The Bookworm Crush

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  “Is that why you’re feeding me?” He pulled out a stool and sat at the counter, figuring her smile meant he could make himself comfortable.

  “No. I’m feeding you because the whole neighborhood heard your stomach growling.”

  His neck burned, and it wasn’t from sunburn. Amy opened another cupboard, pulled out a bag of potato chips, and tossed it to him. He caught the bag one-handed and opened it, pulling out a handful. As he crunched his chips, he scanned her from head to toe.

  Sparkly stuff in her hair, like always. Were those butterflies? Weird but sort of cool.

  Nerdy book T-shirt. No surprise there.

  Jeans that fit her…just right. He coughed, chip dust clogging his throat. Amy filled a glass of water and brought it to him.

  “You okay?” she asked when the choking finally stopped.

  He nodded, slugging down water.

  “Good. Brayden would never forgive me if you died in our kitchen.”

  He laughed, almost starting another choking attack. She was funnier than he would’ve guessed.

  Toff cleared his throat and focused on checking out the kitchen, since it was safer than checking out Amy. It was one of those homey kitchens, like Dallas’s. A room where people actually cooked, with spice racks, jars full of stuff he didn’t recognize, cookbooks, and a couple of well-used aprons hanging on a hook. He and his dad mostly grilled outside or ordered takeout.

  The fridge was covered with magnets and photos, including one of Amy and Brayden sitting on Santa’s lap with their dog. From last year.

  “What’d Santa bring you? A book about living the crime life?”

  Amy cut him a look that was mostly annoyed, partly embarrassed, and a little bit of something he couldn’t read.

  “It’s this silly ritual my mom makes us do every year.” She opened the fridge and put away the sandwich makings. “She swears she’s going to do it until Brayden turns twenty-one.” She closed the fridge door and faced him, hands on her hips. “It’s child abuse, if you ask me.”

  “Maybe you should call Officer Hernandez and turn her in.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked up as she joined him at the counter with their plates.

  “Thanks,” Toff said, his stomach rumbling with appreciation.

  She definitely made a guy work for a smile. Usually it didn’t take any effort for him to earn a girl’s smile. A rush of adrenaline fizzed in his veins. He was always up for a challenge.

  He allowed himself one long, slow, appreciative perusal of all he could see of her above the countertop and gave her a lazy grin. Spending more time with the yarn bomber was definitely worth pursuing.

  “You know, Ames, before kniffiti night, I would’ve guessed you were on Santa’s nice list. Now I’m not so sure.” He picked up his sandwich and eyed her. “Just how naughty are you?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  What was happening? Why was Toff Nichols sitting in her kitchen, eating a sandwich like he belonged there, and flirting with her?

  Until this moment, Amy had been proud of herself. She’d somehow managed to act cool and composed from the minute she saw him standing in her kitchen looking all suntanned and windblown and—and—whatever, in those board shorts riding low on his hips and his Surf Naked T-shirt.

  God, he was a cliché. So was she, with her ridiculous crush on him. Maybe they belonged together after all, like the Instagram commenter suggested.

  Yeah, right.

  Toff took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed, his pretty-boy eyes with the overkill eyelashes fixed on her, waiting for a response to his come-on line.

  Well, she wasn’t going to flirt back. No matter how much she’d dreamed of this, it was just like kniffiti night—an act. A game. She didn’t know why he was playing it, but she could bring her own game and act like she was immune to his flirting.

  Besides, they had business to discuss. The worst that could happen was… Well, she wasn’t sure which would be worse—him saying no or him saying yes.

  “Guess you’ll have to ask Santa,” she said briskly. “So, listen, before my annoying brother comes back in here, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Another one?” He popped a potato chip into his mouth, keeping his eyes on hers. “It’s like you think I’m your real boyfriend or something.”

  “I’m well aware that you’re my fake boyfriend,” she said primly as heat flooded her cheeks. “I mean, you were, with the sheriff. But not anymore.”

