Nerdy (Unexpected Lovers, #2) - J.B. Heller
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