Sweet with a side of smartass was proving to be his kryptonite.
…
Would it be weird to ask Toff to zip up his hoodie? Yes. Definitely weird. She would just have to handle him, pecs and all, even though his proud peacock display had made her choke.
“Tell me about the contest.” Toff gestured to her sketchbook. “Can I have a piece of paper? And a pen?”
Reluctantly, Amy tore a page from her pricey Moleskine sketchbook, then slid the pencil box toward him. Toff chose a purple pencil and scrawled Amy’s Contest across the top of the page.
“Give me the basics.”
“Okay.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, focusing on the pencil in his hand instead of the unzipped hoodie. “HeartRacer—that’s the publisher—announced three social media challenges, three themes. I have to post something for each challenge on social media. The more, um, buzz I generate, the more likely HeartRacer is to regram my stuff. I’ve already done the first challenge, as you know.”
“Yep. Cool.” Toff listed 1, 2, and 3 down the side of the page, adding “kniffiti” after the number 1. He glanced up. “Then what? How do you win this thing?”
Amy cleared her throat. “Well, assuming my posts get enough attention—”
“Which they will, because of your coach.” His jaw tightened, steely eyes fixed on hers.
Was that face supposed to pump her up? He looked like he wanted to punch somebody.
“Do you have any coach faces that aren’t so…scary?”
His blue eyes widened, then he laughed. “That wasn’t a scary one. This is a scary one.” He made the don’t-eff-with-me face that had sent Brayden scurrying off to do chores.
Amy smirked. “How about you let me finish explaining before you try out any motivational strategies?”
Toff wiped his hand down his face. “Coach face, off.”
“Thank you.” She would not reward him with a laugh, no matter how much she wanted to. “The best part is the winner gets to meet my favorite author.”
“Who’s your favorite author?” His pencil hovered over the page.
“Lucinda Amorrato.”
“Spell it for me.”
Amy did, and Toff scribbled Eyes on the Prize and the author’s name diagonally on the bottom corner of the page. His note-taking method was completely random—a sacrilegious waste of Moleskine—but she’d have to let that go.
“And then what?” He tapped the pencil on the paper, his legs bouncing up and down under the table.
Amy glanced away. Would Toff make fun of her answer? If he did, she’d fire him on the spot. She took a breath, then let loose, hoping he’d get how important this was to her.
“Okay, so meeting Lucinda would be like you meeting…I don’t know, Kelly Slater?” An expression of appreciative surprise crossed his face when she mentioned the surfer most people deemed the best in the world. She kept going. “Lucinda’s my idol. She’s the reason I’m a bookworm. The worlds she creates are just…just…”
She made a small explosion noise and swept her hands up and out, like her fingers were fireworks. “Way better than real life. Someday I want to… I hope I can…do something that impacts people like she does.” She shrugged. “Maybe writing. Maybe illustrating. Something to do with books.”
She exhaled and sucked down a big slurp of her iced mocha, already regretting how she’d just bared her soul to the person most likely to laugh at her.
He nodded slowly, his gaze trained on her face. She waited for him to make fun of her, or say something coach-y, but he took his sweet time.
“So ten years from now,” he drawled, sticking his compostable straw in his mouth like a cowboy in an old Western movie, “when you make your acceptance speech for the Book Grammies—or whatever the biggest award is book people have, because you’ll win that, too—don’t forget to thank Toff Nichols, the World Surf League champion who taught you how to bring the heat, and the swagger, back in the day.”
“Right,” Amy said, smiling as relief swept through her that he wasn’t laughing, that he got how much she wanted to win. “Exactly.”
Toff scribbled WINNER! on the page and circled it, then tossed the pencil on the table. “So how’d the kniffiti post work out? Did you get a lot of ‘buzz’?” He grinned, flashing air quotes.
He didn’t know? When he hadn’t mentioned it, she’d assumed—or hoped—it hadn’t blipped his radar. She’d estimate 90 percent of his posts were surfing-related, with the other 10 percent food-focused.
“Umm…okay, I guess.” She picked up her pencil and started doodling. She’d checked her account before he got here—her bench post was up to almost four hundred likes and about thirty regrams. Though most of the comments were about Lucinda or Amy’s kniffiti, there were also more questions about Toff and her.
Unfortunately, HeartRacer still hadn’t liked or regrammed her post, which didn’t bode well. But that was why she had a coach, right? She looked up from her doodle, meeting Toff’s steady gaze.
Was this another coach face? It must be. Cryptic. Assessing. Determined.
He picked up his phone from the table. Amy held her breath as he swiped the screen. Watching him was like watching an old-fashioned silent movie, when actors made over-the-top faces to convey their emotions.
It was easy to read his the emotions flitting across Toff’s face—surprise, amusement…swagger. Amy took a sip of her melting drink, pulse thrumming in her ears, wishing he’d get it over with already and say something.
He finally looked up, rocking his trademark cocky smirk. “So we’re not ‘2 cuties 2gether’? That hurts, Ames.” He pounded his chest with a closed fist. “Right here.”
She huffed in exasperation, hoping it hid her embarrassment. “That’s not the point.”
