Talk Nerdy to Me Read online

  "We would be happy to give you our used cooking oil," Rose said. "If you want it, that is."

  "I definitely do. I have to admit I've been struggling with my veggie fuel. I still want to make it work, but used cooking oil might speed up the development phase, which might mean I could test the hovercraft that much sooner."

  "Then let us send you home with a supply," Myrtle said. "And you should both take off right now, so you can get to work."

  Rose glanced at her. "Myrtle, it's almost two in the morning. You can't expect them to work at this late hour."

  "Ah." Myrtle waved a dismissive hand. "At their age, they can stay up all night."

  Eve bit her hp to keep from laughing. She hoped, at least in Charlie's case, that was true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rick's cell phone woke him from a dream about purple spaceships and little green men. Sitting up in the bedroom he'd had as a kid, he turned on the Power Rangers lamp on the nightstand and grabbed his phone. It wasn't a programmed ring, so it could be anybody, even Eunice trying to coax him back for another round.

  Then he checked the number and immediately answered. God, when did the man sleep?

  "I've done some checking," Peterson said in his soft, smooth voice. "My sources tell me that Myrtle Bannister could hock everything she owns and it wouldn't raise enough to pay your debt to me."

  Rick's vocal cords tightened. "I know." His voice was too high, too clearly telegraphing fear. He cleared his throat. "I could see that immediately. That's why I have a different plan."

  "Oh, really? Then maybe you'd better tell me about it."

  He didn't want to be specific. A man like Peterson couldn't be trusted with the names of innocent people like Eve Dupree. So he described the plan in general terms.

  "You're making this up, aren't you?" Peterson said.

  "No, I swear I'm not!" Rick began to sweat. When he rubbed his hand over his chest, green paint came off.

  "Then give me a name. Who's building this crazy thing?"

  Reluctantly, Rick told him.

  "Sounds very unlikely, Mr. Bannister. Very unlikely. Can you prove any of this to me?"

  "I'll get pictures," Rick said. He'd need to do that anyway. He just hadn't wanted to carry his camera along the first time, when he'd had to break down the back door. But now he had a key.

  "Perhaps I'll go with you while you do that."

  "Go with me?" Rick struggled to breathe. "But you're in California!"

  "Coincidentally, I had some business in New York. Look out the window, Mr. Bannister."

  Rick stumbled to the window of his second-floor bedroom. In the street below idled a black Lincoln Towncar. Rick felt as if he might pass out.

  "Ready to take a little ride to Ms. Dupree's house?" Peterson said, his voice gentle.

  "You don't need to go," Rick said as spots danced before his eyes. "Really. I'm sure you could use some rest. I'll take care of it."

  "I'm not so sure you will. I'm losing my faith in you, Mr. Bannister. And as you know, that can have serious consequences." Then Peterson laughed softly. "I'd advise you to be down here in five minutes." Then he hung up.

  Charlie drove with exquisite care on the way back to Eve's house. Eve held on to him with one arm while she used the other to balance a small covered trash can full of cooking oil on her knee. It was a precarious arrangement, and for the first time since owning the bike Charlie questioned whether a car might not be a smarter option.

  For all these years the bike had served as a reminder of the freedom he would have someday. He'd ridden in every kind of weather and never minded a bit. But it wasn't the safest mode of transportation for Eve, especially when she was trying to hold on to a couple of gallons of cooking oil.

  He'd had no choice tonight, though. He couldn't very well switch vehicles and ask his mother and Aunt Myrtle to take his bike. Besides, Manny and Kyle needed a ride back to his aunt's house.

  Charlie wondered if the cooking oil had changed any of Eve's plans for the rest of the night. She'd been handed a new option to fool with, and she might want to begin experimenting right away. Someone with a genius mentality like Eve's could very well get locked onto an idea and not allow herself to be distracted by something like, say, sex.

  He was eager to find out how the cooking oil worked, too. But not so eager that he'd sacrifice the original plan, the leather chaps plan. He was no genius, but for the moment he seemed to have a one-track mind, too. With luck he and Eve weren't chugging along on entirely different tracks.

