Geek God: Forever Geek Trilogy, #1

By Victoria Barbour

**A short and sweet novella by bestselling author Victoria Barbour**

Looks can be deceiving. Just ask Classics professor Jillian Carew. At first glance, Evan Sharp is every inch a bona fide god amongst mortals. But at heart he’s nothing more than your typical geek. Can she really make it work with a man who pretends to be an ogre-fighting dwarf, even if he's hotter than the Roman soldiers that invade her dreams? Turns out that sometimes, falling in love is just the beginning of the romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yarn Press
• Release date: Sep 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992009199

Victoria Barbour

A USA TODAY bestselling author, Victoria lives on the island of Newfoundland, and is fiercely proud of her home. She can imagine no better setting for her works, and hopes that her readers will one day come to witness Newfoundland and Labrador's rustic beauty for themselves. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada and the Writers' Alliance of Newfoundland and Labrador. 

Book preview

Thursday. 9:30ish in the morning.

I wouldn’t say I’ve slept with a lot of guys in my life. Not because it’s not accurate, but who would willingly admit such a thing about themselves. You’d either think I was bragging, or a skank. Besides, a lot isn’t really a quantifiable number. Compared to some girls, I bet my number is quite low. Maybe even respectable.

I’m not even sure why I’m bringing this up. Hell, you don’t even know me yet. Let’s just say, if one of my girlfriends—most likely Ingrid—happens to imply such a thing, you should know that for the past year, I haven’t even had a date, let alone an orgasm. Well, an orgasm of any significance that included another person. Argh. Let me start over.

My name is Jillian Carew. I’m a professor of Classics at the university here in my home province of Newfoundland. If you need to ask which one, then you don’t know Newfoundland. There’s just Memorial. MUN, we call it.

The stars aligned and I managed to land a teaching gig here last August. Is it wrong of me to be a wee bit thankful that two old men who refused to retire and let some young blood into the department had the cruel hand of fate intervene and take them to the great beyond? Regardless, I’d already set myself on the straight and narrow. No more ill-advised affairs with post-docs or angst-ridden quasi relationships with grad students. The last thing I’d want is for people to think I’m easy. I’m not.

Easy. So many people think I’ve had it easy.

Oh, lucky Jillian. Grew up in one of the fancy houses on Circular Road. Comes from old money. Blah blah blah.

People have always judged me by my last name. No one more so than my mother. Because if there’s anything worse than being the great-great-great granddaughter of one of the people responsible for shaping Newfoundland’s political history, it’s being the great-great-great-great granddaughter of one of the most famous merchants to set up shop in Newfoundland.

You wouldn’t think old money and history would mean much in twenty-first century St. John’s. You’d think wrong. Sure, most people you’d meet walking down Water Street these days don’t know a whit about the Carews and the Sheas, but in my parents’ world, my grandparents’ world, it still matters.

They’ll tell you I have a history of rebellion. But let me set the record straight. I have a history of trying to figure out how to just be a version of myself I can live with.

Imagine my surprise when I was in grad school to find out that I’m normal. That this whole idea of creating your own identity is normal. What’s abnormal is allowing yourself to be told who to be. I’m a post-modern woman. I’ll construct my own self, thank you very much.

And who I am now is Professor Carew. A tweed-wearing, hard-ass grading, I’ve-told-all-the-lies-to-extend-a-deadline-so-you-can’t-fool-me member of the Classics department.

To my surprise, I’m way more productive than I’ve ever given myself credit for. Three articles published this year in select journals. A full-time teaching schedule. And I’ve successfully bought my own little piece of heaven in downtown St. John’s.

On my own.

Without dipping into the family coffers.

Yup. So let’s just say I’m pretty content with my life right now.

Dr. Carew.

Crap. Is my mother here? What is she doing on campus?

Dr. Carew.

No sign of her. But there’s that kid in my intro to Latin course. Terrible student. But he gets an E for effort.

Dr. Carew, you forgot your muffin.

Right. That’s me. When am I going to remember that I’m a doctor as well? Maybe around the time my father stops reminding me that I was supposed to be a doctor of medicine, not a doctor of letters.

The erstwhile young thing is holding a brown paper bag before me.

I didn’t order a muffin.

Yea, but it’s the coffee and muffin special. You paid for it. You should take it.

I didn’t pay for it.

You did. When you pay for the coffee, you pay for the muffin.

This conversation is ridiculous. I’ll just take the damn carb-fiend and go.

Hello. What’s this now?

I don’t often pay attention to the gaggle of students congregating around the base of the clock tower. When the university decided to plant it firmly underground in one of the tunnels that link the buildings together, they’d envisioned creating a small museum. What they created was a nerd haven. I suppose I could find out what happens there if I had the desire to really care. There’s little doubt that as soon as the muffin-bearer stops talking, he’ll join them. Whatever it is they get up to, it’s nerdy to the extreme.

These kids aren’t the stylish new brand of geek-chic, that pseudo-intellectual social group that’s basically this century’s version of prep. The kind of people I hang around with, truth be told. These kids are Nerds. Emphasis on the uppercase N. Absolutely nothing ironic about their fashion choices, nothing designer about their glasses or sneakers. They’re not geeking out over Doctor Who. They’re likely doing astrophysics for fun.

So what the hell is a man like that doing sitting on the floor playing cards with them?

Do songs or lines from movies ever pop into your head? Because right now, I have that old Sesame Street song planting a little ear worm. You know the one about things not being alike.

Nope. For starters, he is hot. Maybe the hottest guy I’ve seen on campus all year. And it has nothing to do with his clothes, although the jeans and grey knit sweater do hug his body to perfection.

God. Look at that face. Hard and chiselled. Square jawed. And that body. He’s a big man. Broad shoulders. You know what he reminds me of? A Roman soldier. Mmmm. Roman soldiers.

Sweet God. I think I’m sweating. I know I’m this close to blushing. And I have no clue what this kid with the muffin is saying. Something about oatmeal or bananas or gluten.

Is he a prof? A grad student? Campus security?

Nah. He’s too brawny for any of that. He looks like a man who could take on a Cyclops single-handedly and deliver a mortal blow.

I’d be concerned for the safety of those nerds with him around if he