The Replacement Crush

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  He grinned. “About your mom’s pen name? Let’s wait until five o’clock to settle this.”

  I returned his smile and zipped up my hoodie. “Hope you brought the Star Trek bible.”

  He laughed and tugged on his helmet. “See you later, Vivian.”

  He revved the zoomy Italian engine and was gone, a gaggle of nerd-worshippers giggling in his wake.

  “So about that list,” Jaz said, suddenly appearing next to me. “We need to get serious or else you’ll end up dating McNerdy, and God knows you don’t want that to happen.”

  My cheeks burned. “I already have some names. And McNerdy is not one of them.”

  Jaz narrowed her eyes. “Excellent. I’ll just swing by the store and give your list my seal of approval. Or not.”

  We glared at each other, then I yelled, “Race you!” and took off at full speed.

  ...

  Half an hour later, we’d gorged on snacks and had taken over store duty from Mom, who’d disappeared to her home office. We sat at the desk, notebook open between us. I’d refused to change my pro/con list format, so Jaz insisted on adding a zing rating column, but that was as much as I was willing to give.

  “So let’s hear the names,” she demanded, polishing off the last of the cookies.

  Fortunately the only customer was Mrs. Sloane, a regular from the senior center. She sat in an overstuffed chair, reading jacket blurbs of western romances.

  “Okay.” I brushed crumbs off my shirt. “RC target number one: Iggy.”

  “What?” Jaz’s shriek made Mrs. Sloane glance up. “Sorry,” Jaz whispered. She turned her shocked gaze to me. “You do realize he’s gay, right?”

  “Rumor is he’s actually bi, which opens the door for me.”

  Jaz’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

  I nodded. “Way. Don’t you remember when he hooked up with Tara freshman year? She said he was the best kisser of her life.” Which was saying something, since Tara had lots of experience.

  “Viv. Get serious.”

  I ignored her. “Plus he’s awesome. Named for Iggy Pop, British accent, Japanese cheekbones, and wicked funny. Plus we’re already friends. He’s made-for-TV perfect.”

  “As your GBF, sure. But as a replacement crush? No way.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look, he meets the smart and funny criteria. British accent gets at least one bonus zing point. But not too much zing.”

  “But he’s gay, Vivian! As in, so not interested in luring you to the beach after dark.”

  Dallas chose that moment to appear at the counter.

  “Hi.” He tugged at his hair, not making eye contact with either of us. How much had he overheard?

  Jaz squeezed my thigh so hard my eyes watered. I glared at her, but she gave me a syrupy smile, then turned the syrup on Dallas.

  “Hi, Dallas. We were just discussing Vivian’s—”

  “Homework,” I said, instantly interrupting. “We’re doing homework.” I glared at Jaz. “I. Will. Kill. You,” I mouthed.

  Dallas took a sudden interest in stowing his backpack and helmet in a corner.

  Jaz giggled and stood up. “I know you two have work to do. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Dallas approached the counter, looking adorably nervous. “Um, I can wait, if you’re busy.”

  “No, no,” Jaz said, swishing around from behind the counter. “Besides, I need to Skype Lance.” She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully, making me blush.

  Dallas nodded, looking slightly confused.

  “I’ll call you later,” Jaz said, giving me a beauty queen wave.

  “Oh, hey,” Dallas said, recovering his composure. “Did you guys know Fisk Vilhelm is in town?”

  Jaz squealed and jumped up and down. “I knew it!” She pointed at me. “I told you, Vivian. Why do you doubt my celeb-spotting skills after all these years?”

  Dallas smiled at Jaz like the cheap entertainment she was. “So you saw him, too? He’s pretty cool.”

  Jaz froze. “Wait. You met him? Talked to him? Details. Now.”

  Dallas glanced at me, then Jaz. “Well, uh, it was no big deal. I…sort of ran into him, and uh, he was cool.” He shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “Ran into him where?” Jaz took a step toward Dallas, who stepped back, glancing at me over his shoulder like he needed rescuing.

  “Uh, he was… I was…” His voice trailed away, then he cleared his throat. “I think it might be confidential, actually.”

  “Confidential!” Jaz squeaked. “Dallas, I know you’re new here.” She took a calming breath. “But it sounds like you’ve heard the unwritten rule that we don’t hassle celebs when they’re in town.”