  Once they got to her place and unloaded the cooking oil, he'd tell her that he was going to take a couple of vacation days from work. Maybe if she knew that she'd have him around to help the rest of this week, she wouldn't feel so desperate to begin working on the new fuel option right this minute. He hoped she'd look at it that way, because in his current condition he didn't know how well he'd be able to concentrate on the hovercraft.

  Slowing the bike at her driveway, he made a gentle arc as he glided in and parked beside her Civic Hybrid. After turning off the engine, he held the bike steady while Eve climbed off and set the can of cooking oil on the icy driveway.

  She reached in her pocket, pulled out her keys, and beeped open the passenger door of her car. "Let's put your bike in the garage." She leaned in and activated the garage door opener clipped to the sun visor.

  "Uh ... okay." He watched the door rumble upward and estimated the available room in the garage. "But won't my bike be in the way?"

  She turned back to him, looking extremely cute in his spare helmet with the clear face guard flipped up. "In the way of what?"

  "Well, we'll need the space when we work on the ..." His heart began to pound. "We're not going to work on the hovercraft, are we?"

  She took off the helmet and then untied the red bandanna she'd been wearing at the bakery. She tucked the bandanna in her coat pocket. "That depends. What would you rather do?"

  Obviously she had no clue as to the degree of lust that permeated his entire body. "I—"

  "I mean, you can leave your bike out here if you want." She stood there looking uncertain. "I just thought, considering that some people in this neighborhood get up early, that you should—"

  "You bet." Charlie started up the bike and drove into the garage so fast he almost knocked over the can of cooking oil on his way by. As he dismounted, the garage door thumped down behind him. Anal retentive geek that he was, he wasted a couple of seconds wondering if she'd remembered to lock her car and bring the cooking oil inside.

  But then he turned around and there she was, walking toward him with that runway stride, unzipping her coat on the way. So the cooking oil would freeze and the car would be stolen. Who the hell cared? Laying his helmet on the seat of his bike, he reached for her. "Let me help with that."

  With a lazy smile, she moved sideways, out of reach. "You handle yours and I'll handle mine." She opened the kitchen door and walked inside. "I'll meet you in the bedroom. Oh, and bring your chaps."

  Charlie gulped. When he'd fantasized this scene, he hadn't imagined how he'd get from point A, him fully dressed, to point B, walking into her bedroom wearing only his chaps and an erection. He couldn't do that any more than he could pose nude for an art class.

  But he wanted to get to the part where he had sex with Eve while wearing his chaps. She'd fired up his imagination with the idea, and he wasn't about to wimp out when the opportunity was presented. He just had to work out how he'd accomplish this maneuver with some class.

  By now she had time to walk all the way through her house, possibly stripping as she went. The thought of that sent a jolt of electricity through him, propelling him through the kitchen doorway. He locked the door behind him.

  Once he was inside he could hear the music she'd chosen for round two. No smoky jazz this time. Instead she'd decided on something a little faster, with a syncopated beat.

  Charlie reacted to that beat by getting hard. Well, now, maybe he could sashay into her bedroom
wearing the chaps, after all. Then again, maybe not. Every time he pictured doing it he started to sweat. Besides, she'd asked him to bring his chaps. She hadn't said he should wear his chaps.

  In that case, how should he arrive? She was the expert at making an entrance. It might not have occurred to her that everyone wasn't used to parading around in a costume.

  Most people put on clothes and took off clothes as a practical consideration. It wasn't considered performance art.

  Oy. Maybe he should begin by taking things off and finding out when he'd hit his comfort level. He could certainly ditch the leather jacket. He hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  Logically he'd have to take the chaps off in order to put them on again. Unbuckling them, he laid them over another kitchen chair. The boots could go, too. He sat in the chair, moving gingerly because his jeans were getting tighter the longer he listened to that rhythmic beat.

  After pulling off his boots, he set them side by side on the floor. The socks also could be eliminated. For sure he wasn't going in there wearing socks. He tacked a sock in each boot.

