Also by Lisa Brown Roberts
Spies, Lies, and Allies
The Replacement Crush
How (not) to Fall in Love
Playing the Player
Resisting the Rebel
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
About the Author
Eyes On Me
Ask Me Anything
On Thin Ice
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Brown Roberts. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Liz Pelletier, Heather Howland, and Lydia Sharp
Cover Illustrated by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Interior design by Toni Kerr
ISBN 978-1-64063-707-8
Ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-646-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2019
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To The Replacement Crush readers who
asked for Toff and Amy’s story
—and waited so patiently—
this one’s for you!
CHAPTER ONE
Amy McIntyre darted anxious glances up and down Shady Cove’s Main Street to make sure she was alone. On any other night, she’d bask in the cozy glow cast by the old-fashioned streetlamps. Tonight, however, she wished for Professor McGonagall’s magic wand to douse the lights.
Amy wasn’t a troublemaker or a rule breaker, yet here she was, creeping around in the dark after curfew, defiling public property. She swallowed a nervous giggle. Not defiling, more like…enhancing.
Wait.
What was that sound?
Footsteps?
Or her hyped-up imagination?
Kneeling on the ground next to one of the repurposed surfboard benches that dotted Main Street, Amy worked quickly to ensure her secret project wouldn’t blow away, her fingers fumbling as she struggled to tighten the final knot.
Done.
She jumped up and slung her backpack over her shoulders, anxious to escape before someone caught her.
Crash!
An explosion froze her in place. Was that glass? A burglar breaking into a shop? Adrenaline crackling through her veins like lightning, she told herself to breathe. It was probably nothing, but she needed to move. She took a shaky step backward out of the streetlamp’s glow.
A police siren wailed much too close for comfort.
She’d snuck out of her house to make secret preparations for tomorrow’s Instagram post for a contest she was entering. The last thing she’d expected was to encounter actual danger—or the cops. Her anxiety skyrocketed. Was the cop after the glass breaker? Or had someone seen her skulking around and called 911?
Unlike Cammie Morgan, the heroine of the Gallagher Girls, her favorite spy book series, Amy had not planned an escape route. She had no plan A, let alone a plan B. Why hadn’t she thought this through better? This was why her best friend, Viv, always did the planning.
Heart pounding, she scanned the street for bad guys or, better yet, Jason Bourne squealing up to the curb in a vintage MINI Cooper to rescue her.
Hold up.
She didn’t need a hero to swoop in to save the day. Escape plan or not, she could save herself. She hoped.
After taking a deep, calming breath, she dashed down the street, hoping whoever broke the glass wasn’t chasing her.
Thankfully, she’d dressed in all black. She tried to keep to the shadows as her feet pounded the pavement like empire-crushing Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games and Cammie Morgan combined into one fierce warrior. Or so she imagined…until she tripped over an abandoned skateboard and it sent her sprawling. Her backpack flew off her shoulder, spewing its contents all over the ground.
Crappity crap.
She scrambled to gather the yarn scraps, loose sketch papers, and colored pencils scattered across the sidewalk. The siren wailed louder, closing in.
Ugh. What had she been thinking, sneaking out after curfew on her secret mission? She should’ve known it wouldn’t end well. She was a bookworm, not a daredevil.
A bookworm about to be busted by the law.
Double crap.
…
Toff Nichols was bored. Check that—he was restless. Antsy. Confused. That’s what happened when your forever-single dad announced he was getting married. To your childhood best friend’s mom.
“Weird,” Toff muttered to no one. “It’s too freaking weird.”
He sat in his old VW van, parked on a quiet, dark corner at the far end of Shady Cove’s Main Street. It was after midnight, and not much was happening in the sleepy beach town. He cranked up the volume on his speakers, the pounding beat of his favorite surfing playlist filling the van. He took a swig of his energy drink, even though he didn’t need any extra adrenaline—his natural energy level was high enough.
What he needed was to think. To wrap his head around the idea that his dad was getting hitched. And not to just anyone—to Viv’s mom.
“I know you understand, Toff,” his dad had said. They’d sat in rickety deck chairs, watching the sun set over the sliver of ocean they could see from their house. “You’ll be a senior this fall, then leaving for college in a year. It’s time for me to take the next step in my life, and that’s to marry Rose.”
He sighed. His mom had died nine years ago; it wasn’t like his dad was cheating. Toff flipped down the visor where he’d pinned an old photo of his mom and him. He was about six years old, building a sandcastle on the beach, his mom kneeling with him in the sand, laughing, her blond hair blowing in the wind. She looked so happy. So healthy.
