Nerdy Dirty Valentine
NERDY DIRTY VALENTINE
CHAPTER ONE
He looked miserable.
Poor guy.
Morning sunlight spilled through the diner’s large windows, spotlighting his halo of blond hair and stiff shoulders and his companion’s bright checkered shirt. Seemed early to me for a date, but it was one, judging by the overly rigid mannerisms. Maybe they hadn’t wanted to risk something as long as a dinner and settled on breakfast? Or their New Year’s had been so amazing together they didn’t want the date to end? I grunted at that. No way. This had “awkward first date” written all over it.
Whatever the reason they met for breakfast, the date was going downhill fast. Only the Miserable Guy, as I’d named him, kept trying to save it while his bored date had given the room a wandering glance.
My table, across the narrow aisle from the couple, gave me a front-row seat. I couldn’t pretend to scan a menu or anything since the waitress, busy with customers, hadn’t given me one yet. Not that I needed it. I always ordered the same scrambled eggs with a side of bacon and home fries. And a whole pot of coffee.
I’d been awake since dawn, and the stale doughnuts at my AA meeting hadn’t done a thing to stop my hunger or quell the nervous energy I had after those meetings.
Plus, watching the disaster of a date unfold was entertainment. My phone was on two percent, and I had nobody with me for conversation. Besides, I didn’t want the epic oversharing I’d endured for the last hour running through my brain. All those fucking stories… Listening at meetings was tough. I’d yet to open up at the meetings, much to my sponsor Rico’s dismay, but it was too fucking hard.
Miserable Guy spoke loudly anyhow, too loudly for the tiny diner that catered to the LGBT crowd around Phoenix, which liked to be cool and hip. So even if I hadn’t been spying on them, I would have heard some of his conversation. Miserable Guy wasn’t hip. Cute, in a buttoned-up kind of way, with thick blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses, prominent nose, and full lips… but not hip. The tension in his shoulders and neck, lines of strain fanning his eyes, and tight smile kept my attention on him.
The other man—who I’d named Bored Guy—was checking his phone, tapping his foot, a fake smile plastered on his face, which was unfair since it only encouraged Miserable Guy. Watching how hard he tried was painful. So painful I couldn't look away for a moment.
I’d rather watch Miserable Guy and root for him to turn the date around, although unlikely, than think about all the pain and loneliness in those meetings. They must have been sitting there for a while before I came in because there was a basket of muffins between them, some kind of yogurt parfait thing with crunchy granola, avocado toast, and coffee mugs. I was always noticing food, not that I cooked much. My dad had been a chef and would make up stories about what kind of person ordered this or that. He always said that those who liked spice liked life. And then?—
Fuck me . I reined my thoughts in, stopped bouncing my leg against the table.
God, it was New Year’s Day. This time of year just got to me.
I played with my fork, tapping it on the table. Why did those little things still cling to me all these years later? Honestly, this was why sobriety was hard. I was no longer dumb and numb.
I wondered what type of person my dad would have labeled me. I looked like him, with my deep dark eyes and matching dark hair. I had his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and height. But what would he think of me as a person?
The waitress came over with my water.
The cool tattoos decorating her arm had names and dates that spoke of meaning, making me once again regret the generic ink on my back. “Waiting on anybody, hon? Or ready to order?”
“Just me. A number three, please. With bottomless coffee and some whole milk.” One day, I’ll replace the infinity symbol and the skull, things I picked at random as a teen—mostly to anger my mother—with something I actually give a fuck about.
“You betcha.” She gave a toothy smile, and then we both heard Bored Guy laughing loudly at a joke, a canned sort of laugh that made the waitress and I wince at the same time.
Miserable Guy’s laugh was sweet, with tiny snorts. Genuine.
I blocked him out and focused on my day. I had a shift soon that would go until late. I was tired from babysitting the past two nights, but Captain Sean Smack had taken a chance on me fresh out of firefighting training. I owed him, and watching his daughter, Erin, was the least I could do. She was a cute kid. If you consider missing teeth and constant hugs cute.
I examined my purple nails, compliments of Erin’s salon, and made a mental note to get some polish remover. Erin had giggled during our beauty session, and laughing with her was the first time I’d fully laughed in a long time.
