The Bookworm Crush

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  “A-Amy. Amy McIntyre.”

  “Spell it for me, and tell me your address.”

  She stuttered out the information while the cop slashed his pen across a notepad. He muttered something under his breath, then headed back to his car.

  Toff blew out a breath as soon as he was out of earshot. “Ames, you’ve gotta work with me. It’s okay.” He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “He’s gonna let us go. Just be cool.”

  She nodded, her gaze locked on his like she was drowning and he was her life preserver. If they were a real couple, he’d pull her into a hug. But they weren’t.

  A twinge of guilt poked at his gut.

  “Sorry about the PDA,” he said. “Just trying to convince the cop. I promise I won’t do it again.”

  “It’s okay. I know you were pretending.” A flicker of emotion flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the sheriff talking into his radio. What the heck had Amy done? “You’ve gotta tell me what you were up to, Ames.” He stared deep into her eyes, determined to make her spill her secret.

  She shrugged, her pale skin lit up by the red and blue lights flashing through the van’s back windows. “Later.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “After he leaves.”

  Toff scrutinized her, searching for evidence of criminal activity, starting with her feet. Black Chucks instead of boots that could hide knives or throwing stars. She looked like normal Amy, except for the all-black yoga pants and sweatshirt instead of her usual colorful outfits. His inspection moved to her hair and lingered. Red curls tumbled messily over her shoulders. Something was different tonight. What was it?

  “No sparkles!” He grinned, proud of his excellent observation skills.

  Amy’s forehead pinched like he’d said something stupid, but he knew he was right. She always wore sparkly stuff in her hair. One time she’d done this Princess Leia cinnamon-roll hairdo and stuck chopsticks in her hair, with fake jewels dangling from them. He’d joked about borrowing them for sushi. She hadn’t laughed.

  “Smart move.” He tilted his chin in approval. “You would’ve been spotted in the dark if your hair lit up like bicycle reflectors.”

  She scowled. “I don’t wear bike reflectors in my hair, Toff.” She touched her hair self-consciously.

  “Mr. Nichols.”

  Toff jumped, startled by the sheriff’s voice at his window.

  “This isn’t your first curfew violation.” Officer Hernandez raised an eyebrow. “Technically, I should ticket you.” He glanced at Amy. “Both of you.”

  …

  Amy’s night was spiraling out of control.

  Of course Toff had prior curfew violations.

  Who would’ve thought prepping for a bookworm social media contest would spin off the rails? Running from the cops—and maybe a burglar—and being rescued by her secret crush was stressful enough, but now she was getting busted because of him?

  She never should have left the cozy comfort of her bedroom and bookshelves, but she’d wanted to surprise Viv with a cool project for their first-round contest entry.

  Next to her, Toff squirmed restlessly as the sheriff stared him down. Could she get them out of this somehow? Maybe up her fake girlfriend game? Pull a Lara Jean from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and kiss him?

  Um, no.

  But maybe a little more PDA would convince the sheriff they weren’t criminals. Sucking in a deep breath, she scooted closer to Toff on the bench seat. He glanced down, clearly surprised.

  “Put your arm around me,” she whispered, ignoring her internal rule follower, who was having a meltdown.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded and Toff complied, draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close. Whoa. Toff was holding her. For real. She swore she could feel sunshine on his skin, dissipating her goose bumps.

  “Teenagers,” the sheriff grumbled.

  Toff casually wound one of her curls around his finger like they did this all the time. Omigod. Was this how Lara Jean felt when Peter Kavinsky stuck his hand in her back pocket? Taking another deep breath, she tentatively placed her hand on Toff’s chest and smiled up at him. Thump. Thump. His heartbeat was slow and steady, unlike hers, which was banging around in her chest like a wild monkey.

  Officer Hernandez pinned them with a fierce bad-cop stare. “I’ll let you go with a warning. Believe it or not, I remember what it’s like to be young and in love.” He cocked a bushy warning eyebrow. “But if I catch you after curfew again, Mr. Nichols, it’s a ticket. I won’t care how distracted you were.”

