“My criteria,” I whispered, trying to regain my composure. “One: smart. Two: funny.”
He braced an elbow on the table and leaned his chin in his hand, watching me.
I took a breath. “Three: minimal chemistry.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember that one.”
I ignored him and grabbed my own sugar packet to fiddle with. “He has to be um…a gentleman.” I wondered if he understood the meaning underlying my words. No way was I going to say that I didn’t want to date someone who’d just use me, then drop me for the next hookup that came along.
He sat up straight. “Gentleman. Opens car doors, buys dinner, all that stuff.”
“He doesn’t have to buy dinner all the time. We can take turns. That’s not the only definition of a gentleman. I just mean that he’s got to be a good person. I’m not looking for another asshole.”
He tapped the side of his head. “Got it. Regular showers. Tolerates chick music.” He gave me a fake look of horror. “Oh no. You like dancing, don’t you?” He shot me a suggestive grin. “I know you do.”
I blushed, remembering the kitchen dance he’d witnessed.
He shook his head in mock defeat. “I might not be able to help you with this mission, after all. The guys are already bitch—sorry—complaining about the Surfer Ball and the dancing.”
I couldn’t help smiling at how he kept stopping himself from swearing. “Are all Wisconsinites so worried about offending delicate girl ears?”
He ducked his head. “No.” He shrugged. “My mom’s been a freak about it ever since Becca repeated some stuff she overheard me say when I was sp—.” He suddenly clamped his lips shut, looking embarrassed and frustrated.
“When you were what?” I prompted.
He shook his head, refusing to finish his sentence, so I just shrugged and spun my sugar packet. “I think it’s sweet. Most guys can’t finish a sentence without an f-bomb.”
He cleared his throat and pushed his shirtsleeves up farther, revealing even more muscles. I really needed to check Tumblr to see if this was an actual cellist thing or if it was just him.
“So,” he said. “You want a smart, funny gentleman that you have absolutely no desire to sneak to the beach with after curfew.” He laughed softly. “You want a GBF.”
My heart couldn’t take much more of this.
He propped both elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. “What about bonus criteria?”
“Like what?” I stared at the dark hair on his forearms, and his long fingers, and—
“—but you tell me.”
I blinked, embarrassed to have zoned out like an arm junkie. “I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
His lips twitched. “I said I thought we should be open to bonus criteria. Stuff that’s not on our lists that might end up being important, once we notice it in someone else.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m going to add it to my list.” He picked up his sheet of paper and folded it carefully into fourths, then tucked it into his backpack. “I’ve gotta split. You sure you have enough for an interview? We spent half our time arguing.” He shot me another dimpled grin.
I nodded, ignoring the fact that likes to argue was one of his criteria.
He stood up, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and dangled his helmet from his hand. “I can work Monday after school and stay late that night to work on the inventory; I know we need to get it done. Saturday, too. Unless you, uh, have plans.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “No plans.”
“When are you doing the homeless interviews?” he asked.
I side-eyed him. I didn’t need, or want, a bodyguard. “I’ll let you know,” I said evasively.
He looked a lot like Spock as he raised one eyebrow, clearly signaling he didn’t believe I’d let him tag along.
“What about your next RC target?” he asked. “No Saturday night date?”
“I told you, no dates. We’re just hanging out to see if…you know…there’s any point to an actual date.”
He raised his eyebrows, staring pointedly at our empty coffee mugs. “Excellent military strategy, Galdi. Covertly assess the target’s strengths and weaknesses.” The smile he gave me made my heart do somersaults.
“It’s not a battlefield, Lang.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Yes it is, Vivian. And I play to win.”
He turned away, his long strides getting him to the exit before I could take another breath.
“You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. This is not logical, but it is often true.”
—Spock
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday, September 6
It was a perfect day for a surf comp. Jaz, Amy, and I stood huddled on the beach in the remnants of morning fog, which had almost burned off by the time I got there. I’d missed the first heat, but it had been worth it to interview Dallas.