  Then he looked at the scene he'd created—his jacket hanging neatly on one chair, his chaps on the other, his boots lined up on the floor and a sock carefully tacked inside. Unfortunately, none of this indicated a man who made love with his chaps on. This indicated a man who'd been president of his high school chapter of the National Honor Society.

  But this time he'd overcome his natural inclinations, damn it! Standing, he wrenched his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoned it and took it off. Instead of draping it neatly over another chair, he balled it up and threw it in the corner. It landed on top of the converter and he resisted the urge to move it.

  He would be wild and crazy, by God! His T-shirt sailed into the other corner and landed on the floor. Now he was getting into the swing of things. With a flourish he undipped his cell phone from his jeans pocket and lobbed it into one of his boots. Two points.

  Then he reached for the metal button at the waistband of his jeans. As he was undoing it, he remembered two things. Once the jeans were gone he was down to his briefs. Walking into Eve's bedroom wearing only his briefs and a hard-on was only marginally better than making his entrance in the chaps.

  The second thing he remembered were the two condoms still in the pocket of his jeans. He'd carried them all the way to the bakery and back. And he'd be needing at least one of them shortly.

  So it was decided. He'd go in there wearing his jeans and his briefs. He'd carry the chaps. Somehow, in the course of events, he'd get rid of the jeans and briefs and put on the chaps. Or maybe she'd help. There was an encouraging thought.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up his chaps and started toward her bedroom. He hoped he hadn't taken so long to get down there that she'd given up on him and fallen asleep.

  Eve had made a bet with herself as to whether Charlie would follow through with the chaps. She'd kept to her part of the bargain. She was lying naked in her round bed under her custom-made, fluffy round comforter.

  Before coming in here she'd darted into the bathroom and snagged a couple more condoms, in case Charlie had left his jeans in the kitchen. She didn't think he'd forget that item, but it didn't hurt to have backup. Then she'd stripped down and crawled under her comforter.

  And waited. Talk about torture. Now that she knew how expertly Charlie used his equipment, she wanted more of that, the sooner the better. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned the chaps fantasy. Charlie might be struggling with that part of the plan.

  Well, of course he was. In order for him to walk in here wearing only his chaps, he'd need a personality transplant.

  She should know. The only way she managed that long walk down the runway during fashion shows was to leave her glasses behind. The audience became an indistinct backdrop that she could ignore.

  Once Charlie got into this, he wouldn't be wearing his glasses. That might help. What she had in mind was mostly about sensation, anyway. Mostly. She had her glasses on, in case he really did walk in dressed in only the black leather chaps. A girl couldn't be expected to let that pass in a blur of nearsightedness.

  She watched the doorway with such intensity that she must have fallen into a semi-trance. When Charlie actually appeared, she blinked to make sure she hadn't imagined him there. But no, he was standing in her bedroom doorway, naked from the waist up and the ankles down.

  He wasn't wearing the chaps, but he was holding them in one hand. Seeing them made her shiver in anticipation. She was also gratified to discover that Charlie had nice pecs, for an engineer. Correction. He had nice pecs, period.

  And after spending most of her adult life looking at men who shaved their chests for the camera, she enjoyed seeing a growth of healthy hair. It added interest to the scenery, plus there was that fascinating line of hair that blazed a trail down under the waistband of his jeans. The top button was undone, and she wondered what that was all about. Maybe that was where he'd lost his nerve.

  All in all, he'd done well, though. He was gazing at her with obvious hunger, and a telltale bulge behind his fly told her he was interested in what lay under the fluffy quilt. But he looked nervous, too.

  "I'm glad to see you," she said. Her voice quivered a little. That's when she acknowledged that she was nervous, too. Their first encounter had been spectacular. What if that had been a fluke? She might not have Charlie for very long, but she wanted the short time they would share to be memorable.

  "Eve, I don't..." He looked at the chaps in his hand. "I don't know what to do next. I'm good at fixing things, but I'm not good at... sexy stuff."