  “So what’s the favor, babe? Need a hot date to a party? Want a private surf lesson? Or some other type of private tutoring?” He shot her an over-the-top leer, which she did her best to ignore.

  Focus, she told herself. Meeting your unicorn author is the prize, and he can help you win.

  “I need a coach for a contest I’m entering, not a hot date.” She made herself lock eyes with him. “I want to win. And you know how to win.”

  Toff tilted his head, reminding her a little bit of Goldi, all blond and beautiful and…confused. “It’s not a surfing contest, is it?”

  “It’s the publisher contest. The one I mentioned earlier. The reason I yarn bombed the bench.”

  “You skipped the important part.” Toff sized her up, no longer in flirtastic fake boyfriend mode. “What exactly do you have to do to win?”

  Amy bit her lip, hoping she could explain why she wanted his help without embarrassing herself. “I…I need to, um, go big or go home, I guess,” she said as heat suffused her body.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the counter stool, his lips quirking up. Did he flex his biceps or was she hallucinating?

  “I need specifics, Ames. Just how big are we talking?”

  He was definitely flexing, damn him. She should have written a script for this conversation.

  “I have to share my book love on social media. Bring my best book nerd game, but I need help.”

  Confusion clouded Toff’s eyes. “You don’t need a coach for that. You love books. That’s all you and Viv talk about.”

  “It’s not all we talk about.” Amy scowled. “It’s like a popularity contest. My social media posts need to get a lot of likes, retweets, regrams. A lot of ‘buzz.’” To her dismay, she made air quotes. She swallowed, forcing herself to ask for what she really needed. “I need a…a…swagger mentor.” She cringed. The dorkiness was strong with her today.

  Toff grinned, the confusion in his eyes replaced by speculation. “I get it. You’ve got stage fright, basically. Performance anxiety.” He shot her a suggestive wink, which she pretended was a tic in his eye.

  “So will you help me?” She was half hoping he’d turn her down.

  “Depends. Tell me more about being a ‘swagger mentor.’” This time he made mocking air quotes; then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter and blasting her with so much…swagger…she wanted to smack him. Or kiss him.

  There will be no kissing, she scolded herself.

  “You know what I mean.” She waved her hands in his general direction, cheeks on fire. “This…this…thing you do.”

  His grin deepened, showcasing both dimples. “Which thing? Flirting? Winning? Swaggering?”

  Argh. Amy covered her face with her hands, not caring what he thought. This was, hands down, the worst idea she’d ever had.

  His deep laughter curled around her, and she jumped when his hands touched hers, gently pulling them from her face. He held onto her hands, cupping them with his own on the counter between them.

  Amy’s heart banged around in her chest. Say no, she willed him. Say yes! she thought, just as quickly.

  “I think I know what you’re asking,” he said, toning the swagger way down. “But I’m not sure I know how to teach it to you.”

  She bit her lip, glancing away. “I understand. It was a dumb—”

 
“But maybe I could, uh, role model or something.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. For once, he wasn’t teasing.

  “I’ve worked with surfers who don’t have much confidence.” This time he winced. “Sorry. No offense, it’s just—”

  “No, you’re right. You saw me in action last night. I almost blew it with the cop.” She tucked a loose hair behind her ear, and he tracked her movements with his bright-blue gaze. Was he noticing her sparkles? “Good thing you had enough swagger for the both of us.”

  His attention flicked back to her face. “You brought your game when it counted.” He released her hands and leaned back. “Your fake girlfriend game was pretty good when we needed it to be, so we know you’ve got swagger potential.”

  He drummed his fingers on the countertop, pursing his lips like he was making a tough decision. “How much can you pay me?”

  “P-pay?” she sputtered. What was his damage?

  “Winning doesn’t come cheap, Ames.”

  She glared. There was a big difference between funny and cocky—which he usually was—and jackassery. He’d just crossed the line.

