“No,” he responded, cutting her off. “Don’t apologize. It’s just…” He shook his head. It caused his shaggy hair to riot, and she was forced to use every ounce of self-discipline she possessed not to reach across the countertop to smooth those sandy locks with her fingers. “It feels like I’ve been waiting a long time to hear those words,” he finally finished.
“What do you mean?”
He held her gaze forever. So long, she lost track of time. Of space. Of self.
How does he do that? How does he make me feel looked at in a way I’ve never been looked at before?
Then he chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling a little… I don’t know,” he said again, seeming uncertain, embarrassed even.
It was so unlike his usual cocksure self that Samantha could only blink in confusion. Something important had been on the edge of his tongue before he bit it back. She was reminded of how little she knew about him, despite all the time they had spent together. How much she wanted to know about him.
Why do you get that sad, faraway look in your eyes sometimes? she wanted to ask. What were you doing the year after you left the navy? Why don’t you talk about your injury when it hurts you? Why don’t you ever touch me?
Of course, that all felt too personal, too probing. So what she said instead was, “So why Star Trek?”
“Huh?” He stopped chewing to cock a brow.
She pointed at his freshly laundered T-shirt. It was gray and well worn and sported the phrase: A Vulcan in the Streets, a Klingon in the Sheets.
Apparently he has an inexhaustible supply of the suckers.
“How’d you become such a huge fan? I mean, why not Star Wars or Doctor Who or any of the other fandoms? Why Star Trek all day, every day?”
“For the record, I think the first three Star Wars films, which were really the middle three—”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I spend my days in the Tribune Tower, not under a rock.”
“Touché,” he allowed with a dip of his chin. “Anyway, I think those are amazing. I’ve seen The Empire Strikes Back at least fifty times. As for Doctor Who, which incarnation are you talking about? Which Doctor? There have been twelve, you realize, with some others thrown in for fun and confusion.” He started talking faster. “For instance, I think David Tennant absolutely rocked the role. I mean, did you see the episode where he was inconsolable after the Master’s death? Just perfection. But ultimately, I think Matt Smith played the best Doctor, because he was able to combine Who’s childlike energy with his darker side, and… Oh my God. I just revealed my über-geek status, didn’t I?”
Samantha realized she was grinning like a goof, and it didn’t immediately occur to her that he hadn’t answered her question about why Star Trek all day, every day. “Sorry to tell you, friend, but your über-geek status became apparent the afternoon you dragged me around Comic-Con like a kid in a candy store.”
He made a face.
“Don’t worry. I think it’s adorable,” she told him. And it was. He was such an intriguing juxtaposition of dark and light, tough and tender, alpha and beta. He was the best of both worlds. All hot testosterone-y goodness, but with the brains and the wit and the boyish enthusiasm to match.
In a word…perfection.
“You’re adorable,” she added before she could stop herself. “And I think the world would be a better place if all you über-nerds—”
“Geeks,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. Nerds are prone to obsess about stuff, but they don’t usually have a social life. Geeks, on the other hand, are prone to obsess about stuff and have vast social lives, sharing their obsessions with the world.” He pointed to his T-shirt. “See? Geek.”
“So tell me, how did you manage to find the time to watch all those shows and become an über-geek, what with your…ahem…rather stacked dating calendar?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He pretended ignorance, but there was a devilish glint in his blue-on-blue eyes.
They were back to their regular ol’ banter, and Samantha could not have been more relieved. That he could forgive her for all she had put him through that night spoke to his innate generosity of spirit.
“Please,” she scoffed, then raised her voice to a falsetto and batted her lashes. “I’m Janie with the really small…”
He winced. “That was an aberration.”
“Pfft. I’m pretty sure it was SOP where you’re concerned. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you walk into a room and watched every estrogen receptor in the place light up.”
“I haven’t the first clue what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the bullshit. You know what you look like. You own a mirror.”
He dropped the pretense, wiggling his eyebrows at her. But then he shrugged and sighed, and his grin turned from cocky to self-deprecating. “Believe me. My dating calendar wasn’t always stacked.”
