In It’s All Geek to Me by JL Merrow, Jez is on a mission of mercy: to replace a
tragically deceased comic book for his injured best mate, Tel. Venturing into
the Hidden Asteroid bookstore in London—the temple of geekdom itself—Jez is
bowled over by the guy behind the counter.
Rhys is the poster boy for hot geeks:
tall, gorgeous, and totally cool. Jez is desperate to impress him, so he bluffs
his way through comic book jargon . . . and then dashes back to the hospital to
beg Tel to teach him how to speak Geek.
Tel’s happy to oblige, and Jez is over the
moon when Rhys asks him out. He’s even more thrilled when they discover a
shared love of rugby, something he won’t have to fake for Rhys. The question
is, how long can Jez keep up the deception, and what will happen when Rhys
realizes he’s going out with a Fake Geek Guy?
It’s All Geek to Me
Riptide Publishing (February 10th, 2014)
eBook
ISBN: 978-1-62649-114-4
Excerpt:
I was pretty sure I’d come to the right
place. There weren’t many other shops in the West End with windows full of Daisies vs. Ghouls merchandise. Or a life-sized model of
the Mothman crouching on a fake chimney top just inside the door. I squared my
shoulders, smoothed down my sweater, and stepped into the Temple of the Geek. Otherwise known as the
Hidden Asteroid bookstore in London.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect—lots of
weird eternal virgins with glasses, if I’m totally honest—but there was a
pretty fit bloke standing behind the counter. If you can judge from a back
view, which, I’m going to go with you totally can. Even though I could only see his
top half. There was something about the way those shoulders filled out his
black T-shirt, and he had well nice arms. He was tall, too, unless he was
standing on a box there. Course, he’d turn round and he’d have a face full of
acne. Or goofy teeth, or something. Sod’s law.
I mean, it’d be nice to think I might get
some kind of reward for this little errand of mercy, but Karma and me just
aren’t that chummy, more’s the pity.
It was all my mate Tel’s fault I was here.
Well, to be fair, not so much his fault as the fault of the idiot in the BMW
who’d slammed into his bike on the A10. Not only had the resulting pile-up
trashed Tel’s legs and smashed his vintage Norton Commando, it’d claimed the
life of his newest, unread comic book. Its virgin pages were now scattered to
the four winds, or maybe lining the nests of all those crows that hang around
dual carriageways like vultures waiting for roadkill.
So Tel had asked me, his best mate, to
replace it.
I’d frowned at him, languishing in his
hospital bed with scaffolding all round his legs like a beardy cyborg. That was
going to put a serious crimp in his sex life, poor bastard. The scaffolding, I
mean. Not the beard. I’ve never really seen the attraction of snogging a Brillo
pad myself, but it never seemed to put the ladies off Tel. Dunno how he does
it. Maybe it’s that West Country accent of his—he lures ’em in with his long,
drawn-out Rs and the promise of scrumpy.
“What if I get the wrong thing?” I’d
protested. “I mean, I don’t know one comic book from the other. You’re going to
be a bit pissed off if I come back with The Beano.”
“Come on, Jez. All you’ve got to do is
walk in, say hello to the lad behind the counter—or the lady, as might be—and
ask for issue number three of The
Amazing Translucio, Uncanny Secrets variant. Easy, right? I’d do it myself, but
well . . .” Tel had given an eloquent wave at the Meccano sets on his legs.
“Not really up to the walking in bit right now.”
It’d given me an idea. “Hey, you know what
we should do, right? We get a nine volt battery, and one of those little
electric buzzers, and connect you up, and you can play that wiggly wire game on
your leg frames.”
Tel had pursed his lips. It’d looked a bit
weird in the middle of all that face fungus. Then: “Nah. Wire’s not wiggly
enough. Wouldn’t be a challenge. But cheers for the thought, mate.”
Poor old Tel. Still, at least he hadn’t
gone to feed the crows.
Back in the here-and-now, I opened my
mouth to speak to the guy behind the counter—and then he turned round to face
me, and I totally forgot what I’d been about to say. He was gorgeous. He had, like,
cheekbones you could cut your teeth on, a strong jaw, and really cool hair. So
dark it was almost black, flat on the sides of his head and gelled up on top
into a sort of ridge. Mohawk? Fauxhawk? Pigeon hawk? Some kind of bird, anyway.
The stubble on his chin wasn’t so much designer as I’m way too hip to shave, and
his deep-set brown eyes pierced right through my scratchy wool sweater to the
suddenly pounding heart beneath.
Maybe X-ray vision was one of the perks of
working in the superheroes’ spiritual home? I wondered if Hot Hawk could fly,
too. Or had super strength, or super stamina, or . . .
“You all right there?” he asked, in
smooth, gently mocking tones.
