The Geek and The Goddess Page 13

  "Nothing. Now let's go." I start to pedal us forward but then he pedals us backward so we end up not going anywhere.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "We're going to stay here until you talk."

  "I have nothing to say."

  "You do, you just won't tell me what it is."

  "Why are you pushing this?" I ask, getting angry.

  "Because I can't understand why telling you you have beautiful eyes would upset you. I love your eyes and I plan to keep telling you how beautiful they are but that's going to be a problem if you keep getting upset every time I tell you that."

  "Then stop telling me."

  "I can't."

  I huff. "You can't stop telling me I have beautiful eyes? That doesn't even make sense."

  "And it doesn't make sense for you to get mad when someone tells you you have beautiful eyes."

  I sigh. "Are we seriously going to sit here all day and debate this?"

  He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. "Could be longer than a day, depending on how stubborn you are."

  "I'M stubborn? You're the one pushing this. I'm trying to move past it."

  "Only so you don't have to talk about it. So what's it going to be? Talk, or sit here in silence until the paddleboat guy kicks us out?"

  "There's nothing to say so I guess we'll just sit here in silence."

  I'm so annoyed with him. Why can't he just let it go?

  Yanking the bag of cucumbers off the floor of the boat, I turn my back to him and pull out a cucumber and chomp on it. For some reason, eating crunchy foods when I'm angry helps calm me down. I usually go for baby carrots but since I don't have those, cucumbers will have to do.

  "Carrots work better," he says.

  Are you kidding me? He's even reading my mind about the carrots? How does he do it?

  Keeping my back to him, I say, "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "When my mom gets mad, she chomps on raw carrots. She said it helps her relax. I assume that's why you're chomping on those cucumbers like you're trying to kill them."

  "They're not alive so it's not possible to kill them. And you really should stop assuming things about me. Maybe I was just hungry."

  "Are you? Hungry?"

  "Kind of."

  "I have other food in here." I hear the paper sack crinkling as he opens it. "You want a candy bar? A piece of fruit? Crackers?"

  "No!" I yell, getting more and more annoyed. "I just want the cucumbers."

  "Okay, seriously, what's going on here?"

  I'm not telling him so he just needs to drop it. If he wants us to go out again, he needs to stop pushing me to explain myself. Or maybe it's best if we just don't date. That would make things easier. But also harder. Because I really like him. And I want to date him. This is the first time in over a year I've actually felt excited about something. Except that something is a someone who's being really annoying at the moment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I ignore Wes and keep chomping.

  He reaches over and takes the cucumber bag from me.

  "Hey!" I try to grab the bag but he puts it behind his back.

  "Tell me," he says.

  I narrow my eyes at him. "You're being ridiculous."

  "And you're being stubborn. We can't be best friends if you won't talk to me."

  "I already have a best friend. I don't need another one."

  "Sure you do. Stella spends most of her time with Sam, which means you need a best friend when she's not around."

  "Actually, I don't. I could call her anytime, even if she's out with Sam, and she'll still talk to me about whatever I want to talk about."

  "Then I'll be your best guy friend. And hopefully more than that."

  "Why would you want to be my best friend? You just met me. And I'm a girl."

  "First of all, being a girl doesn't mean we can't be friends. And second, I've known you for a week, and in that week, it's become very clear we should be friends."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because you get me. And I get you."

  " 'Get' as in we understand each other?"

  "Yes. Like you said, I practically read your mind. And that's not because I read minds. It's because I understand you. I don't really know why. I can't explain it. It's just one of those things where you meet someone and it feels like you've met them before. Like maybe in another life or another dimension."

  I laugh. "You believe in other dimensions?"

  "Definitely."

  "And past lives?"

  He shrugs. "I'm not ruling it out."

  "And you think we might have crossed paths in one of those lives?"

  "It's possible. It's either that or we just connect for a reason that can't be explained."

  "That all sounds great but I have to admit, I don't understand you the way you think you understand me."

  "That's not true."

  "Yeah, it is."

  He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, putting himself closer to me. "All last week, I put on this nerd act to see how people would treat me. Technically, I am a nerd but not the type of nerd that wears bow-ties and taped glasses. I'm just smart and like learning stuff. You were one of the few people who understood that. You didn't reject me because of how I looked. In fact, I think you even found it kind of sexy."

  I roll my eyes. "Not really."

  He laughs. "I'm just kidding. If I were to guess, I'd say you liked my confidence and the fact that I didn't let the way people treated me bother me. And I think you liked the fact that I listened to you and made an effort to get to know you, despite you trying to get me to leave you alone."

  He's right, about all of it.

  "The point is," he says, "you get me, and I get you. But I'd get you even more if you'd talk to me and let me know why what I said bothered you. I would never intentionally say anything to hurt you or make you feel bad. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do, which is why I'm pushing so hard for you to tell me what's wrong. Because whatever it is, I don't want to do it again."

  I take a deep breath. "You didn't do anything, at least not intentionally. I'm just sensitive when it comes to..."

  "To what?"