Toff blew me a kiss and waved. Jaz narrowed her eyes. “He’s still number four on your list, right?”
“Yeah. Though I don’t know why I’m keeping him on there.”
“If you’d just make Dallas number one, it wouldn’t be an issue,” Jaz said.
“Yeah, well, apparently Dallas is on his own RC mission. And I’m not on his list.”
Amy and Jaz stared at me open-mouthed.
“What! What crazy talk is this?” Jaz demanded.
I filled them in briefly on the morning’s interview with Dallas. When I finished, Jaz had a huge grin on her face.
“What’s so funny?”
“He’s totally playing you. Of course you’re on his list. I can’t wait to ask him about it.”
I grasped her by the shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. “Don’t. You. Dare. Seriously, Jaz, you’ve done enough damage telling him about my list.”
Her grin didn’t even waver. “Pish posh. He needed to know about it so he could make the next move. Which he’s doing, obviously. I bet he plays chess.”
I frowned at Amy. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
Amy shrugged. “Not this time. But I agree that Dallas likes you.”
“Well, Toff sure as hell shouldn’t be on her list, right, Amy?” Jaz demanded.
Amy stared at her feet, shuffling her Chucks in the damp sand and shrugged. She looked like someone from a steam punk fairy tale, her long red curls swirling in the breeze, dressed in a leather jacket and hippie dress. I envied her style since I wore boring jeans and a Cal sweatshirt.
“Let’s watch the surfing, okay? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I made a show of focusing on the surfers and, amazingly, Jaz dropped the subject.
Even though Jaz drove me crazy, she’d always had my back. Yeah, she was loud and opinionated, but she was also loyal and had a huge heart. I knew her frustration with me was because she cared about me and didn’t want to see me get hurt again.
The longboarders paddled out first, waiting patiently for the waves to roll in. Toff reached the line-up first, and I watched him gracefully pop up on his board when he spotted a wave. His timing was perfect, catching the top of the wave just as it crested. His feet danced on the board, and he spun his board once, twice, three times, riding the wave like an extension of the water. His teammates yelled, cheering him on, their voices swallowed in the roaring of the waves. We moved closer, our voices joining in the cheers.
Toff rode his board all the way in to the sand, laughing and fist-pumping the air. His teammates surrounded him, pounding his back and high-fiving him. Coach hugged him, and his dad Paul gave him a thumbs-up.
“Surfing is so sexy.” Amy sighed.
I turned to her and she blushed. “Yeah,” I agreed. I glanced toward the team and saw Jake grab his board, heading out for the next heat. Maybe not always sexy.
Toff caught my eye and grinned. I crouched, imitating his bicep-flexing pose and he returned the pose, laughing. We unfolded my ratty blanke
t and settled ourselves on the sand to watch the rest of the comp. When it was time for the girls’ first heat, Toff joined us, flopping down on the blanket next to me.
“Hey, beautiful ladies. Room for me?”
Jaz rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to ask before you sit down.”
He laughed, stretching out his long legs. He’d unzipped his wet suit and shrugged out of the top half, leaving his arms and chest totally exposed. I noticed Amy sneaking glances at him, her face flushed. He was ripped, no doubt about it.
“So was I awesome today or what?” Toff joked, chewing on a straw as he watched Jake ride his wave back to the shore.
Jaz snorted. “And humble, too.”
“Right.” Toff winked at her.
“You were fantastic,” Amy said.
“Thanks, Ames.” He reached out to fist-bump her. She returned the gesture, still blushing. As I watched them, it hit me that maybe Toff was the guy Amy was crushing on. When I’d asked her who it was, she’d blown me off, saying it was nothing serious. But watching her nervous energy around Toff made me wonder.
We watched the girls paddle out, waiting for their set to roll in.
“Waves are rocking today,” Toff said. “I love days like this.”