  She thought he could be very good, sinfully good, if she could loosen him up a little. But he couldn't do much of anything while he was clutching those chaps like a lifeline. "You could put those on my dressing table."

  He glanced doubtfully at the table that held her makeup supplies, a hairbrush, styling gel, and a blow dryer.

  "It's fine. Right on top of that stuff."

  He laid them carefully on the table, creating one of those contrasts she liked so much—girly paraphernalia and black leather motorcycle chaps. Contrasts turned her on. She didn't need the added stimulation with Charlie in the building, but she wasn't objecting to a few extra thrills.

  And now she was going to lower his anxiety level. She knew from experience how this could take the edge off. "You can leave your glasses on the table too if you want. So you can find them later."

  He nodded, took off his glasses, and put them on the corner of the table.

  "So, Charlie ..." She moistened her dry lips. "How about taking off the rest of your clothes?" She hadn't gotten a good view of his package earlier tonight. She'd only felt the glory of what it could do.

  He reached for the zipper on his jeans. "You know that book you had on drawing nudes?"

  "Yes." She was impressed that he'd remembered that, with all the clutter he'd found on top of her washing machine. But he probably remembered everything.

  "Did you ever have a live model?" he asked.

  "No." She couldn't believe Charlie was offering to do that, but stranger things had happened. "I didn't take a class. I just bought the book. Why? Do you want to pose for me?"

  "God, no!" He stepped out of his jeans. "I'd rather rewire the Eiffel Tower!"

  And speaking of phallic symbols ... her breath caught at the sizable tent and flagpole effect he had going on. The rest of him was damned good to look at, too. She supposed he didn't think much about his body because he lived in his mind, but he'd been gifted with a statue-worthy build. A different kind of man would have capitalized on that gift and spent hours in a gym to enhance that physique.

  But Charlie wasn't that kind of man. Eve guessed that he took his body for granted and if he thought about it at all, he was simply grateful that all systems worked okay. As an engineer, he might admire the delicate wiring and connectors, but she couldn't imagine him standing in front of a mirror for any length of time.

&nbs
p; As for her, she could look at him forever. The briefs were the only thing standing between her and an excellent view. If she ever wanted to draw a nude male, she couldn't do any better than Charlie.

  "One last thing," she murmured.

  He took off the briefs.

  Oh, yes. He was proudly, classically erect. Sights like this were what guaranteed the continuation of the species. Eve was ready to propagate, be fruitful and multiply, celebrate the glorious difference in the genders.

  For a little while she allowed herself to hate the builders of Hoover Dam. Mentally Charlie was perfect for her, and now she'd discovered that he was sexual eye candy, besides. What a joke on her. She'd found exactly what she'd been looking for, and he could hardly wait to move on to those giant turbines.

  But he wouldn't be leaving tonight. And he'd brought his chaps. She had a feeling that she'd have to coax him into those, but she accepted the challenge. Victory would be well worth it.

  She eased back the comforter. "Would you ... bring the chaps over here, please?"

  He squinted slightly, obviously eager to see her better. "You're even gorgeous out of focus." He turned back to the dressing table. "Maybe I should get my glasses."

  "You'll have more fun without them."

  He paused. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, for one thing, they'll get in the way during . . . certain things." She was thinking specifically of oral sex. She hoped he was thinking of it, too. But first she really wanted her chaps experience.

  "Um, you're—" He coughed. "You're right."

  She would bet he'd gotten her message. "Here. I'll take mine off, too. Now, all that's left is for you to bring over the chaps." She was sure, once she eased him over the embarrassment hurdle, he'd get into it.

  He started to pick them up. Then he stopped and turned to her. "It feels kind of silly, Eve. I've never had them on when I wasn't wearing anything, and definitely not when I'm ..."

  "Aroused?"

  "Yeah."

  She tried to put herself in his place. She'd been desensitized to the limelight fairly early, but her shyness had never gone away totally. Taking off her glasses before a fashion show helped, but even then she got butterflies. That was when she'd start estimating the wattage of the footlights and calculating the square footage of the runway.