We glared at each other like warring soldiers until he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a napkin. I stopped breathing while I watched him, captivated by his long, dark lashes usually hidden behind the lenses.
“I don’t need any more trophies.” He glanced up at me.
“Why don’t you wear contacts?” I blurted, regretting it instantly.
His lips twitched, but he left his glasses on the table. “I do, sometimes.”
“When?” Oh my God. Hormones had taken complete control of my body, including my voice. I glanced at my arms, half-expecting to see marionette strings.
“Is that one of the official interview questions?” He was laughing at me. Maybe not on the outside but definitely on the inside; I saw it in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth. He put his glasses back on and I dropped my gaze, mortified.
“Anyway...” I cleared my throat and forced myself to resume eye contact. “Sports?”
He shook his head. “Not at school.”
I frowned. “You said something about trophies, though. What are they, cello trophies?”
“No. They’re for other stuff.” He tugged at his hair and glanced out the window.
Now I was curious, abnormally so.
“Vespa-riding trophies? Coding medals?”
He turned back to me. “No and no.”
Geez, somebody was touchy. Why’d he mention the trophies if he didn’t want to talk about them? Maybe they were little kid trophies, the ones everyone on the team gets so no one feels bad. No sports, I wrote in my notebook.
He sighed as he read what I wrote.
“That’s not exactly true,” he said, sounding frustrated. “Do you have to know everything about me for this interview?”
I flinched, then closed my notebook. “If you don’t want to do this, I can leave—”
“Vivian, wait.” He leaned across the table, covering my hand with his again. “Don’t storm off. Please.” He looked genuinely distressed.
“I wasn’t going to storm off,” I muttered. “I’m not a drama queen.”
He pulled his hand away, and his worried expression morphed into one of amusement. “Of course you aren’t. There’s no room on Vulcan for drama queens.”
I bit back a smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just not used to talking about myself. It feels weird.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you.” I hesitated. “No one reads the paper, anyway, so you don’t have to worry.”
He laughed. “That’s a relief.”
“Soo…” I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Sports: yes, no, or prefer not to answer?”
He dropped his gaze and fiddled with his sugar packet. “Not sports how you probably think about it. Next question.”
I didn’t think of myself as a gonzo journalist driven to uncover dirt, but my curiosity was piqued; however, he obviously didn’t want to talk about whatever mysterious activity he did well enough to earn trophies.
“Okay,” I said. “Moving on. Favorite subject in school?”
He glanced up, lips quirking. “Seriously?”
I blushed. “I know it’s stupid. Just answer.”
“Lunch.”
I rolled my eyes. “What are you, ten years old?”
He grinned. “Sometimes.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I didn’t think you’d make this so difficult.”
He raised a shoulder. “I told you I don’t like talking about myself.” He flashed me a grin that showed his dimple, making me wonder what it would be like to kiss it.
“We could talk about something else,” I said, even though I had nothing in mind.
“Great idea. Let’s talk about you.” He pushed his long sleeves up, revealing sinewy forearms that made me bite the inside of my lip.
“Me?” I managed to whisper.
“Sure. My turn to interview you. How long have you lived in Shady Cove?” He reached for my notebook and pen and started writing on a fresh piece of paper.
“Uhh..forever. My whole life.”
He looked at me over his glasses. “That explains a lot.” He scribbled “forever” on the page.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Everyone knows you, and you know everyone. Makes sense.” He shot me another grin. “Sports: Yes, no, or prefer not to answer.”
“Bike riding. Yoga.”
He gave me an assessing look but said nothing.
I squirmed, hoping he didn’t think I was a Chunky Monkey. “Occasional surfing. Very occasional.”
He smiled faintly. “Because of the sharks?”
“Partly that.” I pictured Jake in his wet suit. “Just not my thing.”
He set down the pen and leaned back in his chair. “Book club. How long have you been doing that?”
I relaxed. I could talk about that all day long. “A couple of years.” I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I have a review blog, too.”
“Yeah?” He looked impressed. “What’s the website?”
Ugh. Why had I mentioned it?
“Vivian? The website?” He held the pen, waiting.
I shook my head. “It’s not your type of website.”
He smirked. “Reviews about dragon anatomy? Cowboy action? Ropes and boots?”
My face flamed and I glared at him. “You won’t tell me about your secret trophies. I don’t have to tell you about this.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You realize I can Google it, right?”
My stomach felt like it dropped to the floor. “Try it,” I said, forcing bravado into my voice. “You couldn’t figure out my mom’s pen name.”
His eyes flashed. “I think I’ll have better luck with you.”
My pulse sped up. “Why?”
“Insider information.” He took a sip from his cup and grimaced.
“Cold?”
He nodded.
“Want me to heat it up for you?” His body tensed as his eyes locked on mine. Oh God. The loaded words hung there between us, so I grabbed his mug and jumped up from the table. I hurried away to shove his mug into the microwave in the corner of the store. Grateful that my back was to him, I took long, deep breaths.
When I returned to the table, he acted as if nothing zingy had happened between us. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe I’d imagined the heat I saw in his eyes.