My stomach tightened. Why was I obsessing over some stranger’s bad date in this diner or my lack of enough laughter? Crap, this was how meetings sometimes affected me, even ones I just observed. But especially ones during the holidays. Holidays were the worst. I hated them all, from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s.
I glanced at the other table. They wouldn’t make it to lunch, much less Valentine’s Day. Bored Guy checked the room and then gave me a wink. I knew the type. Entitled, confident, eager to have me fuck him. It suddenly felt important to scowl at the winker. Did he even notice his date was trying? Talking desperately, his voice actually rich and pleasant-sounding for a smaller guy but cracking with desperation.
Something in the cracking sound hit me. My whole body reacted to the sound. Something about that break in his voice was fucking familiar…
As if he sensed my interest, Miserable Guy looked over.
Like with the winker, our gazes met. But Miserable Guy did not wink. There was no flirtatiousness in his face. He had zero game.
Instead, bright blue eyes met mine, shining with intelligence and, yes, misery. He had a baby beard. Hell, I could grow more scruff in a day. It only made Miserable Guy seem vulnerable to me.
I stood before knowing what I was doing, ready to help… and then forced myself to sit. Something about the guy tugged at me. Okay, whatever… I saved my rescues for fires. If I saved anybody’s love life, it would be my coworker Caleb. His was even more of a disaster than Miserable Guy’s.
But I didn’t get involved. That was my New Year’s resolution to myself. No emotional entanglements.
And it was only January first.
My eggs arrived with my bacon. Nice and crisp. I dug into my food. Sometimes I played the “what if” game. What if my dad hadn’t died so young? What if I never drank my first sour-tasting beer? What if my mother put in more than minimum effort? Maybe then I would be a relationship guy. ’Cause sometimes, I did get lonely. Oh well. I was to work on my sobriety, not solve unsolvable shit. Focus on the job and nothing else. Three years sober and finally in a job I loved—it was enough.
“I don’t dine and ditch. That’s horrible.” Miserable Guy’s harsh whisper yanked my attention back to the pair.
“Shut up,” Bored Guy shushed him, even as the waitress overheard. “I was joking?—”
“No, I don’t think so.” Miserable Guy had pure frost in his voice.
“Fuck you, man. It was a fun story. And it ain’t your business or nothing.”
“As an English professor, your ethics, as well as your grammar, are of great concern to me.”
Well, shit.
I had a weakness for delicate guys with some claws. It made me think about all the ways he could savage me in bed. He stood with his hands on his slim hips. Fuck, yeah, the guy was a professor. School me.
Bored Guy was not impressed. “You’re a weirdo, and I’m outta here. Good luck finding your quick fuck.”
Quick fuck? That did not seem like Miserable Guy. He had relationship type written all over him. I should know since I avoided relationships.
Bored Guy deliberately knocked his coffee mug as he left. It spilled over the baked goods on the table and then onto Miserable Guy’s tan slacks.
He jumped, but it didn’t seem hot, only staining. Miserable Guy lost all his spirit, unclenching his fists and slumping into the chair. His coffee cup was empty, the food ruined by the spill.
Not my business.
Avoid.
Do not get involved.
I ate a sliver of bacon before stealing another look.
Miserable Guy carded a hand through his hair, making it stand up in a messy cowlick. His expression was perplexed, as if entitled pricks on bad first dates needed explanation. He picked up the check, digging out money to pay for the ruined muffins and wasted java. His lower lip wobbled slightly.
Despite my vow, I stood again. And this time, I went all the way over to his table.
I held out some napkins. “Can I buy you another coffee?”
“No, thank you. I do love my caffeine, but um… I’m quite all right.” He paused and clearly gazed at my purple nails holding the napkin. They were goopy and smeared. But what could you expect from a six-year-old?
“I drink a ton of coffee, too. It’s practically a food group for me.”
He met my gaze with a weak smile at my bad joke.
For a second, there was a spark of energy between us, and I swear my breath caught. It’d been a long time since I’d felt much of anything.
I started to make my offer one last time, even as I used the napkins to wipe the mess Bored Guy had made, when Miserable Guy gasped.
“It’s you,” he exclaimed, his mouth hanging open. “As if my day couldn’t get any worse.”