  The sheriff’s radio squawked, most of it in coded numbers and words Amy didn’t understand, but she froze when she heard “Code 594.” Officer Hernandez stepped away from the van, spouting back his own secret code response.

  “Way to fake it, Ames,” Toff said, admiration threading his voice. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” He extricated his finger from her hair and loosened his grip, but he kept his arm around her shoulders. “We can leave as soon as he gives me back my papers.”

  She said nothing, her gaze tracking the sheriff. Her heart was still doing a drum solo, but not just because of Toff.

  “Amy? You okay?”

  “What if he arrests me?” she whispered, turning to face him. “He said code 594. That’s the code for vandalism. What if there was a witness?”

  Toff blinked at her, then swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down.

  “You’ve gotta tell me what you did.” He glanced at the sheriff, who was pacing, still on his radio. “It’s the only way I can help you.” He flashed her a quick grin. “Whatever you did, I’ve probably done worse.”

  “I… It’s ridiculous. You’ll laugh when I tell you.”

  “I won’t, I swear. Shredder’s honor.” He flipped her an exaggerated shaka wave. “I’m an expert at this stuff. Let me help.”

  Amy sighed. Despite the near disaster with his prior curfew violation, if anyone could get her out of this, it was Toff. He’d pulled off tons of pranks and stunts over the years with hardly any consequences, because almost everyone fell under his blue-eyed, sweet-talking spell.

  She steeled herself for his reaction. “I was…yarn bombing.”

  He gaped at her. “Did you say…bomb?” His voice rose an octave on the last word.

  “Shh! It wasn’t a bomb bomb,” she hissed, darting a glance at Officer Hernandez. “It was a yarn bomb. I knitted a bunch of flowers and tied them to a bench on Main Street—”

  “Whoa.” He put up a hand. “Knitted?”

  She nodded, eyeing him warily. This was the part where he laughed hysterically at her nerdy granny hobby. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh.”

  He ran a hand through his messy hair and grinned, his eyes flickering with amusement. “So you’re a threat to national security? I’m harboring a fugitive in my van?” He tilted his head toward the back seat. “Are there weapons in your backpack? Knitting sticks that explode?”

  She huffed with indignation. “Needles. They’re called needles, not sticks.” There were legit reasons she preferred book boyfriends over real-life boys, even this boy. “And it was for a contest.”

  Toff grinned down at her. “You need to chill, Ames. No way is yarn bombing a crime.”

  “Technically it is. Kniffiti, sort of like graffiti.”

  “Kniff-what-i?”

  She could sense the laughter building inside him like a teakettle about to whistle. She peeked out the window. Officer Hernandez scribbled on his ticket pad. Crud. This was no time for joking.

  “He’s writing me up!” Amy clutched Toff’s arm. “I’m going to jail like Jean Valjean in Les Mis!”

  He darted a quick glance at the sheriff, then faced her, his expression determined. “I don’t know who this John dude is, bu
t you’re not going to jail.” Curiosity flickered in his eyes. “What kind of contest turns sweet, innocent Amy into a fugitive on the run from the cops?”

  Sweet, innocent Amy? That didn’t sound like a compliment, coming from him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She shook her head, eyes widening in panic as the sheriff strode quickly to the van. Toff followed her gaze, then pulled her in close, back to fake boyfriend mode. Officer Hernandez tore a piece of paper off his ticket pad and handed it to Toff, who took it reluctantly. Amy stifled a whimper, keenly aware that Toff’s arm had tightened protectively around her shoulders.

  “Official warning, Mr. Nichols. Remember what I said. Next time it’s a ticket.”

  Relief for Toff washed over Amy, but when the sheriff focused his dark, criminal-detecting eyes on her, relief was replaced by terror.

  This was it. She was headed straight for the slammer.

  “We had a report of someone dressed in black causing trouble earlier tonight,” Officer Hernandez said. “Knocking over trash cans, breaking glass.” His penetrating gaze swept over her, then Toff. Panic skittered up Amy’s spine.

  Officer Hernandez shrugged. “Turns out it was just a couple of rampaging raccoons.”

