Never Been Nerdy

By: C.M. Kars


As before, I have special people to thank for making this book you hold on your Kindle come to life.

To Jessica Daoust, again, for listening to me complain … and complain about this book, and how awful a writer I was, and all the normal insecurities a writer has. So, thanks for listening to me, then telling me basically to STFU and write because you were expecting chapters from me.

To Mavreta V., because back in the day, when we were at MAC studying for PHAR 301 and I told you my dream job would be writing, you asked me to dedicate a book to you. Here it is!

To Mom, because, well, because you’re you, and without you, I wouldn’t be me. If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t be able to write what I do, and I definitely wouldn’t be the same person without you. Love you lots, and I really hope you enjoy this one (even though nothing can compare to you reading NBK and having NO idea I was the one who had written it!).

To Skyla Dawn Cameron for her keen eye and attention to detail that has me unafraid of opening her content letters after an editing session with her. Also, a big thank you for creating my covers for this series!

Lastly, to you Nerds, because I love you all so much. We have never met, and we will likely never meet in person, but know that what you have given me when reading my book, and leaving me a review or comment on any social medium, well, it’s the closest thing to magic I think us humans possess –the ability to show others we care. Thank you so much for taking a chance on me, and enjoying Sera and Hunter’s journey in the process.

Enjoy Katie’s path to love, she’s going to need all the help she can get.

I less than three you ALL!

Chapter 1

It’s the curse – it’s gotta be all the curse’s fault.

The curse has everything to do with my bad luck. Everything. And for fuck’s sake, I can’t use the excuse of being cursed as a defense for vehicular manslaughter.

If the thing I hit is even human, that is. It could’ve been just a really big duck. Yeah, or one of those evil geese with their honking and hissing. See? Not so bad if I killed a goose – which means I’ve orphaned a whole bunch of geese babies.

I really really don’t want to think about the alternative. Like, I could have seriously possibly hit a human being. Ah, Christ, I’m not ready to go to jail! I have so much to live for, and they’re going to separate me from my Louboutins!

I have to think about letting go of the steering wheel for a solid thirty seconds before my hands do what I tell them to. I check in the rear-view mirror and pretend I see tumbleweeds in the distance since the road’s completely deserted. I’m on a back street on my way back home, and dusk has painted the sky a fiery orange that reminds me of my favourite nail polish – OPI’s Tasmanian Devil Made Me Do It.

Which reminds me of jail jumpsuits. And the possibility of becoming someone’s bitch because I’m not a physically strong person, and I know I’m pretty enough that like Vinny Gambini says in My Cousin Vinny, “one way or another, you’re getting fucked tonight.”

I punch the button to turn off the radio, Axl Rose’s vocals being lost to the sound of my heavy breathing, as if the silence is going to make me focus better. I have the fleeting shameful thought that my hood is going to be ruined and I just fixed the fucking brakes. But I’ll take the dent if it means I didn’t hurt a person. Oh please, please don’t let it be a dog, either. Please, please, please!

I pull in deep breaths through my nose, and ignore the squelching panic my stomach is currently feeling. I feel like I’m going to vomit, and shit my pants at the same time. Hell, even my fingers shake hard enough that I have to fumble to get my car door open.

Minghia, I hate you Nona Imelda! Who the hell curses their own granddaughter?!

When I ease my foot off the gas, I realize I’m still moving, and with a screech I pound the brake and get Roxie, my blue Mustang, in park. A shocked sob escapes my mouth, because seriously, if I didn’t originally hit a person, I sure as fuck did it now!

The dread gnaws on my insides, and saliva pools in my mouth. But I have to see, I have to get out of the car and face what I did.

I don’t want to look. I want to stay in my car, and stare at my reflection in the visor, and pretend that the smudge at the corner of my mouth of my practically Valentino-Red lipstick is the only problem I have right now.

Now that I’ve got the sweats, black spots float in the air which would probably mean I’m about to have a panic attack, or pass the fuck out.

Ovary up, DiNovro!

I gulp down air, and end up choking on my saliva. I feel my pumps connect with the pavement as I climb out of my car, but everything from the waist down feels like it’s gone to Jell-O.

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