Read The Nerd Who Loved Me Online
Authors: Liz Talley
The Nerd Who Loved Me
The Nerd Who Loved Me
Liz Talley
Contents
Mary Belle Prudhomme let her forehead hit the steering wheel before cracking open an eye. Yep. Smoke was pouring from beneath the blue hood of her old truck.
Craptastic.
Five miles from home, and her stupid cell phone as dead as the grass bordering the seldom-used back road. And to make matters worse, she’d left the car charger for her phone in Bear Rodrigue’s truck over a month ago. Now she wished she’d spent thirty bucks on a new one instead of that pair of boots she’d decided she deserved for putting up with Bear’s crap for years. They were cute rain boots patterned with little duckies. But, of course, cute boots did not fix smoking engines.
“Thanks a lot, Beast,” she muttered to her car, climbing from the cab and giving the front tire a half-hearted kick. “You just
had
to die miles away from civilization.”
She popped the hood and fanned the smoke that poured out.
As if on cue, a sleek convertible pulled up beside her.
Wariness prickled at the nape of her neck, but then she caught sight of the driver—broad shoulders, dark hair, tan skin and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses.
A knight in a white Beamer.
Sweet.
“Need some help?” the knight called, his reliable car taunting her dented beast of a truck.
“Uh, maybe,” she said, knowing very well she did, but not wanting to admit it in case the knight was really a deranged mental-hospital escapee. But would a mental-hospital escapee drive a BMW and look like an ad for
Yachting World?
Her knight, aka mental-hospital escapee, maneuvered his car to the shoulder, hopped out and headed toward her.
Hmmm…khakis, polo shirt and Top-Siders.
Maybe he was a banker on vacation…
In Evangeline parish? Not a hope.
“Let me see what I can do.” He stopped beside her and peered at the hissing metal parts beneath her hood, giving her a whiff of his cologne. The smell reminded her of champagne and other rich people stuff.
Then he extended a hand toward some part of the engine and she noticed how nice his forearms were—brown and strong-looking—and that his hands were drool-worthy. If, you know, a girl were into those kinds of things.
“I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it’s your radiator,” he said, taking off his sunglasses.
“The radiator?” she repeated stupidly as she turned and met his gaze.
And that’s when she recognized him.
Oh, no. Way worse than an escaped mental patient. In fact she’d have thrown a party with balloons and confetti if it had been a deranged madman with a hook for a hand rather than him.
Yep, bring on a knife-wielding psycho. Or a flesh-eating zombie.
Anyone except Tripp Long, the nerd who’d loved her. Until she’d humiliated him in front of the entire senior class of Bonnet Creek High School twelve years ago.
Howard Donald Long III, aka Tripp, narrowed his eyes when he realized who stood beside him. He should have recognized that tight round butt. After all, it belonged to the girl who still popped up in his dreams on a regular basis.
“Mary B.”
“What’re you doing out here…and driving that?” She pointed at his new car.
Tripp knew he should have resisted the urge to prove something to the people of Bonnet Creek by buying the BMW, but he had to admit it drove like a dream. “What’s wrong with my car?”
She studied it in the fading sunlight. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“I’m not seeking anyone’s approval.” The
anymore
was implied.
Mary Belle closed her mouth, stuck her hands in the back pockets of her cutoffs—the motion doing amazing things for her breasts—and looked guilty.
He shifted his gaze away from the Bonnet Creek Owls T-shirt that fit her like a second skin. He didn’t relish standing knee deep on pitted blacktop with a hard-on over a woman he’d spent nearly five years hating.
Okay, not hating. Just resenting.
Besides, he’d outgrown his crush on Mary Belle. Sort of. But he couldn’t stop the pleasure he took watching her squirm. She’d treated him no better than the mud on the bottom of her boot. She deserved the discomfort.
“You look different. More like your daddy.” She dug the rim of her flip-flop into the gravel.
He smiled the smile he reserved for pretty women and stubborn patients. “Did you think I’d have acne, knock knees and oily hair forever? Everyone grows up, Mary B.”
She raked him up and down with a bold gaze. “Sure, but you turned out pretty hot.”
And with those words, Tripp Long felt a little piece of redemption click into his soul. “I work out.”
Mary Belle laughed, and a familiar feeling stirred inside him—that old longing for the girl next door who washed her car in an itty-bitty bikini, very aware of the gawky Tripp peering out from behind his backyard fence.
Then her blue eyes met his and he saw the awareness there.
Well, then.
“So, will you give me a ride into town?” she asked.
“It’s not that far. You can walk.”
“You’re really going to make me walk?” Mary Belle swallowed the guilt she always felt when she thought about how much she’d hurt Tripp all those years ago. But, jeez, who carried a grudge over stuff that happened in high school? Okay, maybe lots of people, but she’d never meant for Tripp to find out about her little lie. And she’d never meant it to embarrass him.
Tripp gave her another toe-curling smile. She wiggled her toes accordingly, wondering how the nerd next door had turned into…a hunk. He’d been an ugly duckling, born to beautiful parents, and everyone in town had wondered what had gone wrong with Tripp.