I focused on Claire, watching the sun glint off her dreadlocks. The fog had rolled farther out to the ocean, and I basked in the increasing warmth. It was a nearly perfect day. The only thing better would be if Jake had a shark encounter.
“Kill it, Claire!” Toff yelled, making me jump. He chuckled. “Why so nervous, Viv? Is my manly essence totally overwhelming you girls?”
I turned to him, fake scowling. “You’re unbelievable.”
“In so many ways.” He shoulder-bumped me and Amy looked away from us, blushing. Yeah, I definitely needed to ask her. If she did like him, he was totally going off my list. No way would I date someone my friend liked.
Claire hopped on her board, reminding me of a lithe cat. Just like Toff, she timed her ride perfectly, cresting her wave higher than anyone else and executing perfect snaps. Jake hooted, fist-pumping the air. I marveled at her skill. However I felt about her and Jake, I was blown away by her courage and ease on the waves.
“She’s amazing,” I said.
“Yeah, she’s the best on the girls’ team, hands-down.” Toff leaned back on his elbows and dug his toes into the sand.
I stared down at him, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe she’s the best overall from both teams.”
“Wrong.” Toff grinned up at me. “I think we all know who’s the best on the guys’ team.”
Jaz threw a candy wrapper at him, and it bounced off his face.
“Dude! You’re just in time to save me from being assaulted.” Toff looked past me, grinning up at someone. We all turned to see Dallas standing there in jeans and a Badgers sweatshirt.
“Hi.” He inclined his head, smiling at all of us though his eyes flicked right past me. He focused on Toff. “Thought I’d come check it out.”
“Bummer, you missed the best run of the morning,” Toff said.
Jaz threw another wrapper at Toff’s head. “He’s talking about himself,” Jaz said. “If you couldn’t guess.”
“I thought you had other plans this morning,” I asked Dallas, squinting against the now-blinding sun.
He shrugged. “Plans change.”
Jaz sized him up, opening her mouth to say something I knew would embarrass me, but fortunately the roar of cheers from down the beach made us all turn to watch the girls ride in. Jake rushed to sweep Claire into a hug, spinning her around and kissing her. I turned away. I wanted to move on, and most of the time I knew I had, but actually seeing Jake kiss Claire the way he used to kiss me felt like a physical blow.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, reminding me it was time to meet Drew for coffee. Anxiety fluttered in my stomach. I’d already had a misstep with Iggy, then the weird homework night with Henry. This was my third attempt to put the RC mission into action. I shot a nervous glance at Dallas, who’d shaded his eyes with his hand, watching the next group of surfers paddle out.
“Take a load off, dude,” Toff said to Dallas, giving me the perfect excuse to leave. I stood up, losing my balance a little in the sand. I pictured Dallas doing his one-legged crane stand. I bet he never lost his balance.
“You can take my spot,” I told Dallas. “I need to go.”
He met my eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. “Battle stations ready. Target locked.” The intense expression in his eyes made my stomach lurch. I looked away, reaching down to grab my bag. I needed to get out of here. Too many weird emotions swirling around, watching Jake with Claire, Dallas giving off weird vibes, and Toff showing off his body and making Amy blush.
“I’ll see you guys later.” I ignored Dallas and plastered on a fake smile for everyone else.
Toff winked at me. “You’re gonna miss me getting another trophy, Wordworm.”
Jaz smacked him on the arm. “You need to learn some humility, dude.”
His grin deepened. “Why? What’s the point?”
Dallas’s responding laughter made me burrow deeper into my hoodie. That laugh of his… Sighing heavily, I turned away and trudged up the beach, the sound of cheers and crashing waves fading behind me.
...
Drew was already at the coffee shop when I arrived. He sat at the same corner table Dallas had chosen, frowning at a laptop screen. He wore a British driving cap and a plaid scarf. Maybe he was taking the director look a step too far, sitting there surrounded by the Bean’s usual tie-dyed hippie crowd.
He glanced up as I approached, giving me a tight smile. “Hello, Vivian.”