“It’s not?” He blinked innocently.
“No.” She shifted in her chair and gestured to his phone. “What my coach needs to know is that HeartRacer Publishing hasn’t liked my post, let alone regrammed it. That’s a problem.”
Toff’s smirk faded. “Not enough buzz?”
She shook her head.
He glanced at his phone again, swiping the screen. Frowning, he set the phone aside. “It’s a good post—”
“Thanks.”
“—but it’s not enough.” His eyes narrowed. “We need to up your game big-time. You ready?”
This was it. She felt like she’d just discovered the secret door in the closet that led to Narnia. Should she cross the threshold?
“Yes.”
Toff gave a curt nod. “Tell me about the second challenge.” He picked up the purple pencil, poised to resume taking notes.
“I have to post my favorite OTP and why I love them.”
“What’s an OTP?”
She needed to remember he was new to her book world. Time to coach her coach. “It means One True Pairing, a couple you ‘’ship’—”
“Ship?” His eyebrows bunched over his nose.
“It’s when you want a couple to be together or love a couple who is already together.”
“Are we talking real life or books?”
“Both, but I’m mostly into fiction ’ships.” She chugged her iced mocha. “The first famous ’ship was Spock and Kirk from Star Trek, from the original series.”
She held out her hand for Toff’s pencil, then wrote on his paper while she explained. “People used to call that ’ship Kirk/Spock and then just K/S, which turned into just ‘slash,’ for slash fiction. Romances between two guys.” She drew a big purple slash and set down the pencil.
Toff glanced up, eyes wide. “Does Dallas know about this?”
“I’m sure he does. He’s a huge Trekkie.” Amy studied Toff’s expression, trying to gauge the meaning behind his question. He wasn’t homophobic, was he? That would crush her crush faster than just about an
ything.
“Huh. Cool.” Toff resumed chewing on his straw. “This book stuff is more complicated than I realized. So who’s your OTP?”
She would not ’ship herself and Toff. Would not.
“I have several, but my top two are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice.” She was 99 percent certain Toff knew HP but not P&P.
He frowned. “But Hermione ended up with the redheaded dude, not Harry. Hey, did you ever notice your brother looks a lot like that guy? Ron, right?”
Brayden had only heard that a million times. He hated Ron Weasley for that very reason, which was a shame, since they shared a lot of qualities.
“’Ships can be canon or not,” she explained patiently, “like Harry and Hermione.”
“What?” Toff took the straw out of his mouth. “Are you even speaking English right now? Because I know all those words”—his lips quirked up—“but I don’t think they belong in a sentence together.”
She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Maybe it would help if you read what I’ve written so far for my OTP entry.”
As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. This wasn’t just any book review—this was her OTP. It was almost like letting him read her diary. She was nervous about anyone reading it, let alone Toff.
“Great idea.” He stuck his hand out, palm up. “Fork it over.”
Instinctively she leaned back, clutching her journal to her chest. “Toff, this is hard for me. I’m not like you, able to flaunt my stuff for the whole world to see.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that why I’m here? To help you learn how to flaunt it?”
She swallowed. Unfortunately, he was right. “Please don’t make fun of it.” She hated how her voice came out as a whisper.
“I’d never do that.”
“You like to tease. It’s what you do.”
He looked away from her, frowning, still chewing on his straw. She hoped she hadn’t insulted him, but she had to protect herself. This was a trial coach run for both of them.
When he faced her again, the intensity of his expression took her breath away.
“I might not get all the book stuff and the OTP whatever, but I get how important this is to you.” His gaze locked onto hers. “You can trust me. I promise.”
Wordlessly, she slid her book across the table to him, heart pounding. He was a very persuasive coach.
“Thanks.” He shoved up the arms of his hoodie, frowned, then shrugged out of it altogether. From across the street, someone whistled. Toff didn’t seem to notice, his attention already focused on reading her contest entry.
Amy’s mouth went dry as her gaze skimmed over him. His torso belonged on a steamy book cover. Not like she hadn’t seen it a thousand times before at the beach, but he was just so…close. Why weren’t these tables bigger?
She blew out a breath. This scenario was…not okay, but what could she say, Please cover up so my virgin eyes don’t bleed with want?
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Amy jumped up and grabbed her mocha glass. She needed a refill. Better yet, she’d crawl into the ice machine and cool herself off.
She didn’t know what was making her hotter—half-naked Toff or the fact that he was, at this very moment, reading her treatise on true love.
…
Toff basked in the sun as he read Amy’s OTP thing. He should’ve asked her to grab him a soda refill, but she’d disappeared into The Bean before he could, like the rabid, vandalizing raccoons were after her. He grinned, shoving his hair out of his face, and read.
Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
My OTP, Now and Forever
by Amy McIntyre
So that was how she spelled her name. Eh, he liked MacAttack better.
I was first introduced to the perfection that is Pride and Prejudice by my mom when I was thirteen years old. We spent two nights bingeing her favorite series of all time, the BBC version of P&P starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, who are brilliantly cast in their roles as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth (Lizzie) Bennet. Watching that series and then reading Jane Austen’s incredible novel changed my life. P&P turned me into a hopeless romantic, which is a curse and a blessing.