He flipped up the visor, his chest squeezing like an invisible hand had grabbed ahold of his heart.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like
Rose. He did—a lot. Her daughter, Viv, was already like his sister. They’d bonded in kindergarten and stayed close through high school, even though he was all about surfing and Viv was a super nerd and obsessed with books. Plus she was dating Dallas, one of his best friends, so he got to torture her even more, which he enjoyed.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “It’s cool. It’s fine.” But the idea of his dad remarrying didn’t feel fine, for reasons he couldn’t nail down.
A sudden flash of movement caught his eye. A silhouetted figure darted in and out of the streetlights. As the person came closer, he could tell it was a girl, long hair streaming behind her as she ran. His muscles tensed. This wasn’t a late-night jog. She was running like she was being chased.
And then she tripped, and Toff’s stomach bottomed out.
Shit.
He started the engine and hit the gas.
…
Tires squealed at the curb, and bright headlights exposed Amy like she was under a spotlight. Her stomach pitched as she scrabbled on the ground, stuffing the last of her scattered items into her backpack.
Yep. She was doomed.
She squinted in the headlights’ glare. This was it—her ride to the slammer. Should she put her hands up like they did in the movies? How much did handcuffs hurt, anyway? Her parents were going to freak when they were called down to the police station.
“Amy! Get up!”
Whoa. How did the cop know her name? Slowly, she staggered to her feet, commanding her brain to kick into gear. She blinked away the headlights’ glare and focused on the vehicle. No flashing blue and red lights. The siren wail was closer, but it wasn’t coming from this car.
This van, she corrected herself. This one-of-a-kind Scooby-Doo-style surf van that anyone in town would recognize.
Holy crapoli. It wasn’t Jason Bourne to the rescue—it was Toff Nichols, the surf god of Shady Cove and the lustful object of her 100-percent-unrequited crush.
Toff jumped out of the van and ran toward her like he was an action-movie hero, then skidded to a stop and grasped her shoulders, his sky-blue eyes blazing with intensity.
“Are you okay?” His gaze darted up and down the street, then back to her.
Crash!
They both jumped as the sound ricocheted off the storefronts.
“Come on!” Toff grabbed her backpack from the ground, and they ran to the van. He yanked the passenger door open and practically shoved her inside, then ran around to the driver’s side and hopped in, brushing his messy, sun-streaked hair out of his face.
Amy struggled to breathe. If she had to be rescued, he was the perfect guy to do it, even if it was embarrassing.
Unlike her, Toff wasn’t afraid of anything.
…
“Talk to me, Ames. Are you okay?”
Toff stared into the wide, panicked eyes of Amy McIntyre, Viv’s book-nerd friend. Amy stared back, her amber gaze locked on his, but she didn’t speak. His gut clenched at the thought of anything bad happening to her. A siren wailed, sounding like it was headed straight for them. He glanced out the windshield, scanning the street for trouble, but he didn’t see anything.
Amy blinked up at him like a robot that had just powered on. “I, um, I’m not hurt. I’m okay.” Her voice wobbled. “I heard a crash and…panicked.” She sucked in a breath like she couldn’t get enough air. “Did you hear it?”
“No.” His music had been cranked too loud to hear anything else. “Was someone chasing you?”
He fixated on her pale face framed by that wild red hair that had always caught his attention. Even though they were safe in his van, his body was taut, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action. Thank God he’d gotten to her before some jackass did. Not that he wouldn’t have happily kicked the guy’s ass.
“I don’t know. Like I said, I panicked.” She glanced away, her cheeks turning pink.
The siren’s whine pierced the air, making him wince.
“You were smart to run,” Toff said. “The cops are after somebody.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She met his gaze. “I think they’re after me.”
Toff blinked. Did he have swimmer’s ear? No way did she say what he thought he heard.
Suddenly the spinning red and blue lights of a cop car lit up the inside of Toff’s van from behind. The siren whooped twice, then went silent.
Amy clutched his forearm. “Will you help me out, Toff? Please? Just, um, pretend you’ve been with me tonight or something. Okay?” She glanced down at her hand on his arm and yanked it away like he’d burned her.
He had no trouble understanding her this time. “The cops are really after you?” That didn’t make sense. She was the most straight-and-narrow girl he knew next to Viv.
“I think so.” She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder and out the back windows. Toff checked the rearview mirror. The cop was still in his car, probably running the plates.
“Please, Toff? I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.” Amy gave him a pleading look that punched him in the gut.
