Boy Meets Nerd Read online

  He took a guess. “Emerson?”

  She turned to him and her face fell. Huh? He checked his shirt to make sure it didn’t say anything offensive. He’d borrowed a shirt from Darren once that read I’m smiling, that alone should scare you. While young girls had flirted with him all day, older women tossed him nasty glares. But today, he wore a plain gray t-shirt. Why did she look so disappointed? Maybe he had breakfast in his teeth.

  “You’re Levi?” she asked, hobbling toward him.

  “Yes.” He gestured to the table. “Put your coffee down before you fall over and spill it.” It came out a little bossier than he’d intended. She was going to walk away or tell him off in five, four, three, two…

  She didn’t even blink. In fact, she barely looked at him. She placed the coffee on the table then dropped her giant bag on the chair across from him. “I need you to give me every bit of information you have on this girl.” After she sat down, she pulled a laptop out of her bag. “Name, phone number if you have one, Facebook profile, Skype username…”

  “Nice to meet you too,” he muttered sarcastically. “Whoa!” He grabbed her coffee just before she knocked her computer into it.

  Jesus. She was a mess. Even her clothing looked like it’d been pulled on haphazardly at the last minute. Her flannel shirt was tucked halfway into black skinny jeans and her hair parted on one side hid most of her face.

  Still avoiding eye contact, she logged on to her computer. “I require forty dollars down so I know you’re not gonna run off when I start working. If it takes less time, I’ll refund you the money.”

  Apparently she wasn’t one for pleasantries. “Okay. Can you give me a little detail about what you do? How do I know you’re any good at this?”

  Finally, she looked at him. Right in the eyes. Her brow furrowed. “I’m a hacker. It’s what I do.”

  “I know that’s what you do, but I don’t know what that means.” He’d hoped she’d give him a rundown of her services. Maybe a menu or even a conversation would’ve been nice. Prolonged eye contact? Some evidence she wasn’t a robot? “Like, you can get into her account and stuff and tell me who she really is?”

  She scoffed. “Of course.”

  He didn’t like that this seemed like spying. It’d been his biggest hurdle before contacting Emerson. Spying had WRONG written all over it, but add to it that this was the girl he was pretty damn close to being in love with and it equaled betrayal. His morality warred with a feeling of being owed. He’d spent hours upon hours on this girl, on this relationship. If she was catfishing him, he wanted answers.

  “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with spying. It’s an invasion of privacy. Is there any other way to find out the same information?”

  Gaze back on her screen, she muttered, “If she’s stupid enough to put private information on the internet, she deserves to have it hacked.”

  “Hey. There’s no need to be rude.” This was a mistake. He should walk away now, before it was too late and he found out something he couldn’t take back. This creepy little robot girl was questionable too. Could he even trust her?

  “Look,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to fuck around. Do you want me to find your dream girl like your email said or not?”

  He sat back and crossed his arms. She was still staring at her computer. He’d wait until she had the decency to look at him before answering.

  Finally, she peered up from her screen. Such beautiful brown eyes. Too pretty to be stuck behind a computer screen all the time.

  “You graduated from MIT?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s pretty impressive.” She looked like a computer geek. A cute one. Maybe a little edgier with the nose ring. And was that a tattoo on her wrist? Looked like a bunch of numbers.

  “Yes,” she agreed, deadpan. “Name?”

  He sighed. “You’re a rude little thing, do you know that?”

  Finally, she had the decency to look ashamed. When she seemed to flounder for something to say, he couldn’t help but rush in to help her. “It’s polite to give people eye contact when you’re talking to them.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m here to do a job, not to make friends.”

  “Do you treat all clients this way?”

  “Yes.” Despite her balking, she did look him in the eye. “Name?”

  It was a start. “Hope Love.”

  She stared blankly for a moment then arched a delicate brow. “Hope Love?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re wondering if she’s using a fake account?”

  Yeah, that’d been his initial thought too, but then they’d got to talking. “Her parents were hippies.” They both had two sisters, and miraculously, parents who were still married. But while he’d grown up with plastic covers on the furniture, she’d run around their acres of land, barefoot.

  She snorted. “Okay. What can you tell me about Hope Love? And do you have a picture?”

  “Yes.” He scrolled through the photos on his phone until he found his favorite one of her. Smiling, he held it out to Emerson.

  “Email it.”

  He should’ve known she wouldn’t bother to look. If this had been anyone else, he’d be picking up major fuck off vibes. But with Emerson, it seemed more like she was hyper focused on her task, not necessarily a bitch.

  In high school, he’d had a friend who was a genius at math. When he got to working on a project, there was no interrupting him. He became obsessed, it was all he could think about. Sometimes he hadn’t even stopped to eat. Levi could relate in some ways. It was the curse of a musician as well.

  He watched her from across the table. She’d barely touched her coffee.

  “That stuff is bad for you,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

  She blinked. “What is?”

  “Coffee.”