Dallas took a sip of his chai and nodded at me. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“Do you have any more questions for me?” He leaned back in his chair. I’d never met anyone who watched me so intently but not in a creepy way.
“Packer fan?”
He rolled his eyes. “Duh.”
“Does your family like it here?”
He nodded. “My mom and sister love the ocean. Dad likes teaching at UC.”
“What does he teach?”
“He’s in the Engineering school.”
I smirked. “Figures.”
Dallas smiled faintly but didn’t say anything.
I cleared my throat. So far I had nothing other than basic facts. Mr. Yang wouldn’t be happy. He always wanted a human interest angle. I thought of a question I wanted to ask but shouldn’t. Maybe I could dance around it. “So do you miss Wisconsin?”
He blinked a few times. Now that I knew about his long eyelashes, I realized I could see them behind the glasses, if I dared myself to watch him the way he watched me.
“Sure. I had…have lots of friends there. It would be like if you moved away from here.”
I nodded. “That must suck,” I said, more to myself than him.
“Some days less than others,” he said, his voice low.
We stared at each other without speaking, then he rested an arm on the table and drummed his fingers. “I might go back there for college, though. I applied to the University of Wisconsin.”
“Good choice, since you already have the wardrobe.”
His eyes narrowed, but I focused on his mouth, which was smiling. “I grew up thinking I�
�d go there since that’s where my dad taught.” He shrugged. “But now my parents are making me apply to California colleges, too. Cal Poly, USC, Berkeley. I’m drowning in college apps right now since the deadlines are coming up.”
“We have the best public colleges in the country,” I mimicked my mom.
He rolled his eyes. “Californians think everything here is better than everywhere else.”
“Isn’t it?” I widened my eyes in mock innocence, and Dallas laughed.
“Some things are. Definitely.” He studied me intently, then shifted his gaze out the window.
Heat rushed through me, but I calmed myself enough to write, “Misses Wisconsin. Might go there for college.”
“So, um, do you stay in touch with your friends?” I still wasn’t brave enough to ask what I wanted to know.
He shifted his gaze from the window back to me. “Sure.” He shrugged. “I talk to a few of my closer friends.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Actual phone calls? Don’t Wisconsonians have texting yet?”
His brow furrowed “Wisconsinites.”
“What?”
“That’s what we call ourselves. Not Wisconsonians.”
“Oh.” I scribbled Wisconsinites in my notebook and underlined it.
“And yes we have texting, but sometimes I like to actually talk to people.”
He had a girlfriend. Guys wouldn’t care if he called, but a girlfriend…
“Do you miss her? Your girlfriend?” I blurted out the words before I could lose my nerve.
His eyebrows shot up and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. It looked as if I’d finally rattled his composure instead of the other way around. It was my turn to lean back in my chair and wait for an answer. He pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. “So you’re Lois Lane in disguise, huh?”
Did that mean I was right? He had a girlfriend back in the land of Badgers and cheeseheads? My heart felt like a ball of lead, sinking to my toes. “Just doing my job. Besides, I’ve been friends with Toff since kindergarten, and I’ve never seen him pick up the phone to call anyone but his dad.”
He pulled at his hair. “Long-distance relationships are hard.” He shrugged. “But even if I was still there, we wouldn’t have lasted.” He took a sip of his chai, eyes fixed on me. “Just wasn’t meant to be.”
My heart ricocheted in my chest. Why was he telling me this? He wouldn’t tell me about his secret trophies, but he’d just told me about his girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, I corrected myself.
“Maybe I’ll try your strategy.” His eyes roved across my face.
“What strategy?” My voice sounded raspy.
“Your replacement mission. Make a list of what type of girl I want.” He paused. “But I’m interested in something longer term. Not just a date for a dance. Want to help me make my list?”
I stared at him as if he’d just asked me to plan a kidnapping.
He smirked, then reached for my notebook again and tore off the sheet of paper he’d written on. “So how does this work?” He inclined his head toward my bag. “You have your replacement notebook with you?”
I gaped at him. Who had told him about my notebook? “Um, this isn’t, uh, why we’re here, Dallas. I’m supposed to be interviewing you, not helping you find a…a…”
“Replacement girlfriend.” Laughter danced in his eyes as he watched me squirm. “Why not? Don’t you want to help out the new guy?”
I huffed a sigh of frustration. “You’re mocking me.”
“No, I’m not. Think about it logically, Spock. You know everyone. You can help me narrow the field.”
I sucked down cold tea, trying to compose myself. Help Dallas narrow the field? Introduce him to potential girlfriends? Everything in me protested, and I knew why.
Because I wanted to be the replacement.
But I couldn’t. That was the whole point of my own mission: not to fall for someone who could make me lose control. Because even if that someone seemed like an amazing person…well…letting myself get carried away again was just too scary.
“We can help each other,” he said. “Since I’m new here, I can give you an outsider’s opinion on your…what do you call them?”
“Targets,” I whispered.
His dimple flashed, deepening as he chuckled. “Targets. Right. So yeah, I’ll give you the outsider’s opinion on your targets. And you give me the inside scoop on my targets.” He paused. “Logically, this should work, Spock.”
“But…but…” I sputtered like a cartoon character. “I don’t know you well enough. To help.”