I realized my mouth was still hanging open
and shut it, quick. Then I remembered I was supposed to be asking him something
and opened it again. “Translucio. I mean, Amazing. He is. Uncanny.” Okay, so
maybe attempting to speak hadn’t been the best move I’d ever made.
Hot Hawk’s lips curved into a slow smile.
Oh, God. That was it—that was his superpower, right there. Seducto Smile.
Bloody hell, it was fiendishly effective. I smiled back helplessly.
Uh-oh. Something was wrong. The smile was
down to Mach 3. No, wait, that was a speed. What did you measure brightness
with? Right. Lumens. Down to three Alluremens, then. Had I missed something?
Something he’d said? I blinked rapidly and tried to divert a small portion of
the brainpower currently basking in his physical perfection into listening to
what he was saying.
“Sorry—my sister’s always telling me I
don’t speak clearly.” He was apologizing? What the hell for? He was perfect. “I said, it’s a great
series, isn’t it? But we’re not going to get issue four in until next week.
Sorry about that.”
“Three,” I told him sincerely, gazing into
those dark, mysterious eyes. He had earrings in both ears, the sort with holes
in that stretch your lobes out. God, that was impressive. If anyone tried to
pierce any of my skin, let alone stretch it out to take rings you could fit a
finger through, I’d probably keel over and faint. And then cry like a little
baby.
“Oh, you’re after issue three? Not a
subscriber, then?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean . . .” I wasn’t
sure what I meant, so I shut up about it. “Um, it’s a replacement? The other
one had an accident. A car accident. Not any other kind of accident.” I didn’t
want him thinking I’d peed on it or something. Or, oh God, was one of those
guys who were really into superheroes and had had a wank
over it and stuck the pages together.
Then again, working in here, maybe he was
that sort of bloke himself? “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it,”
I said quickly.
Seducto Smile’s eyebrows were edging
towards his hairline. “With . . .?”
I swallowed. “Nothing. Comic books. Love
’em. So . . . Translucio?”
“It’ll be downstairs. Kelly, can you man
the till for a mo?” he called out to a rack of T-shirts with a weird blob on
the front calling itself a Blerch.
A Goth girl in a lacy miniskirt and ripped
tights poked her heavily made-up face out from behind a Blerch. “You off on
your break, then? Ooh, haven’t met this one before. In’t ’e sweet? Blond hair,
blue eyes, and all. Where’d you find him?”
Seducto Smile shook his head, his evenly
tanned cheeks turning a bit pink. It made me feel a bit better about the way my
face was suddenly radiating heat like a three-bar electric fire. Yep, if I was
a superhero, I’d be Blushman. Costume: a bright pink pair of saggy underpants.
Socks with suspenders. And sandals.
“Kelly, he’s a customer. We’re going
downstairs for a Translucio book, all right?” He came out from behind the
counter, giving me my first look at his lower half. “I’m really sorry about
that,” he said to me. “Bit of an overactive imagination, our Kelly. I’m Rhys,
by the way.”
I tore my eyes away from his (firm,
delicious, meaty) lower half, hoping he hadn’t noticed me staring. “Jez. I
mean, that’s me. Jez.” God, he was wearing black jeans. To go with his black
T-shirt and black hair. There was a belt, too.
Studded.
Kill me. Kill me now.
“Why would I want to kill you?”
“Um, did I say that out loud?”
Seducto Smile—Rhys—nodded. Still
smiling. “It’s either that or I’ve just developed telepathic powers.”
“God, if you’ve developed telepathic
powers, definitely kill me. Trust me. It’ll be kinder to
both of us.”
“Why—have you got some naughty thoughts
going on?” He flashed me a smile that made his eyes twinkle. It also made my
feet get sort of tangled up in each other, which wasn’t good as we were
currently walking down the stairs. I flailed madly, making a desperate grab for
the four-foot model of the Spaceship Endeavour (Original Series; even I’d seen
that one) hanging overhead.
On balance, I reckoned it was just as well
that I missed by a mile—I mean, you destroy a geek cultural icon like that,
they probably stake you out in a field somewhere and set the Ghouls on you. And
possibly the Daisies as well. Just as I was really starting to enjoy the time
dilation effect of my impending doom, a strong hand grabbed me under the arm.
“Whoa! I know you’re keen to get to
Translucio, but let’s try and make it in one piece, yeah?”
“Um. Yeah. Keen. For Translucio. Yeah.” I
tried not to pant too loudly. That wouldn’t be attractive, would it? Not that
he was likely to find me attractive, despite what the Goth girl had said. I
mean, yeah, blond hair, blue eyes, all the other usual features in more-or-less
the right places, but other than that I was just a lab technician in a scratchy
sweater who’d had a few too many Mars Bars. Me, I mean. Not the sweater.