  “That’s a myth. Coffee has high content of antioxidants. It also protects your brain from dementia, reduces the risk of oral cancer, skin cancer and diabetes…” She froze and looked off to the side. “Type two.” Then she resumed her study of the computer screen.

  “I stand corrected.”

  “Sit corrected.”

  “Right.” He chuckled humorlessly. “So what else do you need from me?”

  “Forward me an email from her. A phone number. Any information she’s given you about where she lives, works, etcetera. The picture too. Do it now if you can.” Her face twisted. “She really only gave you Hope Love for a name?”

  “Yes. So if I forward you an email from her, you can hack into her account or something?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then you’d be able to hack into mine?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you going to?”

  She grimaced. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Good question, but did she have to look so disgusted? Part of him felt like he should be offended and the other part wanted to laugh. The brutal honesty, the literalism… It was almost refreshing. This was going to be an interesting experience.

  He forwarded an email from Hope from his phone and attached the photo with it. “So you don’t want to know how we met or anything like that?”

  “No. We’ll save the Dr. Phil shit for later. You’ll need it.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Clearly, she’d already made up her mind about Hope. That wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even tried yet. Wasn’t he paying her to be objective?

  “I think you’re supposed to stick to facts in this business,” he said, trying not to sound sulky. “Not give your opinion about everything.” She’d probably never been in a relationship. She even looked like a cynic. Dark hair and clothes. A cute little hacker cynic who didn’t make eye contact or engage in small talk.

  “I formed a scientific opinion based on the few facts I have and personal experience.”

  He thought for a moment. What were the facts she already had? A name. That was it. He wondered what her percentage rate wa
s for successful guesses.

  “How often are you wrong?” Yeah, it was risky implying a woman wasn’t always right – he grew up with three sisters – but he asked it anyway.

  “Never.” Her answer came easily. “Because I don’t guess until I have enough facts to be certain.”

  “And you do about Hope? Already?”

  Ignoring him, she typed on her keyboard then studied the screen. “From the email you sent, I can tell her account is active and was used in the past two days. So that’s good news. But her Facebook account was created recently. She has some friends and they interact but…” She scrunched her nose. “Everything is set to private. And her profile pic is obscure. A sunset? Really?”

  He shrugged. How often had he gazed at that photo, wishing he was sitting on that beach with her? “She sent me pictures privately. She’s a private person. She’s been stalked in the past so she’s careful. She doesn’t even live that far away. Somewhere in Pennsylvania but she won’t say where. I could drive there in half a day...” Frustration gnawed at him. How could she say she was devoted to him then not trust him with basic details about her life?

  “I can confirm that with a bit of time. Speaking of her photo…” She narrowed her eyes at the screen. “The picture wasn’t manipulated in a photo editing program so that’s good. It means she didn’t make herself look skinnier or give herself a nose job or anything. But it might not be her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “How do I know it might not be her? Uh, people lie all the time –”

  “No.” He rolled his eyes. He’d have to keep in mind she was a very literal person. “I mean how do you know the photo wasn’t enhanced?”

  “I inspected the metadata. It gives me some details like what kind of camera was used and if it was tinkered with.”

  “Wow.” He didn’t know much about computers, other than how to turn his on and find good porn. When it came to the fancy music software he needed to get to the next level of his career, he hoped it came with a tutorial. Maybe he could keep Emerson in his back pocket for when the time came. It couldn’t hurt to make friends. “That’s awesome. Maybe you could show me how sometime.”

  Her gaze flew to him and her lips quirked up in a smirk. “Sure. I can show you sometime what I learned in a decade’s worth of studying and experimenting.”

  Cocky little shit. He chuckled. There was something appealing about her. Confidence? That was always hot in a woman. Though she was almost too confident, it didn’t seem to come from a bitchy place like a typical mean girl. Her overconfidence seemed to stem from actual skill and intelligence. While it amused him, it probably annoyed other people. He wondered if she had many friends. His high school buddy hadn’t been able to keep many friends, other than Levi. But Levi had always had a way of taking people at face value.

  “Your sarcasm is charming,” he finally said. “So is that all you know so far? Doesn’t seem like enough to bet against her.”

  “I’m not against anybody. If anything, I hope she’s real for your sake. But you’re forgetting one big part of the scientific opinion equation. Personal experience.”

  “That doesn’t sound very scientific.”

  She shook her head. “It’s as scientific as it gets. Personal experience is what I’ve lived. Can’t get more real than that.”

  He leaned forward and smirked. “Okay, smarty-pants. What does your personal experience tell you that would incriminate my girl?”

  Her fingers froze over the keyboard and she looked him in the eye. “That everyone has the potential to betray the ones they love.”

  Chapter 4

  “Em, be a dear and put the kettle on, won’t you?”

  Emerson set the grocery bag on the kitchen table. “Sure, Gram.”

  Sitting at the other side of the table, her grandma adjusted her glasses then got back to work on her crossword puzzles. Keeps my mind sharp, she said every time Em visited. At eighty-two, she was sharp and spry. Not for the first time, Em hoped she’d inherited a good portion of her grandmother’s genes.

