woman that he didn’t notice that Eve had stopped shooting. And wonder of wonders, she still had one ball on the table. It wasn’t all over.

"Your turn," she said, walking over to retrieve her beer.

Brushing away the unwelcome thought that she might have missed on purpose to make him feel better, he put down his beer and evaluated the situation to see if he could still save himself. He might have a chance if he planned his shots carefully and didn’t look at her while she sipped from that Sam Adams bottle.

Her mouth should come with a warning label. One glance and several suggestive thoughts popped into his head. Worse yet, those knowing eyes of hers seemed to be reading his mind. No doubt she could easily spot the lust in his expression after years of having men drool over her.

But because he was interested in her brain, not to mention her ability to play pool, he liked to think his interest was different, more intellectual, more discerning. Yeah, right. That’s why he was gazing at her mouth and dreaming about bl*w j*bs. He was the soul of subtle.

With great effort he focused on the balls on the table and told the ones in his pants to cool down so he could concentrate. Nothing good could come from muffing his first shot. A guy with his own pool cue and a habit of practicing every afternoon after work had better come up with the goods.

Fortunately he managed to knock something in, and the technique wasn’t half-bad, either. He’d put a satisfying amount of backspin on the cue ball so that it lined up perfectly for his next move.

"Nice screw shot," she said.

"Thanks." He should have guessed she’d know what to call it. Now if only that particular word coming out of her mouth hadn’t given him a boner, everything would be ducky.

"You’re good," she said. "You have a nice steady rhythm."

Oh, man. Since when had everything turned into a sexual reference? "Thanks," he said again, and swallowed a groan of frustration.

"I can see why Archie thought I should get a handicap."

"I’m the one who needs the handicap." And he had a doozy pressing against the fly of his jeans.

"Nah. You’re doing great."

"I will be if I don’t give you any more shots." He pictured how deflated he’d feel if he lost, and that helped his buddy deflate some, too. He knocked in one ball, then managed to sink another. Finally he had a groove going, until he hit a ball too hard because he was showing off. Instead of sliding into the pocket, the ball bounced off the rail. Well, at least he’d blocked her shot.

She put down her beer and wiped her hands on her overalls before she picked up his cue stick. He really liked that she was so careful with it. Then she did the stroking thing, caressing the shaft of his stick, and he was in trouble again.

"I really love your stick," she said.

He almost choked. He managed to say thanks, although he sounded like the Godfather.

"However, I’m not going to use your stick for this one." She walked over to the wall rack and leaned his pool cue carefully against one of the prongs.

Her walk was getting to him too, he realized. Made sense. She walked for a living, prowling down runways while wearing the latest fashion. She was paid to look sexy doing it, and by now her walk was probably ingrained and unconscious. But he was extremely conscious … of every sway of her hips, every nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

She wasn’t particularly chesty, or at least she didn’t seem to be. Hard to tell in the bulky pink sweater and overalls. But chances were she wasn’t hugely endowed because most models weren’t. That should mean Archie wasn’t interested, yet he was still leaning on the bar looking quite interested.

As for Charlie, he didn’t care whether a woman was stacked or not. He was intrigued with how they moved, which might have something to do with his engineering background. Eve moved with smooth precision, all parts synchronized. That worked for Charlie.

"I’ll try this one." Eve took down the jump cue.

Charlie’s eyes widened. Was she seriously expecting to go over or around his ball? He’d practiced both the swerve and the jump, but he didn’t feel confident about either of those shots. If she did … then she was way out of his league.

Sure enough, she lifted the butt end of that jump cue and came down on the cue ball with the stroke of an expert.

Charlie let out a low whistle as the cue ball traced a semicircle around his ball, hit her ball, and drove it into the side pocket. "Where the hell did you learn how to play pool like that?"

"From my dad. He was a hotshot bar player back in the seventies."

"I’ll just bet he was." Charlie watched as the inevitable happened and Eve dropped the eight ball neatly into the corner pocket. He didn’t like losing, but at least he’d lost to a worthy opponent. "Congratulations."

She smiled at him as she returned his custom cue to the rack. "Thanks."

He hung on to the house stick. "So much for me getting that explanation, though. How about best two out of three?"

"I might beat you again."

He certainly believed that. "Then we can move on to best three out of five. Who knows, I could get lucky." Then he heard himself. "At pool. Lucky at pool."

"I knew that’s what you meant." She gazed at him. "But it might not work, you know."

His hopes faded. "And you don’t feel like hanging around."

"Well, yes, I do. But you don’t have to beat me at pool to get an explanation. I—"

The front door of the tavern opened with a loud bang and three men came in, laughing and joking as they stomped snow off their shoes.

At first Charlie was irritated by the intrusion. Talk about your lousy timing. Then he took a closer look at the men. No. Couldn’t be. But it was. In the lead was none other than his cousin Rick, who was supposed to be in L.A.