I checked myself quickly. Nope, no
chocolate stains down the front of the sweater. I was good.
But Rhys—well, he was, like, the poster
boy for Getting Geeks Laid. Did I mention he was tall? And dark, and cool, and
. . . and looking at me a bit strangely.
Talking. That was good, too. “Yeah.
Translucio. He’s, like, really subversive, you know?” I was sure I’d heard Tel
say that sometime.
Rhys was nodding. “Absolutely. So, uh, what
do you reckon his uncanny secret is? I mean, I know there’s loads of theories,
obviously, but what do you reckon?”
That was good, right? Him being interested
in what I thought. That was good, which meant that admitting I didn’t have a
clue what he was on about would be bad. Very, very bad. “Er . . . I just like
to wait and see. Keep an open mind. Trust the writers to know what they’re
doing.” That was the right word, wasn’t it? Or were they artists, if they did
comics? Oh, God. I tried to wipe my palms on my jeans without him noticing.
“What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m like you. But the Clone
Conspiracy theory’s kind of intriguing, don’t you think?”
“Er, well—I mean, yeah. Definitely
intriguing.” I nodded.
“No, you’re right. It’s a daft idea. Too
similar to what they did with Salieri in the Queen
of the Night series.”
“Yep.” I nodded again.
“Although he deserved it, of course, after
what he did to Papagena.”
“Definitely.” My neck was starting to ache
from all this nodding. But at least we made it down to the bottom of the
staircase without any further suicide attempts on my part. And wow. I mean,
wow.
Bloody hell, it was just like the Tardis
in here. It all sort of opened out, wider than a drugged-up hippie’s mind.
There were vast acres of shelving and cabinets, spreading underground like the
root system of a magic mushroom.
It was funny—I’d sort of expected this
place to be all dark and furtive, full of blokes darting nervous glances over
their shoulders in case anyone they knew wandered in by mistake and saw them.
Instead, it was all bright, gleaming white, the merchandise proudly displayed
like a prozzie in an Amsterdam window. Only a lot less likely to give you the clap. And
bloody hell, there was a lot of it. The merchandise, I mean. Not just comic
books, although there were, like, millions of those. There were T-shirts,
posters, little action figures, even card games. I stared around the basement
in amazement.
“First time you’ve been in here?” Rhys’s
voice startled me out of my weird hypnotic trance. “Hits a lot of guys like
that their first time.”
“Er . . .” Would he think I was pathetic
if I said it was? Should I pretend I wasn’t a total Asteroid virgin? But maybe
he had a photographic memory for faces and would know I was lying? Like,
another superpower? Couldn’t risk it. “It’s, um, hard to get away from work,” I
said lamely.
“Yeah? What do you do?”
“I’m a chemist. In a lab, I mean. Not
behind the counter at Boots.”
“Working on the next super-serum?”
I tried to look like someone who spent his
working day developing top secret formulae. Not trying to find non-carcinogenic
ways of taking nasty niffs out of your carpets. “I’d tell you, but then I’d
have to kill you.”
He laughed. “Going to let me live long
enough to get you to Translucio? It’s over this way.”
Rhys led me past rack after rack of books
and comics. I’d never dreamed there were this many superheroes, villains, and
just plain weirdos in the world. Well, in the world of fiction, anyway.
Speaking of racks, another life-size
model, Arachno Girl, crouched on a plinth as if watching for shoplifters. Her
lacy, weblike skirt barely covered her muscular yet shapely thighs. At least
her breastplate-slash-bra-thingy was a bit more substantial—well, it’d have to
be. No way would anything lacy keep those mammoth puppies in check. Even
restrained, they threatened to take your eye out. I edged away nervously,
little cogs chugging around in my brain. If comic-book women all had really big
tits, did that mean the blokes all had really big . . . I glanced at Rhys,
swallowed, and threatened the little cogs with a metaphorical spanner until
they stopped trying to cause inappropriate hard-ons.
And tried really hard not to wonder if everything was in
proportion to his height.
“Here you go,” Rhys was saying. “You’re in
luck—it’s our last one.”
“Seriously?” I thought of poor old Tel,
lying in hospital waiting for news of his hero, and clutched the comic to my
chest. “Jesus, thank God I didn’t put this off until tomorrow.”
Rhys smiled at me. Up to ten Alluremens
this time, easy. I did my best not to melt into a big wet blob on the floor
tiles. “It’s great to see a true fan,” he said.
“Er, yeah,” I said, feeling a lot more
congeal-y. “Cheers for this, mate.”
***
I burst into Tel’s hospital room at Mach
Desperate, nurses tutting
in my wake. “You’ve got to teach me how to speak Geek!”