“Hi. Thanks for meeting me. I know you’re busy.” I sat across from him, wishing my churning stomach would settle.
He shrugged. “Always time to discover new talent.”
This was the tricky part, pretending interest in the talent show when I didn’t have any talents. Recommending books was hardly a crowd-pleaser.
“How’s the line-up for the show so far?” I took a sip of tea, stalling.
“Decent.” He flicked a glance toward his screen. “Though we don’t have as much variety in the musical acts as I’d like.”
An image of Dallas bent over a cello flashed on the movie screen in my head. “Really?”
Drew shook his head. “Lots of singers. Two piano players.” He shrugged and straightened his scarf. “Very pedestrian.”
Ew. I hated pretentious language, especially during a normal conversation. I imagined Dallas smirking about target recon and squirmed in my seat.
“So tell me about your act. I was surprised you wanted to meet.” He sipped from his own cup of tea, Earl Grey, of course. Maybe he thought he was Shady Cove’s James Lipton, running his own Inside the Actor’s Studio show.
“No offense intended,” he continued. “I just couldn’t recall you participating in drama or music. Or speech competitions.” He frowned slightly.
I felt like I was talking to the guidance counselor, not someone I could potentially date. Definitely not someone to go to the Surfer Ball with. Great; ten minutes in and I wanted to bail. Dallas would gloat like crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut. It didn’t matter what McNerdy thought. I forced myself to smile at Drew.
Drew raised his eyebrows, watching me curiously. “I don’t suppose you have an unusual musical talent? Something not involving Katy Perry imitations?”
That made me laugh and gave me an idea.
“You know the cello guys? The ones who toured with Elton John?” I asked.
Drew tilted his head. “Yes, of course, 2Cellos. The perfect blend of classical and popular music. Commercially appealing.” He eyed me speculatively. “I don’t suppose you have a way to contact them?”
“No, of course not.” I sipped my tea, which definitely wasn’t calming my nerves. “But I know someone like them. Well, I mean he plays the cello.”
“Is he any good?”
“Uh…” He’d
been playing for ten years. He had to be good. Besides, everything about Dallas screamed perfectionist. If he’d tackled the cello the way he did developing our software and researching book categories, he had to be good. Maybe not hot Croatian good but definitely talent-show good. “Yes.”
Drew nodded. “So why isn’t he talking to me? He’s not an arrogant prima donna, is he?”
“What? No. He’s…um…shy. He’s new in town.” I crossed my fingers under the table to cover my white lie. Dallas definitely wasn’t shy, but he wasn’t a prima donna, either.
“Ah. Vespa Guy.” Drew nodded as though he knew all about Dallas.
“Yes, Vespa Guy. Also known as Dallas Lang.”
“Well, if he’s interested, I’d love to have him audition.” He narrowed his eyes. “No promises, though. I don’t do favors.”
I grimaced, feeling a tiny lick of anger flare in my chest. “I’m not asking you for a favor.”
“Aren’t you?” Drew reached for a stack of papers and straightened them.
Wow. This was so not going the way I’d planned. I heard Dallas’s voice in my mind. “Was there any sort of recon done for this mission? Or are the targets totally random?” I heard Jaz, too. “Drew? Really? He’s not your type. At all.” I did a quick check-in with my hormones, which were comatose.
My phone pinged from my bag. Grateful for the interruption, I retrieved it, my hormones fluttering to life when I saw a text from Dallas. “How’s it going? Jaz says he has 0 zing.”
Jaz. She’d told him about the zing meter?
I hesitated, then typed, “This is a covert mission. Please cease all cellular communications.”
“Do you have any other talent show prospects for me?” Drew drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. “Because if not, I have places to be.”
“No other prospects,” I told Drew, trying to refocus on the conversation.
He closed his laptop. “Well, thanks for the referral. Tell Dallas I’ll be in touch.”
The Replacement Crush Page 15