  How do I explain this? I can't tell him the truth, but I need to say something he'll believe.

  "Blindness," I say.

  "Blindness?" he asks. "I don't get it. What did I say about blindness?"

  "You asked if I was blind because I didn't think my eyes were beautiful."

  "It's just a saying. I didn't mean you're actually blind. I mean, obviously you're not blind. You don't even need glasses."

  "I don't like it when people use that saying."

  "Okay," he says cautiously. "But can you tell me why it bothers you?"

  Crap. What do I say?

  "My parents."

  "What about them?"

  "My parents are blind."

  "They are?" he asks, confused.

  "Not the parents you met. My real parents."

  "You were adopted?"

  "Yeah, as an infant. My parents gave me up because they're blind and didn't think they could take care of me."

  It's not true but it's the only thing I could think of to say. I actually know nothing about my birth parents, except that I inherited this eye condition from them, which means one or both of them has the same condition. For all I know, they're blind and that really is the reason why they gave me up. But if that's true, then it means they lost their vision when they were young, and if that's the case, then the same thing could happen to me. That's something I don't want to think about, and yet I've thought about it nonstop since getting my diagnosis.

  "Were they always blind?" Wes asks. "Or do you not know?"

  If I told him the truth, this date would end right now. He's not going to date a girl who could wake up one day and be blind. Just knowing that's possible is too much for a guy his age to handle. It's too much for ME to handle.

  "I don't know. The adoption agen
cy didn't tell us much."

  It's true, but it's not because the adoption agency wasn't open with us. It's because my birth parents didn't tell them anything. They had to have known about their eye disorder and yet they didn't tell the adoption agency. They probably thought nobody would want me if they knew that their seemingly perfect little baby would one day grow up and lose her vision. That's too big a burden for some people, so my birth parents left that part out.

  Last year, when I got my diagnosis, I immediately hated my birth parents. I don't know them, never met them, but I still hated them. If they'd been honest with the adoption agency, I would've grown up knowing what I was in for instead of getting the news in my teen years, when life is already hard enough.

  My mom tells me it's a blessing I didn't know sooner because it gave me a normal childhood, free of worrying about the future. But I disagree. I would've wanted to know. It wasn't fair for my birth parents to keep that from me.

  "Have you ever wanted to find them?" Wes asks.

  "I've thought about it but then decided I'd rather not."

  "I don't know if I would either if it were me. It's hard to say. Every situation is different." He pauses. "Does it bother you? That they gave you up?"

  No one's ever asked me that. Not my parents. Not Stella. Everyone tries to ignore the fact that I was adopted, but sometimes I wish they wouldn't. Sometimes I wish they'd ask me about it so I wouldn't have to hold all those thoughts and feelings inside. They think it's best not to ask, but sometimes I feel lonely when they don't, like I have no one to talk to about it.

  I'm surprised Wes would ask such a personal question but I'm learning that's just who he is. He says what he thinks and asks the questions others don't ask.

  "I don't really think about it," I say. "My parents are great so there's really no reason to think about the parents who gave me up."

  "But you still do."

  I nod. "Yeah. Sometimes. And..." I pause, not sure I'm ready to admit this. "It does bother me. It bothers me they gave me up. I know it shouldn't all these years later but sometimes I wish..."

  "You wish you knew more. Like if they ever regretted it. Or if they still think about you. Or if they ever had other kids, and kept them."

  I stare at him. "How'd you know all that? I swear you can read minds."

  "It's not that. It's just that those are the questions I would have if it were me." He smiles. "Or maybe it's that former life thing again. We probably already had this discussion sometime in the 1800's."

  I smile. "Yeah. I'm sure that's it. What else did we do back then?"

  "You were there. You should already know."

  "I forgot. I don't have the greatest memory of past lives."

  He grins. "Do you want me to refresh your memory?"

  "Okay."

  His hand cups the side of my face as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. My heart immediately soars, like it did when he kissed me at the party and again at the car.

  What started as an innocent kiss quickly becomes much hotter, his tongue sliding over mine, his hand gently threading through my hair. I love the way he kisses me. I've never been this into a kiss with a guy, but then again, I've never been this attracted to a guy.

  I lean back in my seat and feel him moving in an attempt to get closer. There's a partition between us that makes it difficult for Wes to reach me but he seems to have found a way to make it work because I feel his hand slide down the side of my body, landing on my waist as he continues to kiss me.

  Sensations are fluttering through every part of me, like little twinkling lights sparking feelings in places I didn't know could feel that way.

  His thumb and some of his fingers find their way under the fabric of my shirt, moving slowly, back and forth over my skin. It feels amazing, especially when combined with his kisses.

  After an incredible few minutes, he stops and rests his forehead against mine.

  "Wow," he mutters, then takes a breath. "That could be trouble."

  "What could be trouble?"

  "Kissing you," he says, backing away.

  "Why is that trouble?"

  "Because it was so freakin' good I forgot where we were for a minute. That could be trouble."

  "Why?" I ask in a teasing tone.

  "Because I almost put my hands where they shouldn't go when we're in public."