What had she been up to? Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to turn her over to the po-po. Amy was one of Viv’s best friends, automatically putting her into his sphere of protection. Not to mention she’d probably never even jaywalked, let alone done anything that would get her arrested.
She’d never survive a good cop/bad cop interrogation. She’d break like a cheap boogie board, confessing to something she didn’t even do. She’d end up in jail, which she was way too sweet to handle. She’d turn into a hardened, angry shell of her former self, covered in ugly face tats, trading cigarettes for ink. Yeah, she might be released early for good behavior, but she’d never be the same.
And it would be all his fault.
Okay, so maaaybe he’d binged too many episodes of that show about innocent people sent to prison. And maybe the show had freaked him out.
Whatever.
He locked eyes with her, willing her to trust him. “Don’t worry, Ames. I’ve got this.”
As he turned to face the sheriff approaching his side of the van, a welcome surge of adrenaline shot through him. He lived for the rush, and this was going to be a good one.
The sheriff, a lean, fit guy who looked like he could easily chase down criminals, peered inside Toff’s window, doing a sweep of the van with his flashlight. “What are you two up to this fine summer evening? You realize curfew was two hours ago, right? Unless you’re both eighteen.” He cocked a skeptical eyebrow, then pointed the flashlight at Toff’s face, making Toff squint and shield his eyes with his hand.
California curfews suck. He’d be eighteen in three months, but it wasn’t worth arguing with the sheriff. He’d already had to do community service once after being busted. He wasn’t doing that again, and neither was Amy.
“Good evening, Officer Hernandez,” Toff said, reading the embroidered name on the sheriff’s uniform. He reached out to give Amy’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “My girl and I were just, you know, enjoying some quality time together.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “Just the two of us, if you get my drift. Guess we lost track of time.”
The sheriff trained his flashlight on Amy. Toff could hear her breathing fast and shallow. Chill, Ames, he wanted to say, I’ve got this. Instead, he squeezed her knee again, hoping she’d get the message to play along.
“Young lady, I notice you’re wearing all black.” The sheriff lowered his flashlight and peered at her. “Any particular reason?”
“Uh, n-not really.”
Wincing at the uncertain wobble in her voice, Toff upped his game. “It’s okay, babe.” He winked at her. “We can tell him.” When he saw panic flare in her eyes, he turned back to the sheriff. He’d have to handle this solo. Amy had obviously never faked her way out of trouble before, unlike him.
“See, her dad’s not exactly a fan of mine, so she had to sneak out of the house to meet me. I told her to wear black so she wouldn’t get busted.” Toff flashed his most charming grin. “You know what it’s like when you want to be with your girl, but her parents don’t approve, right, Officer Hernandez? Like Romeo and Juliet.”
Next to him, Amy coughed. Was she choking? Alarmed, he glanced at her. She waved one hand frantically in front of her face, coughing into her other hand. He grabbed his energy drink from the cupholder and handed it to her. If she had done something crazy enough to get the cops’ attention, she needed to work on her game face.
“We’ll leave now, sir,” Toff said. “I’ll take her straight home.”
Officer Hernandez clicked off his flashlight and crossed his arms over his chest, studying them through narrowed eyes. Toff moved his hand up Amy’s leg, searching for her hand so he could squeeze it to reassure her and to convince the cop they were a couple. Her whole body stiffened under his touch, and he immediately felt like a jerk. He dropped his hand to the gearshift knob.
“Young lady, is this young man your boyfriend or do you need a ride home?”
Wait, what? Toff tensed, struggling to keep his face a neutral mask instead of a glare. This was BS. He’d swooped in to save Amy, not hurt her.
“Yes, sir,” Amy whispered. “I mean, I’m here because, um, he’s my, uh…” She darted him a nervous glance. Her face transformed from ghost white to tomato red.
Why was she acting so freaky? He totally had her back.
“H-He’s my… We’re…um…together.” Her voice faded away on the last word.
“We’re sorry, Officer,” Toff said in his best suck-up-to-authority voice.
The sheriff hitched his holster belt higher on his hips. “Okay, then. Let’s see some identification from both of you. Insurance and car registration, too.”
Toff popped open the glove box for the registration and insurance card, handing them over, then grabbed his wallet from his shorts’ pocket. He glanced at her. “Is your wallet in your backpack, babe?”
She shook her head. “I, um, didn’t bring it. I just sort of…ran out…when you, um, picked me up.”
“What’s your name, young lady?” asked the sheriff.
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