  “Right.” Dallas nodded. “I didn’t hassle him.”

  Jaz narrowed her eyes. “But there’s not a rule that says you can’t say where you saw him.”

  Dallas rubbed his hand over his chin. “Good to know. But I’m still pretty sure I need to keep it a secret.”

  Jaz stared at me, astonished. “Vivian, tell him,” she pleaded. “Tell your McNerd that I am not going to stalk Fisk.”

  “McWhat?” Dallas shot me a dark look, then turned back to Jaz. “Did you just call me a…McNerd?”

  Jaz at least had the decency to blush. “Uh, yeah, I did. Sorry. But it’s, um, not a mean nickname. It’s a cute one.” She flashed him her most charming smile. “Viv’s the one who came up with it. You should be flattered. She doesn’t give nicknames to just anyone.”

  I needed to find out exactly which poisons Mom was researching so I could borrow some to kill my best friend.

  No one breathed or moved or said a word for what felt like forever. From the corner, Mrs. Sloane chuckled softly to herself.

  Finally, I swallowed and raised my eyes to Dallas. His mouth was a tight, straight line, and I couldn’t tell if it was anger or amusement flashing in his eyes. Oh, who was I kidding? Of course he was mad, and I couldn’t blame him.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, mortified, my face on fire. I prayed for Scottie to beam me up, but my butt stayed glued to the chair.

  “I’ve gotta go.” Jaz backed away from us. “See ya, guys.” She turned and fled, pausing at the door to send me frantic I’m-so-sorry-please-don’t-kill-me girl face messages. The door slammed behind her, leaving me alone with the McNerd and Mrs. Sloane, whose knowing smile indicated she was enjoying the drama playing out in front of her.

  Dallas sighed as he settled himself in his chair. I couldn’t look at him.

  “I’ve been called worse,” he finally said. “At least yours is clever. Sort of.”

  “Dallas, I…I didn’t mean…”

  He put up a hand, and I flinched as if he’d slapped me. “Forget it. Let’s get to work.”

  He wouldn’t look at me, which made me feel terrible. I’d thought McNerd was a cute nickname, not hurtful like Chunky Monkey, but obviously he didn’t like it. He was new, trying to fit in, and he was nice…and adorkable…and now I’d hurt his feelings.

  “Is this yours?” He slid the purple RC notebook toward me and I grabbed it, praying he hadn’t noticed the sketch of his eyes.

  He opened his laptop and his fingers flew over the keyboard. One of us had to speak, but clearly neither one of us wanted to.

  “So,” I finally mumbled, “what are we doing today?” I grabbed a Reese’s peanut butter cup from the candy jar.

  He sat quietly for a few moments, then turned toward me, his face a mask of calculated indifference with none of the humor or cute dorkiness from earlier today. I swallowed nervously. Maybe he wasn’t McNerdy so much as McScary.

  “I’d planned to ask about the categories of books you sell.” He glanced around the store, carefully avoiding eye contact with me. “Obviously mysteries. But what else?” His gaze finally returned to me, its intensity unnerving.

  I forced a smile, but he didn’t return it. How could I possibly fix this?

  “Well, um, we also have a romance section. That’s sort of my
specialty.” God, had I admitted that out loud? My face burned as I rushed on. “And there’s a kids’ book section. Not very big but we try to keep stuff to occupy the kids while their parents browse.” I took a breath. “Oh! We have a geek section, too! Sci-fi, fantasy. You might like…”

  My words trailed away. Was there idiot juice instead of water in my water bottle today?

  He resumed typing, but I saw his jaw clench. “Do you categorize within genres? On the shelves?”

  I gulped. “Uh…”

  He turned to me, impatient. “Cozy mysteries. Romantic suspense. Like that.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed, still rattled by his cool distance. “You know about sub-genres?”

  An irritated expression flitted across his face. “I did some research.”

  Research. I remembered the bet; maybe that could lighten the mood. I yanked out my hair elastic, fiddling with the wild curls I’d unleashed. Dallas glanced at my hair, then focused back on his screen.

  “So,” I said, twisting the elastic, “did your research reveal anything important, like my mom’s pen name?”

  He stopped typing, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Maybe.”