  Wait, what? Her body was so jacked up on adrenaline, she struggled to process his words.

  “Wow,” said Toff, his voice choking slightly on the word. “We’ll be careful. Those little bastards are mean.”

  Was he…trembling? Shivering? Amy snuck a peek. He was laughing, the jerk. Silently, yeah, but definitely laughing, holding a closed fist to his mouth.

  “Time for you two to skedaddle.” Officer Hernandez pointed at Toff. “No stops along the way.”

  Toff nodded, apparently unable to speak. After the sheriff headed back to his car, Toff rolled up his window and let loose, laughter gusting out of him in waves.

  A cascade of emotions swirled through Amy like a tornado—relief, embarrassment, surprise—none of which compared to the overwhelming mortification of sharing the scariest, weirdest night of her life…with Toff.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I saw who dropped you off last night.”

  Amy froze mid-step in the hallway outside her bedroom. Slowly, she lowered her phone, pausing her attempt to formulate a coherent text to Viv about last night that wouldn’t lead to a tornado of text replies. Reluctantly, she turned to face Brayden, her eleven-year-old brother, who grinned like he’d just found out he never had to go to school again.

  “You were dreaming,” she whispered as they hovered in the hallway. Toff had dropped her off, but the house had been dark and she’d assumed everyone was asleep when she snuck in and tiptoed to her bedroom.

  She’d assumed wrong.

  The tantalizing aroma of coffee wafted from the kitchen. She’d had a tough time falling asleep last night and needed caffeine. Her brain kept replaying the night’s events over and over like a song stuck on repeat, her stomach twisting with anxiety when she imagined the sheriff dragging her off to jail.

  Amy needed to suck down a vat of coffee, then get to Murder by the Sea, the bookstore Viv’s mom owned. She had to get to Viv before Toff did and tell the story her way, downplaying the crazy stuff. Toff and Viv were as tight as sibs, and he wouldn’t hold back any gory details about raccoons or the sheriff…or pretending to be her boyfriend.

  “I wasn’t dreaming.” Brayden took a step closer. “If you want me to keep quiet about Toff, we need to negotiate.”

  “Toff?” She blinked innocently, hoping she could fake out her brother like she had the sheriff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was in bed by ten o’clock last night.”

  She wished it were true. After Toff finally stopped laughing about the raccoons, the ride home had been painfully awkward. She’d tried to act normal but failed, babbling about books while Toff listened—or tuned her out. It was hard to tell with him. She wasn’t sure who was more relieved when they reached her house, Toff or her.

  “Liar.” Brayden’s gaze narrowed suspiciously, even as the hint of a grin formed at the corner of his mouth. “What were you doing in his van? Past midnight? You know Mom and Dad will freak if they find out.”

  She tensed. He was right. Their parents were pretty chill, but she was supposed to introduce them to guys she dated. Last night wasn’t a date—far from it—but Brayden didn’t know that. If he told her parents that Toff had brought her home, they wouldn’t be happy.

  “Kids? Come in here and eat!” Mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen, startling them both.

  Amy grabbed Brayden’s arm, dragged him into her bedroom, and closed the door. “Okay, what do you want, Artemis Fowl?”

  “Were you and Toff kissing in his van?” Brayden put a closed fist to his mouth and made obnoxious, wet smooching sounds.

  “No!” she whisper-yelled. “He just gave me a ride home. As a friend. That’s it.”

  “After curfew.” Brayden crossed his arms over his chest, his expression smug.

  She glanced in the mirror hanging over her dresser to see if she looked as flustered as she felt. She’d styled her hair in a loose twist, accented with sparkly butterfly pins. She’d been surprised when Toff had joked about her “hair reflectors.” He didn’t seem like the type of guy to notice details like that.

  “Mom and Dad will be ‘so disappointed’ if they find out about Toff.” Brayden met her gaze in the mirror, making air quotes around Mom’s favorite you’re-in-trouble expression.

  The top of his head reached her chin. Before she knew it, he’d be towering over her, but she was still the big sister and she needed to rein him in.