Charlie hadn’t seen Rick in more than a year, but he hadn’t changed much. He was still tanned and fit, his brown hair streaked either by the sun or a hairdresser. Rick would never say which. In any case, the sun was beginning to trace crow’s-feet around Rick’s lady-killer brown eyes. Still, the guy looked good. He always had.

"Surprise!" Rick grabbed Charlie’s hand, pulled him into a quick hug and turned him loose. "Bet you didn’t expect to see me walk through that door, today, cuz!"

"Nope, sure didn’t. I pictured you lying on the beach at Malibu next to Heidi Klum." Charlie battled the conflicting emotions he always felt when Rick was around. Charlie was only two months older, so they’d grown up like brothers, alternating between loyal friendship and bitter rivalry. Back when they were teenagers, Rick always got the girls and Charlie always got the grades.

"Lying on the beach?" Rick laughed. "Don’t I wish! Instead I have to scout out a location for a winter fashion spread."

"Does anyone know you’re in town?" Charlie was aware of Eve standing back by the pool table. Soon common courtesy would dictate that he bring her into the conversation, and he didn’t want to. Rick would change the dynamic.

"I stopped at the bakery," Rick said. "Mom and Aunt Rose told me you’d be over here. Listen, we have to talk about that bakery, man. But first, let me introduce you to my assistants. This here’s Manny Flores and the short dude is Kyle Harrington."

Charlie shook hands with each of them. Manny was tall and rangy, a mix of Hispanic and Anglo, while Kyle was short and compact, a Doug Flutie type who looked as if he would be quick on his feet. Rick must be doing well if he had two assistants trailing him around.

And now Charlie was obliged to introduce Eve. "This is Eve Dupree," he said. "Eve, this is my cousin Rick Bannister."

As Eve came forward, Rick flashed his very white smile. "Eve? I thought it looked like you! We did that Chico’s shoot together at Dana Point about four, maybe five years ago. Yeah, I think it was five, come to think of it. Time flies, and all that."

Charlie sighed. It figured that Rick would know her, which gave him an even bigger advantage. Charlie took some comfort in the fact that Eve’s face didn’t light up right away, though.

Instead she gazed thoughtfully at Rick as if trying to pin down the occasion. "Was that the time we got rained out and all ended up in a little bar drinking wine for two hours?"

‘That’s it." Rick stepped forward and held out his hand. "It’s great to see you again. Small world, huh?"

"Sure is." Eve shook his hand. Then Rick repeated the introduction of his two assistants, and Eve shook their hands, too.

Obviously Rick was damned proud of those assistants, since he kept introducing them every five minutes. Charlie had to admit it was impressive, traveling with a retinue. Strangely enough, Eve didn’t seem all that impressed. She acted hesitant, almost wary of Rick.

Charlie hoped that wasn’t because they’d had a thing going on during that Dana Point shoot. Rick was famous for getting horizontal with the models. Charlie didn’t want to believe Eve had been one of Rick’s conquests.

"You know what I remember from that time we spent in the bar?" Rick said.

Charlie didn’t think he wanted to hear this.

"Heaven knows." Eve laughed nervously. "After two glasses of wine, no telling what I might have said."

Now Charlie really didn’t want to hear it.

"You got very serious," Rick said. "And then you told me that you felt as if modeling were a waste of your life. You said if you ever had the time and the space, you’d create a laboratory and invent a manned hovercraft that ran on veggie scraps. I never forgot that. What a concept."

Charlie stared at Eve. Judging from her red face, he knew what had caused the explosion in her garage. So Rick had heard all about it five years ago. Charlie’s jaw clenched. Some things never changed. When it came to women, Rick was ahead of the game every damned time. And Charlie was sick of playing second fiddle.

Chapter Three

Well, shit. The minute Eve had figured out who Puck was, she’d remembered that conversation they’d had over wine all those years ago. She wasn’t in the habit of talking about her dreams and schemes, but that day she’d been frustrated by the delays in the shooting schedule and had seriously begun to question whether she was throwing her life away just because the money was good.

Somewhere into the second glass of wine she’d started talking to Rick about her idea for a hovercraft. She’d thought about that conversation several times in the years since. Turned out it had germinated and flowered into a viable life plan. Breaking up with Lyle had been the first step in getting back to something she loved.

She didn’t regret that talk with Rick because it had started her thinking again after several years of being mentally asleep. At the time he’d seemed like a safe person to confide in, someone who lived on the other side of the country, someone who didn’t know she’d flunked out of high school and wasn’t considered particularly bright by her family. He hadn’t laughed when she’d suggested that powering the hovercraft with veggie fuel could make a real contribution toward solving the world’s oil crisis.

But she wished Rick hadn’t shown up and exposed her secret just now. Charlie, a guy she was becoming increasingly fond of, didn’t look happy about that, not happy at all. She didn’t blame him. She should have told him sooner, before he’d had to find out this way.

She’d also rather not discuss it while they all stood in the middle of this very public tavern. A quick glance at the bar told her that Archie had gone in the back and probably hadn’t heard Rick mention the hovercraft. But Manny and Kyle were all ears.