  “You get two guesses.” Even if I gave him twenty, he’d never figure it out.

  He straightened, then turned toward me, pushing his glasses up his nose. God, his eyes were so…so…

  “Macy Gardner,” he said.

  I blinked, reminding myself to focus on his words instead of his eyes. “No. Good guess, though.” Lots of people thought Mom was Macy Gardner since her cozy mysteries were set in a beach town similar to ours.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really? She’s not Macy?”

  I shook my head. “What’s your second guess?”

  He tugged his hair and glanced up. “I was sure that was it,” he mumbled more to the ceiling than me.

  Mrs. Sloane chose that moment to totter up to the counter. I used to wonder why she didn’t buy at least ten books at once, since I knew she’d be back in two days for a new book. Then Mom explained to me that getting out of the senior center and visiting our store was probably the highlight of her week.

  Smiling, I stood up to help her. “I’m sure you still have credit, but let me record this.” I grabbed an index card box, recorded the transaction, and handed her the book, slipping a Murder by the Sea bookmark between the pages.

  Mrs. Sloane propped the book on the counter, cover facing toward us, while she buttoned her sweater. Dallas glanced at the book then quickly looked away. Her Wild Rider featured a buffed, shirtless cowboy wearing low-slung jeans, head tilted down, his chiseled face partially hidden by his cowboy hat. I wasn’t a huge western fan, but I followed the reviews on the blogger sites to make sure we stocked the good ones. Mrs. Sloane wasn’t the only Shady Cove resident who had a thing for hot cowboys.

  Even though I knew he was embarrassed, I was secretly relieved to see Dallas’s cool facade rattled. Maybe now he’d be easier to work with. “Are you coming to book club on Saturday?” I asked Mrs. Sloane.

  She nodded and touched her perfectly coiffed helmet of silver hair. “Wouldn’t miss it, sweetie. But I wasn’t thrilled with this one. I expected the dragon sex to be hotter.”

  Dallas choke-coughed, reaching for his water bottle.

  I put up a hand. “Save it for Saturday, Mrs. Sloane. I don’t want to know anyone’s opinion in advance.”

  She dropped her book into her tote bag. “All right.” She sighed. “I guess I prefer human relations to supernatural ones.”

  Dallas’s cough increased and he slugged down more water.

  Mrs. Sloane shot me a wink. “He’s cute,” she mouthed.

  I checked to make sure he wasn’t watching us, then nodded.

  “See you on Saturday.” I waved good-bye as Mrs. Sloane left the store.

  “I bet you didn’t know about those sub-genres,” I said, turning to Dallas. “Cowboys and dragons.”

  “I know about the vampire thing,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

  Who on planet Earth didn’t know about the vampire thing?

  He cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn’t realize about the dragons.”

  “Shape-shifters,” I clarified. “They can change form from human to dragon. And other supernatural creatures. We’re talking sub-sub-genres.”

  He finally made eye contact, unable to hide his curiosity. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  I knew he had to be wondering about the physical details, especially after Mrs. Sloane’s comment, but I assumed he’d rather die than ask me. I sure didn’t want to tell him about this particular dragon lord’s special, um, equipment. Fortunately, what happened in book club stayed in book club.

  “So what’s your second guess?”

  It was his turn to blink in confusion.

  “My mom’s secret identity.”

  His expression cleared. “Oh, right.” He frowned. “I thought I had it.”

  “I know. Most people around here think Mom is Macy, no matter how much she denies it.” I shrugged. “But she’s not.”

  He nodded, tugging at his hair again. “Okay…well…”

  The tinkling bell sounded, and we both turned to the door.

  My stomach clenched as Jake and the dreadhead sauntered in, hands shoved in each other’s back pockets. What was he doing here? And why did he bring his barnacle?

  Jake tossed his dark hair out of his eyes in a move that used to make me melt.

  “Hey, Viv,” Jake said, like it was no big deal he’d crushed my heart only 48 hours earlier.

  My knuckles whitened as I gripped the counter. I sensed Dallas watching me, but I refused to look at him, not wanting him to see how badly Jake rattled me.

  “Hey, Jake.” I spoke through gritted teeth. I didn’t acknowledge the dreadhead even though I knew that was shallow and mean. I was still in the first stages of break-up grief; I was allowed to be bitter.