  After putting the teapot on the stove, she unpacked the few groceries she’d brought. So far, she’d inherited more from the grandma she barely knew as a child than from her own parents. Her dad was smart when it came to science. He was a doctor, but he was narrow-minded. He didn’t seem to approve of Emerson, her career, the way she looked, the music she liked…anything. But at least he appreciated her intelligence. Though he didn’t always show it, she knew he was proud of her.

  Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t even try to understand her. When it was clear Emerson would never be Miss Blushing Blueberry, like she’d been, Maura had given up and started on her younger sister. At the time, it’d been a relief to be left alone, but it always made her wonder if her mother had ever really loved her, or ever would.

  Her grandma, having been born in a different generation, was more open-minded than both Emerson’s parents. Apparently the brains got passed down in the family, not social opinion.

  “How’s your father these days?” she asked, still looking down at the puzzle.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” She pulled out her grandma’s favorite cookies and held up the box. “These are awesome by the way. You got me hooked and now my mother will never forgive me for ruining my feminine waistline.” Chuckling, she set the box on the table.

  “Bah. Don’t worry about that priss. You’re fine the way you are.” With a dismissive wave of her hand she added, “You waistline isn’t feminine anyway. You’re more straight up and down.”

  “I know. I’m built like a dude.” She looked down at her Minecraft t-shirt and leggings, taking in the nearly invisible slopes of her chest. Forget ample mounds. She had speed bumps. “No. Like a boy.”

  Her grandma shrugged. “Tits aren’t everything.”

  “Gram!”

  She chuckled.

  “I’ll just have to win someone over with my dazzling smile and charming personality.” She rolled her eyes. Fat chance.

  “Not everyone is meant to be married, dear.”

  Emerson froze in place. Great. She was destined to be an old spinster. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gram.

  Maybe instead of being the crazy cat lady, she’d be the crazy numbers lady. She could almost see it now. Like one of the documentaries about criminal minds, Emerson would be sitting in her living room, papers filled with numbers would cover the floor around her while she’d mumble incoherently to herself.

  She swallowed hard. Sometimes she felt like she was going down that path already.

  Balance. All she needed was someone to balance her. But the guys she had stuff in common with were crazy numbers people too. And she couldn’t be with someone whose intellect didn’t match her own. Being the smart one in the relationship was fine but she didn’t want dead weight to support. She could barely support herself.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten that day. Maybe what she needed was a keeper.

  “Aha!” Her grandma smiled, looking down at her book. “Finished! That one was tricky but they can’t stump me. In twenty two years, I’ve never been stumped.”

  Em grinned then opened the box of cookies. Why these weren’t flying off the shelf, she couldn’t understand. Shortbread on the bottom and milk chocolate on the top, they were addictive.

  “How come you’re so cool and Dad is…” She shrugged. “Not?”

  Her grandma flipped the page in her book to a new puzzle but spared a moment to look at Em. “I wasn’t always this way. The saying ‘wisdom comes with age’ is true. But it’s not because we get smarter. It’s because we’re too old to give a shit what anyone thinks anymore.”

  She laughed. “How come I’m that way already?”

  “You were born wise.”

  “No. Just weird.”

  “Which makes you wise.” Her grandma leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me, Emerson True. The parts of you that you thi
nk are weird or different are some of the most coveted traits in the world. And I don’t mean that genius brain. I mean independent thought. If people treat you differently because of it, they’re jealous. Not everyone can walk around confident in who they are.”

  Jealous? She doubted anyone would be jealous of her. Except maybe a few guys in her class when she’d cracked that cryptology challenge first.

  “Besides, most people are more alike than they think. We all desire to be understood and accepted. Some people just need to make other people feel inferior in order to feel okay about themselves. It doesn’t make you less okay. It just makes them idiots.”

  She thought for a moment. Had she ever felt understood and accepted? Yes. At MIT. Before that, she’d felt like a freak. She’d gotten her glasses in grade school and been labeled a book nerd straight away, even though she didn’t have a thing for books unless they were about math. Why did people think intelligence went with poor vision?

  MIT was loaded with freaks like her – girls and guys with their noses buried in books. Or reprogramming gadgets to do things they weren’t meant to do. People who forgot to change their clothes before bed, walked to class like sleep-deprived zombies, spoke in words longer than four letters. It was her favorite place in the world, which was why she didn’t want to stray too far.

  Her grandma smirked. “So no news on the boyfriend front after that boy Jonah?”

  “No.” That boy had left her for a job at NASA. He’d barely said goodbye before he was packing to leave. When she’d asked about where they stood, he said someone like him wasn’t cut out for a long-distance relationship. They hadn’t spoken since. That’d been her only serious relationship. Before that, she’d tried a few flings but nothing went far. Once a guy became too time-consuming, she broke things off. The only reason it’d been a little different with Jonah was because she’d craved human contact by that point. A computer only went so far in terms of company.

  Once in a while, her heart decided to remind her it existed.