  “I’m kidding.” Toff leaned across the counter, blasting her with another dimpled smile that froze her brain and heated up her body. “How about we do a trial run? I’m up for one coaching session.” He took a bite of his sandwich and gave her a thumbs-up as he chewed and swallowed. “You can pay me in food.”

  The romance was strong with this one. Not. Why was she crushing on him? Like Viv always said, hormones had a mind of their own.

  Anyway, he’d said he’d help—that was the important part.

  “Awesome.” She blew out a breath and flattened her palms on the counter. The worst part was over with. Now it was time to set some boundaries, for both their sakes. “We need to set a few coaching rules.”

  “What is it with girls and rules?” Toff scoffed.

  “Maybe the reason girls need rules is because guys are so…so…” She flung her hand up, flustered. “You know how you are. How a lot of guys are, at least. That Y chromosome unleashed a pox upon humanity.”

  His lips quirked, but he didn’t say a word, which surprised her. Maybe she’d used too many syllables.

  “Anyway.” She blew out a breath. She was veering off track. “My coaching rules are simple. One, you can’t go too easy on me. I can handle the pressure.” She wasn’t sure about that, but she had to develop a thicker social media skin than the tissue-thin one she had. Online trolls freaked her out.

  “Push you to the max. Got it.” He resumed devouring his lunch.

  “Two.” She had to ask this, even though it was going to be super awkward. “You have this, um… You’re just… I mean… How you are with girls…is very…distracting.”

  He stopped eating and gave off that teakettle-about-to-whistle vibe again, his eyes crinkling at the corners, mouth twitching.

  “I thought you wanted my swagger.”

  She wanted to tear her gaze from his, but it was like he’d hypnotized her. “I…do…but, um, for professional reasons. Not personal.” The air between them snapped, crackled, and popped, like that old cereal commercial.

  “So, uh”—she paused, breathed—“if you could just rein in all that”—she waved her hand in his general direction—“when you’re coaching me.”

  And the Academy Award goes to…Amy McIntyre, for best performance while slowly dying inside.

  Toff smashed his lips together, but his eyes were laughing. “Rein in all this?” He pointed to himself with both hands in a cocky check-this-out gesture.

  “Omigod. See what I mean? You can’t do it.” She wanted to laugh. To scream. To undo her request for a coach.

  “Want me to wear a bag over my head? Or a mask?” He reached for more chips.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, which made him grin.

  “How have I been missing out on all this?” he said, imitating her and fluttering his hand at her the way she’d done to him. “We could have a lot of fun together. Running from cops and raccoons, tying up the town with yarn—”

  “This was a bad idea,” she interrupted, pushing away her plate. “This is important, not a joke.”

  “If you want serious coaching from me, you’ll get it.” His jaw went tight, his eyes glinting like blue steel. Teasing Toff was gone, just like that, replaced by competitive Toff.

  “Um, well, I…” Amy reached up to tighten her hair twist, Toff’s eyes tracking her movements like a hunter stalking his prey.

  “How about this?” He steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the counter. “You want to make the coaching rules, that’s fine by me. You tell me if you want a hard-ass coach or a cheerleader. Whichever will help you win.”

  Before she could respond, the kitchen door flew open and Goldi skittered across the tile floor with Brayden close behind.

  “Hey! You guys are eating!” Brayden accused, looking put out. Goldi barked in solidarity.

  She pointed to the sandwich on the counter. Brayden ran to grab it, then climbed onto the stool next to Toff, his hero. She rolled her eyes. Toff caught her reaction, shooting her a sideways smirk that somehow communicated amusement and commiseration, dissolving the tension between them. How did he do that with just a smile?

  Brayden grabbed a few potato chips and tossed them to Goldi, who attacked them like they were delicious prey.

  “No people food for the dog!” Amy scolded, earning an exaggerated, full-body whatever reaction from Brayden.

  “She’s so bossy,” Brayden said to Toff. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  Toff’s eyes danced with laughter. “I like bossy.” He stole the potato chip bag from Brayden and moved it out of reach. “No feeding the dog.”