  “My gram ran out of books again.” He held up a plastic bag full of paperbacks. “She needs a refill.”

  Like the bookstore was a Big Gulp machine? The idiot had no appreciation for the written word whatsoever. And I’d wasted how many kisses on him?

  I sighed extra long and loud. “How much longer is she staying with you?”

  Jake shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe another couple of weeks?”

  I took the bag. She’d finished over a dozen books. “She reads fast,” I said, more to myself than him.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “She said she wants more like those, uh, what was it again?” He looked at the dreadhead for help.

  Dreadhead smiled at me. She was pretty. Uber pretty, in fact. No wonder Jake dumped me. Dallas stared at her, too. Of course he’d be sucked in by the blonde beach girl spell. They probably didn’t have girls like that in Wisconsin.

  “She liked the Macy Gardner ones. The beach mysteries,” the Jake barnacle said, tilting her pretty little dreadhead. “Is Macy your mom? That’s so cool.”

  I bit back a sigh of frustration as Dallas chuckled softly.

  “No,” I snapped. “My mom writes under another name. And before you ask what it is, I can’t tell you. Secrecy oath.”

  Dreadhead’s eyes widened, then she laughed. “Whatevs.” She glanced at Jake and shrugged. Jake rolled his eyes. It was definitely a Viv’s-so-weird-sorry-I-had-to-bring-you-here eye roll.

  “We have lots of Macy Gardner’s books.” I headed toward the cozy mystery section, determined to channel my inner Spock.

  Dallas stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Dallas.”

  Jake shook his hand. “Jake.” He tilted his head. “This is Claire.”

  Returning to the counter, I shoved the new books into Jake’s bag. Jake asked Dallas about his Vespa and said it was sick. Claire said it was adorbs. I rolled my eyes, but no one was looking at me.

  “Here.” I handed the bag to Jake, who looked confused.

  “Don’t I need to pay you?”

  I shook my head. “She had enough
store credit from the ones you brought back.”

  “Cool.” Jake looped his arm around Claire’s waist and she snuggled into him. I wanted to projectile vomit all over the happy couple, but unfortunately I didn’t have that superpower.

  Dallas turned to me after they left. “Don’t you need to record that transaction?”

  “What?” I could barely focus, distracted by images of Jake and Claire kissing seared into my brain.

  He gestured to the index card box. “The store credits.”

  “Oh.” I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “I don’t have a card set up for Jake’s grandma.”

  Dallas frowned. “Why not?

  Uh, because when he first came in here I was so totally flustered it was the last thing I thought of? And the second time I wanted to kill him?

  “She’s just visiting. I didn’t think she’d become a repeat customer.”

  “That’s…maybe not the best business practice,” Dallas said softly, but he stared at his computer instead of me.

  “Who are you, Bill Gates?” I snapped, then instantly regretted it because of the whole McNerd thing. I dropped into my chair and sighed. “Sorry, Dallas. I didn’t mean…it’s just…hard to explain.”

  Dallas spun his chair. “I think I got the message.” He glared at me, arms crossed over his chest, those intense green eyes making my stomach flutter.

  “No, I don’t think you did.” I swallowed, but pressed on. “Most of the time I’m actually a decent person who doesn’t make fun of people, even accidentally with stupid nicknames. I’m sorry about that. But…” My voice trailed away.

  What was I doing? I couldn’t tell him about Jake and me. I didn’t even know Dallas. For all I knew, he’d be part of Jake’s snake pack by the end of the week, laughing over stupid Viv who thought kissing actually meant something. Yeah, maybe I was an idiot for hooking up with Jake, but I was also an idiot trying to blink back tears.

  “Excuse me, be right back.” I jumped out of my chair and scurried away. I pushed through the kitchen door and locked myself in the tiny bathroom where I splashed my burning face with cold water. At least the cold water froze the tears in their tracks.

  I stared in the mirror, taking deep breaths, trying to re-center myself. “Compose yourself, Vivian. Vulcans do not have meltdowns.” Spock’s voice was stern, and slightly disgusted. Who could blame him? Spock was right; I needed to get a grip, but the tears weren’t listening, staging a rebound attack. I grabbed a book off the vanity shelf and started reading randomly, distracting myself with words, my shelter in every storm.