  “What do you want, Brayden? Money? I’ll go as high as ten bucks, but that’s my final offer.”

  “Nope.” Brayden shook his head, his grin widening as they stared each other down in the mirror. “Since you’re friends with Toff, I want you to hook me up with a private surf lesson. He’s the best.”

  “What?” She jerked away from Brayden’s reflection to gape at him in 3-D. “I can’t… He won’t…” No way was she asking Toff a favor for her annoying little brother. That was the type of request only close friends could make. Or a girlfriend.

  “I bet he will if you ask him,” he persisted. “Sometimes he demos tricks for my posse and me and gives us tips.”

  She didn’t spend nearly as much time at the beach as Brayden did, but she’d witnessed Toff in his Pied Piper role. The kids worshipped him, and he was patient and funny with them, adding more fuel to her fiery crush.

  “Your posse?” Amy cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, my bros. My homies. My peeps. Toff’s down with my boys.”

  She snort-laughed. Her brother was ridiculous.

  “He is!” Brayden insisted. “He’s cool, when there aren’t any girls around.” He narrowed his eyes as if this was all her fault. “It stinks when girls show up because he, like, forgets all about us.”

  Amy didn’t doubt that, but Brayden was delirious if he thought she had enough clout with Toff to sweet-talk him into one-on-one surf lessons.

  “Maybe he’s just tired of you little grommets pestering him.”

  “I’m not a grom,” Brayden protested. “I’m almost eleven, and I know how to surf—”

  The door flew open. Mom scowled at them, spatula in hand like a palace guard brandishing a weapon, wearing a T-shirt and shorts instead of armor. “What’s going on in here?”

  United in the face of danger, Amy and Brayden moved to stand shoulder to shoulder. “Nothing,” they said in unison.

  Mom cocked a warning eyebrow.

  “Amy was giving me tips about styling my hair.”

  Amy coughed, stifling a laugh at his flimsy alibi. Brayden’s choppy, short hair was the same red as hers, but that was where the similarity ended. Mom usually had to beg him to wash i
t, let alone comb it.

  “Riiight,” Mom said. “And skin-care tips, too, I hope.” She pointed her spatula at Brayden. “Like the importance of sunscreen, especially for redheads.”

  “Exactly.” Amy nodded, widening her eyes innocently. Brayden groaned. Not a week went by that their mom didn’t trot out what she and Brayden called The Ginger Lecture.

  Mom regarded them suspiciously. “I don’t know what you two are up to, but I don’t have the energy to interrogate you. I’m covering for Natasha in the herbal store today.” She pointed her spatula toward the kitchen. “You know we only do fancy breakfast once a week. Time to eat.”

  Crud. She had forgotten what day it was. She really needed to get to the bookstore, but Saturday breakfast was mandatory.

  Brayden wiggled around Mom and raced down the hall.

  “Where’s Dad?” Amy asked. Usually he did the cooking. He was a pastry chef, but he’d lost his job a few months ago.

  “He went geocaching with Dallas’s parents.” Mom tucked a loose hair behind her ear and forced a wan smile. “I gave him a kitchen pass from breakfast today. He needed fresh air, and I needed him to stop baking. I’ve eaten more desserts these past couple of months than in my whole life.”

  Dad was passionate about food and had focused all his energy in their kitchen since he’d been laid off. He’d told Amy it was his way of fending off depression, which worried her. She hoped he found a new job soon.

  “You feeling okay, sweetie?” Mom lowered her spatula, her brow wrinkling in concern. “You went to bed early last night, especially for a summer Friday night.”

  “I’m fine,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I was just tired.”

  She didn’t like telling lies, but she’d missed curfew only once before—99 percent of the time she was a trouble-free daughter. Though if her mom knew about the trouble she almost got into with Toff last night, she’d probably lock her up like Rapunzel.

  And her hair wasn’t long enough to make an escape ladder.

  …

  “What are you two up to today?” Mom asked as Amy quickly rinsed the breakfast plates in the sink, almost dropping one in her hurry as she moved to stack them in the dishwasher. She needed to blast out of here.