  Instead of arguing or grabbing for the chip bag, Brayden nodded. “Okay.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open. Holy shitoli. Toff was the Brayden Whisperer.

  “Excellent sandwich, Ames. Thanks,” Toff said, toasting her with his glass of water before he took his last bite. “Right, Brayden?” He gave Brayden that killer stare again, the one that had sent her brother scurrying outside to do his chores.

  Brayden almost choked but recovered fast. “Yeah, it’s great.” He copied Toff’s toasting gesture, holding up his sandwich. “Thanks, Amy.”

  “You’re welcome, boys.” She had to regain the upper hand somehow.

  Toff pushed his plate aside and propped his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his folded hands. “I’d say one of us is more of a man than a boy.”

  “You’re right,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Sorry, Brayden. You’re definitely a young man.” A tremor of giddiness shot through her. This was fun, turning the tables on the flirting pro.

  He didn’t move a muscle…except for his tongue, which he ran slowly over his lips, licking off chip salt. Her face burned. So much for taking on the champion.

  “You should go on tour,” he said. “Amy the bookworm comedian.”

  “Yeah, it’s true.” Brayden nodded vigorously. “She’s funny but, like, weird funny. You ever watch her vlog?”

  Omigod. He’d say anything to get Toff’s attention. Thank goodness her feeble attempts at recording video book reviews were locked down on a private channel.

  “Not yet,” Toff said, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. His T-shirt rode up, providing a glimpse of his tanned and toned six-pack. He gave her a lazy grin. “Maybe I will.”

  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend to be immune to Toff—fake, real, and everything in between. Her resolve was fading, which was no surprise.

  To her relief, Brayden’s phone vibrated on the counter, emitting the Star Trek Intruder Alert warning.

  “Uh-oh! Mom and Dad will be here in two minutes!” Brayden’s anxious gaze bounced between Amy and Toff. “Toff can hide in my bedroom and sne
ak out the window.”

  Toff sat up straight, snapping out of flirt mode. “No kidding? Are your parents that strict? They’ll freak out if I’m just eating lunch with you?”

  As usual, Brayden was being dramatic, but Toff didn’t know that. This was her opportunity to get rid of him and his distracting six-pack. She opened her mouth to tell him Yes, they are and you should leave now, but his expression took her aback. He looked so concerned, like he really didn’t want her to get in trouble with her parents.

  She heaved a resigned sigh. Their conversation had completely depleted her willpower reserves.

  “Um, no, you don’t have to go. It’s fine.” She turned to Brayden. “You’re overreacting, Bray. How do you know they’re almost home anyway?”

  “I set it up on the Family Finder app.” He waved his phone in the air. “I get a notification when they turn onto Monarch Lane.” He grinned at Toff. “Gives me time to hide the evidence.”

  Toff laughed. “Wow, Ames. You didn’t tell me your whole family are criminals.”

  “They’re not,” she said, glaring at her brother. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “And you never will,” Brayden said ominously. Toff laughed again and reached over to muss Brayden’s hair, who stared up at him with worshipful eyes.

  Amy jumped off her stool and grabbed their empty plates. Goldi ran to the front door, whining with excitement, like Mom and Dad had been gone for months instead of a couple of hours.

  There’s no reason to panic, she told herself. So what if there was a boy in the kitchen? She didn’t have anything to hide, unlike her brother, who was hiding who knew what? As if he’d read her mind, Brayden bolted from the kitchen, tearing down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming his door behind him.

  “When’s the last time anybody inspected that kid’s bedroom for contraband?” Toff asked, baffled amusement threading his voice.

  “Months,” Amy said as she rinsed their plates in the sink. “Nobody wants to go in there. It’s a hazmat zone.”

  Toff’s laughter filled the kitchen again, followed by the crinkling sound of the potato chip bag. Maybe she should’ve made him two sandwiches.