“You’re getting to know me. Working together in the store. Asking probing interview questions.” He flashed another grin. “And I’ll tell you some of my…criteria. That’s what you call it, right?”
I nodded. My hormones pounded on every nerve in my body, dying to escape and capture Dallas as their personal love slave.
He started scribbling on the paper. “Number one,” he said. “Easy on the eyeballs.” He shot me a quick look, then refocused on his list.
“Wow,” I said, my voice returning. “That’s deep, Dallas. Good to know you care about the important stuff.”
He flashed that stupid dimple again. “Just being honest, Vivian. Are you telling me it’s not on your list? Wanting a guy you think is, uh…” He cleared his throat nervously.
“Hot,” I said. “And no, it’s not on my list. In fact, it’s off my list. On purpose.”
A frown creased his forehead. “What Vulcan stupidity is that?”
I glared at him. “Let’s just say I’ve made that mistake before. Caring too much about chemistry or whatever.” I waved my hands nervously. “Being stupid enough to fall for some guy just because of how…” I was telling him too much. “Never mind.”
“No wonder Jaz thinks your list is a bad idea.” He sounded as if he’d just figured out the answer to a puzzle.
“Well, Jaz didn’t get used by a jackass, so she should keep her opinions to herself,” I snapped, then instantly wished I could shove the words back inside me where they belonged. I dropped my gaze to the table. How had a newspaper interview turned into true confessions?
“Would you like some more tea?” His voice was gentle now, not teasing. I nodded, refusing to look at him.
He took my cup and left the table. I practiced my yoga breathing while he refilled my mug with hot water and retrieved a tea bag. He returned and sat across from me, propping an ankle on his thigh.
“So,” he said. “Now that you know I’m shallow, let’s continue. Number two: she has to be smart.”
I raised my eyes to meet his, but he was looking out the window. “Obviously,” I said, and he snapped his head around.
“Why obviously?”
“Because even though you’re shallow, pretty without smart would bore you. Eventually.”
His lips twitched. “Obviously.”
I took a breath. Maybe I should help him find a girlfriend. If he started dating someone else, I could refocus on my mission instead of him. “So, one: pretty. Two: smart. What’s number three?”
“I’m not done with two. Not just smart but a certain kind of smart.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Not just book smart. Also people smart.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever meet someone who’s like a genius, but is also a total ass—uh, jerk?” He looked embarrassed.
“You can swear around me, Dallas. I’m not a delicate flower.”
He still looked flustered. “Anyway, you know what I mean? The type of person who uses her intelligence like a weapon to make other people feel stupid?”
I nodded. “Sure. Sounds like you have some history there.”
His eyes narrowed. “Stop digging, Lois Lane. Number three: she has to be her own person. Not someone who pretends to like the same stuff I do just to make me happy. Someone with her own interests, her own opinions.” He grinned. “Someone who likes a good debate once in a while.”
I took a sip of tea. It just might kill me to help him find his dream girl and watch them ride off into the sunset on his Vespa. “Okay. Pretty, smart, likes to argue.” I tried to sound disinterested. “That’s it?”
“Hmm…it’s a start.”
“Just a start?”
“Well…it’s all you need for now.” He tilted his head toward my bag. “Get out your list.”
“What? No freaking way, Dallas.” A few people turned when I raised my voice.
He grinned. “Feisty, huh?” He nodded toward the piece of paper. “Add feisty as number four.”
“B-but I...I’m not…” I’d never been this flustered by a guy, not even by Jake.
He leaned over to write “Four: feisty.” He raised his eyes to mine. “I didn’t say you were one of my targets, Vivian. I just said I liked feisty. Relax.”
Relax? How could I possibly relax?
“If you won’t show me your notebook, at least tell me all of your criteria.” He started playing with the sugar packet again.
“You already know,” I snapped, bothered that he’d said I wasn’t on his list. “Jaz and Amy told you everything, that day you eavesdropped.”
“Confession: I wasn’t eavesdropping; in fact, I was trying to ignore them. But Jaz is loud.” His eyes practically twinkled. “Maybe they wanted me to overhear them. Ever consider that?”
I gaped at him, then leaned over the table toward him, vibrating with frustration and something else I chose to ignore. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Most of the time. But not always. Like right now, I’m pretty sure you don’t think I’m funny.” His eyes kept doing that sparkling thing. “You look ready to pounce.”
I started to say that I’d love to attack him but stopped just in time. “Anyway,” I said. “I think the interview is over.”
“Agreed. But the list discussion isn’t. Tell me more of your criteria, or I’ll file an official harassment complaint with the owner of Murder by the Sea, with Jaz and Amy as my witnesses.”
Air whooshed out of me as if he’d punched me. “You don’t give up, do you?
“Nope. It’s one of my best qualities.”
We stared at each other, neither of us blinking. So now we’d moved from bickering to a staring contest? It was fifth grade all over again; however, the longer I stared into his hypnotic green eyes, the harder breathing became. And thinking. I gave up, my eyelids fluttering like birds released from a cage. He blinked, too, and dropped his gaze, clearing his throat.
The Replacement Crush Page 14