  "Where were you going to put them?"

  He smiles. "Wherever you'd let me."

  That both panics and excites me. I want him to put his hands in those places but it also makes me a little nervous because I've never been touched like that before. I feel like I have to tell him that in case things go farther later and I have to tell him to stop.

  "You should know that I'm um...well, I haven't really dated much. And on the few dates I've been on, I didn't really do much other than kiss. I wasn't ready. I'm not even sure if I'm ready now."

  "Luna." He holds my hand. "I'd never push you to do anything you're not ready for. If you're ever uncomfortable just tell me."

  I nod, feeling embarrassed I had to admit that.

  "Were you okay with what we did just now?"

  "More than okay." I peer up at him. "I liked it."

  "Would you like to do more?"

  "Like what?"

  He runs his fingers over the lower part of my thigh just below the hem of my denim skirt, then down to my ankle and back up. It feels amazing. So amazing that I melt back into my seat and my eyes fall shut. He's just touching my skin, stopping before he reaches my skirt, and yet I'm so turned on I can barely stand it.

  I feel his warm breath by my ear. "Is this okay?"

  "Yeah," I breathe out.

  His fingers continue their slow and steady path up and down the front of my leg, then they shift to the inside of my leg and I nearly lose it. I arch back, eyes still closed, and take in all the sensations flooding my body.

  "Still okay?" he asks by my ear.

  I nod, unable to respond any other way. Holy crap, this feels good. Now I get why Stella spends so much time with Sam. If you really like a guy and he knows what he's doing, his touch can be addicting.

  Wes' hand leaves my leg and my eyes open, searching for where he went. I see him sitting back in his seat.

  No! Don't go! my body is screaming.

  "Some people are headed this way," he says.

  I look and see a paddleboat coming toward us. It's still a ways off but I'm glad he noticed it. I wouldn't have wanted them catching us making out.

  "You want to check out more of the lake?" he asks.

  "Sure."

  We paddle away from our little private alcove. I wish those people hadn't interrupted us. I was loving what Wes was doing and didn't want him to stop.

  When I look over at him, I notice the bulge straining the front of his pants. He's just as turned on as I am, which makes me laugh. At least I'm able to hide my arousal. He's not.

  "What's so funny?" he asks.

  "You seem to have a..." I glance down at his pants. "Those seem a little tight."

  He smiles, not at all embarrassed. "It happens."

  "Like all the time?"

  He chuckles. "When I was 13? Yes. Now? I'm better able to control it. But not when I'm kissing a beautiful girl." He glances at me. "Or touching her."

  A sizzling heat rips through me. Maybe it's the way he said it or the images that popped in my head. Either way, I need to shut it down. I'm not ready to go all the way with a guy and won't be for a long time. It makes me wonder how far Wes has gone with a girl.

  "So um..." I focus on my feet and the movement of the pedals as they go around. "You never told me about your experience."

  "In regards to what?"

  "Dating. Girls."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Have you ever...you know..."

  "Had sex?"

  "Yeah." I keep my eyes on the pedals.

  "I have," he says simply.

  "Like a lot?" I feel my face heating up. Why did I ask th
at? That's way too personal but I still want the answer.

  "Do you mean a lot of times or a lot of girls?"

  "Either. Both."

  "Times? Yes, but that's relative depending on who you ask. A lot to one person isn't a lot to another. As for girls, there've been two."

  "One was your ex-girlfriend," I say, hoping he'll finish my thought by telling me who the other girl was.

  "Yeah, and the other was a girl I dated last summer right after I moved here. We didn't date long enough for me to consider her a girlfriend."

  He dated someone in town? And had sex with her?

  "I shouldn't have done it with her," he says, "but she was really aggressive. It only happened a few times. We dated less than a month."

  "Was she older than you?"

  "She'd just graduated from high school. I think she only liked me for my car. She saw me driving it and came up and asked me out."

  "Was she hot?"

  He looks at me. "Yeah. Why?"

  "I just wondered. What about your ex-girlfriend? What does she look like?"

  "Why are you asking me about other girls?"

  "I just wondered if you had a type. Like blondes or red heads or—"

  "I like girls with silky brown hair and beautiful brown eyes that go by the name Luna."

  "C'mon, just tell me what she looks like."

  He gets out his phone, finds a photo, and shows it to me.

  His ex is really pretty; brown hair with golden highlights and a beautiful face with petite features and deep blue eyes. She has a bright friendly smile that makes me think she's not only beautiful but also really nice. And she's talented, as evidenced by the fact she did all the graphics for a very popular game.

  "She's pretty," I say, "and she looks nice. Too bad you guys couldn't make it work. Do you think you could have if you two were still in the same town?"

  "No. We're great as friends but not great in a relationship. Something was missing. We both felt it." He reaches over and nudges me. "She and I weren't together in a past life like you and I were."

  I laugh. "Would you stop with that? If people hear you say that, they'll think you're crazy."

  "Then it'll be our little secret. No one else needs to know."

  "We were not together in a past life. I don't even believe in that stuff."