But now he was amazingly hot.
Maybe the smoke had clouded her vision. She blinked a couple of times.
Nope. Still gorgeous.
“Kidding. Of course I’ll give you a ride. Come on.” He didn’t wait for a reply…just walked toward his car, making her wonder, when had Dockers become so sexy?
Mary Belle grabbed her purse, locked the Beast—even though she doubted anyone would want a half-filled water bottle and a flashlight with no batteries, which was all she had in the car—and climbed into the leather seat beside Tripp.
The car barely made a sound as they pulled away from the side of the road. BMWs obviously were the spy cars of the automotive world.
“So what are you doing in Bonnet Creek, Tripp? I haven’t seen you in like—”
“Eleven years.” The sunglasses were back in place so she couldn’t see any emotion in those blue eyes that nearly matched hers in color. “I bought Fred Kramer’s dentistry practice over in Ville Platte, and I’m going to restore Long House.”
What? He was moving home? Something hot and slithery dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Oh, come on, Mary Belle. This is Tripp the Drip. You know him, and can’t possibly feel warmth in your girl parts for him
.
But she did.
Strange.
“So you’re moving into Long House? It’s kinda—”
“A dump?” he interrupted with a wry smile, finishing her sentences, just like he’d always done when they were kids. “Yeah, I’m planning on bringing the house back to its former glory as soon as possible…among other things.”
“Oh.” So he had more on his agenda than remodeling a house. Maybe his coming home had to do with the way he and his family had left Bonnet Creek in disgrace. Tripp was back to set the record straight.
“Does your mother still live next door to Long House?” he asked, maneuvering around a pothole and pulling her thoughts from the past.
“Yeah, and so do I.”
He glanced at her. “You still live with your mother?”
Okay, that might make her look like a loser, but she wasn’t. “Yeah, I sorta take care of her. She has early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Terrible disease. That’s good of you, to take care of her. You always were a nice girl, Mary B.”
The
except to me
part was implied. Lord, guilt was not a feel-good emotion. She decided to focus instead on the fact that Tripp was moving back to Bonnet Creek…and the possibility that unwillingly bloomed in her.
But then she remembered the vow she’d made only weeks ago in front of the girls at work—the one about staying away from men and focusing on her almost-finished degree in journalism. Around managing her mother’s illness, she’d written a few human interest pieces decent enough to submit to regional magazines. Bear’s dad, Buddy Rodrigue, had even volunteered to send a few good words to the editor of
Guns and Glory
for a piece she’d written on Civil War re-enactments. She had hope on a string and she wasn’t untying it for a hot dentist with a cool ride. She was a new Mary Belle. Focused. Mature. Not interested.
She glanced at Tripp, at the way his dark hair blew in the wind, at the scruffy, sexy six o’clock shadow he had working for him, and that gorgeous mouth.
Nope, not interested at all.
Tripp stared at the sagging porch and the colony of granddaddy long-legs that was inhabiting the steps of Long House and sighed.
He certainly had his work cut out for him to restore the Creole cottage built almost two centuries ago outside the small community of Bonnet Creek. Situated in south-central Louisiana and bordering the Atchafalaya Basin, the town had been an active trading post for runaway slaves, Native Americans and French settlers. Long House had held down this patch of soil for many years and deserved more than dry rot and neglect. She’d once been a beauty—the pride and joy of his father…
Until almost twelve years ago.
When Howard Long had left Bonnet Creek in disgrace at the hands of Buddy Rodrigue.
But Tripp planned to set things right, to restore the balance. His redemption would start with Long House and end with Buddy crawling on his knees with an apology.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Forcet Construction. “Hey, Tom. Tripp Long.”
After a few seconds of shooting the breeze, Tom got down to business. “I can spare the bulldozer for a couple of days. Shouldn’t take much to knock that old greenhouse down. I’ll send a construction bin you can keep on-site for a few weeks.”
“I really appreciate you leasing me the dozer.”
“No worries. I’ll give you the old-friend discount and send Lou out to show you the basics, but it’s not anything too difficult.”
After thanking him, Tripp hung up and looked around, assessing. Vines and tangled brush needed to be cleared so he could create workspace for the renovation. The house was structurally solid, but it had been neglected. Still, nothing some good, hard elbow grease and a buttload of money couldn’t fix. And Tripp was good at elbow grease since he’d worked his way through college working for a contractor. He knew enough to be dangerous.
Dangerous
.
Something flickered in his gut as he walked to the car, popped the trunk and pulled out two duffle bags and an ice chest. Mary Belle Prudhomme.
The woman had looked like cherry pie with a side of cream. Lush, decadent, with a hint of tartness.
Tripp had always loved a good piece of cherry pie.
And he felt hungry.
Which bothered him.
After the way his childhood crush had rejected and humiliated him in high school, he should want nothing to do with her. But still, she made him long to forgive the sting to his pride, to forget the way everyone had ragged on him about getting stood up, to forget she’d chosen Bear Rodrigue over him.