A blessing, because now I’m a huge fangirl of fictional romance and have read so many fantastic books that I’m a reader for life.
A curse, because I know deep in my ’shipping heart that I will never experience in real life the type of love Lizzie Bennet does with Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.
Toff gnawed on his straw. Damn. She was hardcore obsessed with imaginary people. And “true love.” He shifted on his chair.
Why are Lizzie and Mr. Darcy my OTP? So many reasons. I’ll try to summarize, but it feels like cheating—like watching a movie based on a book but never reading the book.
Toff snorted. “Okay, McJudgey McIntyre.”
He never read the books that went with movies. Why bother? It was the same story, or close enough. His mom had read him the first two Harry Potter books aloud, but then…well, he hadn’t wanted to read the rest of the series after she died. He’d watched the movies, though, pretending she was with him.
A wave of memories slammed into him, of curling up with Mom as she read out loud, acting out all the Harry Potter characters, using different voices. Her Snape voice was the best, making him scared and excited all at once. He blinked away the memory and resumed reading.
Why Lizzie Is Perfection:
Smart, funny, and sarcastic.
Calls out Mr. Darcy when he’s a jerk.
Defends those she loves, even her sister Lydia, who’s a train wreck.
Admits when she makes mistakes, like completely misjudging Mr. Darcy.
Says “no” when the wrong guy proposes, paving the way for the right guy.
Not intimidated by people who think they’re superior to her, like Caroline Bingley, who tries to ruin Jane Bennet’s love life and steal Mr. Darcy from Lizzie.
Refuses to conform to society’s expectations by settling for just any marriage instead of the perfect marriage.
Toff grinned as he read. He had no idea who these people were. The story sounded like a soap opera, but it was obviously Amy’s jam. Whoever judged this contest should be impressed by her passion for this book.
Why Mr. Darcy Is Perfection:
Loyal, especially to those he loves, like his sister, Georgiana; his best friend, Charles Bingley; and Lizzie…eventually.
Proud of his heritage and family.
Nice to his servants.
Toff snort-laughed. How big of the guy to treat his servants like human beings. He crunched an ice cube in his mouth and kept reading.
Will do anything for Lizzie, even chase down the evil Wickham.
Toff frowned. He’d heard that name Wickham before but couldn’t remember where. He shrugged. Probably Amy and Viv book-babbling. A shadow fell over him, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up. It was Lynette, the sandwich maker. She handed him an energy drink. “On the house. You look…hot.”
“Thanks.” He took the ice-cold can and snapped it open. He guzzled a long swig, while her heated gaze checked him out like he was a sandwich and she was ravenous.
“I’m off work in an hour.” She ran her tongue over her lips, dropping her gaze to his lap, just in case he didn’t catch her meaning. Toff darted a glance at The Bean’s door.
“She’s still inside,” Lynette said, tilting her head toward the café.
Toff arched an eyebrow. “So you thought you’d swoop in?”
“I’d hate to see a delicious treat like you go to waste.”
Toff’s jaw clenched. She’d just pissed him off in at least three different ways. He tilted his chin toward the café. “You’ve got customers waiting. And I’m not one of them.�
�
Lynette blinked in surprise, then spun around and stalked off. Toff guzzled more of his free drink—which he now planned to pay for once he and Amy were done—and resumed reading about why Amy thought this Darcy dude was so effing perfect.
Messes up his first marriage proposal to Lizzie horribly but learns from his mistake.
Dances at a country ball even though he hates them. Because Lizzie.
Toff rolled his eyes. What was it with girls and dances? Prom, the Valentine’s dance, the Surfer Ball his school did instead of Homecoming. They were fun but not a big deal.
Pulls off the most romantic, heroic grand gesture of all time, against which all grand gestures will be measured forever. And does it anonymously.
A grand what?
“Are you finished?”
Toff jumped at the sound of Amy’s voice. She sat down across from him, giving off a skittish vibe, just like on kniffiti night.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just, um…wondering.” She pointed at the page. “What do you think?” She twisted her hands together, her gaze darting around like a squirrel.
Why was she staring above his head? Off to his side? Everywhere but at him. He glanced down to make sure he hadn’t spilled ketchup on himself or something else gross. Nope.
Wait a minute. Was he grossing her out? That would be a first.
He knew he wasn’t ugly. Okay, he knew he was easy on the eyes. He had a mirror. And plenty of feedback like he’d just had from Lynette. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been…appreciated by plenty of girls.
He thought back to the night in the van with Amy. She’d put on a good act for the sheriff, and at one point he’d thought maybe she wasn’t faking. He’d forgotten that he was faking, too, for a few seconds. A few minutes, if he was honest.
Across the table, her hands fluttered around her hair, adjusting the sparkly clips, still looking everywhere but at him.
“Amy.”
He willed her to look at him. He was gonna figure this out right now. As her coach, he needed to know if he repulsed her. Or the opposite. Or if she was completely neutral. It was a professional assessment, not personal.
The Bookworm Crush Page 8