Distracted
Michelle Fernandez
Copyright © 2020
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
express written permission of the publisher.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given
away to other people.
Published by KB Worlds LLC
Cover Designer — Kristie Verdurmen from Vanilla Lily
Cover Model — Alex Brunet
Cover Photographer — Paul Henry Serres
Editor — Missy Borucki
Proofreaders — Janice Owen and Michele Ficht
Formatting & Interior Design —T.E. Black Designs; www.teblackdesigns.com
Published in the United States of America
Contents
Foreword
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Michelle Fernandez
Also by K. Bromberg
Welcome to the Everyday Heroes World!
I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Distracted is a book based on the world I created
in my USA Today bestselling Everyday Heroes Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.
This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the
world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or
editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.
I truly hope you enjoy Distracted. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have
written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.
Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.
Happy Reading,
K. Bromberg
To Liz-Los, Liz-Mar, and Dena
You are my Sunshine, my Squad, and my Soul-Sisters!
This is Us—Jimmie Allen and Noah Cyrus
Nobody But You—Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani
She Got the Best of Me—Luke Combs
Then—Brad Paisley
In Case You Didn’t Know—Brett Young
Perfect/Can’t Help Falling in Love—Joey Stamper
Breathe—Taylor Swift and Colbie Caillat
Everything—Boyce Avenue
Sabrina
Thirteen Years Ago
“Suck it up, Buttercup,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
Jerk! God, I can’t stand him sometimes. This is the same song and dance. I hate him, love him, miss him, want to be around him all the time, hate him even more than the last time, then I fall for Spencer all over again.
Stupid me, stupid him, and the stupid tattoo that brought me here.
I wince as the heated needle penetrates my skin. My pain tolerance is pretty high, but this stings like a bitch.
I should have walked away. I should have told him to shove it and not fall for yet another one of his dares. But when he calls me chicken, I have to do it. And if I didn’t, he would rub it in until I’m six feet under, and even after that, I’m sure he’ll rub it in during my afterlife.
These stupid dares that evolved into rules and requirements all started when we were kids—I was seven and he was nine. The first dare was to kiss a frog we found near the lake behind his family’s cabin. Callie, my best friend and Spencer’s sister, refused to partake in our dare and told us that we were crazy if we kissed the slimy creature.
The dares kept coming and they progressed in difficulty. Spencer added a twist which evolved to a this, that, or the other dare. The other dare is a chicken out—a kiss . . . on the lips—and a forfeit.
As much as planting a kiss on Spencer’s lips is all I dream about, I would never be called a chicken.
“There was no way I was going to jump. That’s suicide. Do you remember the last time I jumped from the top branch?” I grip the vinyl on each side of the table in pain from the hot sting on my skin as I narrow my eyes at him while he snickers
Being around him is confusing. It’s because I’ve loved him from the moment when he carried me ten blocks after I broke my leg jumping from the old oak tree’s highest branch. A dare, of course, and that cast was the star of my thirteenth birthday party.
“You’re so dramatic, Sabs.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He turns his baseball cap around and hovers inches from my face, looking at me with those bedroom eyes that no girl could resist. “It was a jump, a tattoo, or a forfeit kiss,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
“First off, I think kissing you is totally gross,” I lie. “And the water was cold. Besides, I wasn’t taking a chance on being sick at prom or worse, miss it altogether.”
“So you’d rather get something permanent? You could have just kissed me and be done with it. When are you going to learn to go for the easier dare?”
The forfeit kiss would be easy. But now that my feelings have grown, I’ve done my best to mask how I feel. I don’t want to fall into that emotional rabbit hole.
Gone is the scrawny boy that pulled my pigtails or made fun of my missing teeth when I was six. He’s filled out the T-shirt since he started baseball at UCLA. His dark blond hair falls over his face, covering his vibrant blue eyes, and there’s a bit of scruff that makes him look more manly now.
All I think about is pouncing on that magnificent body. Just to run my fingers over his broad shoulders, down his muscular arms, across his sculpted chest and rippling abs, is a fantasy come true.
He’s my Adonis. Always has been. Always will be.
“I had no choice,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You had a choice. As I said, you never learn.” He sits on the stool and runs his hand through his hair.
“You suck and I hate you, Spence.”
“You love me.” He laughs, wiggling his brows. “That’s one thing you learned to do right.”
If he only knew.
“No, I’m pretty sure I
hate you right now.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he smiles.
God, that smile. It’s a perfect smile, and it makes me melt every time. He may be Callie’s older brother, but he’s my best friend too. And I spend just as much time with him as I do with her.
“You’re not allowed to hate me. We’re family,” he tacks on.
Family.
That’s how he thinks of me, like a cousin. Our parents are best friends. Callie and Spencer’s parents are Uncle Henry and Aunt Rose to me. We’ve spent every Thanksgiving and Christmas together and many other celebrations.
When there’s a sporting event on television, our dads watch it together. And don’t get me started on our moms with their weekly bridge games, Pampered Chef, and scrapbooking parties.
I lie here on the vinyl bed and look over at Spencer. I itch to touch him, to feel his skin against my fingertips, and his lips on mine.
Will he ever look at me like the girls he dated in high school or the big tit blonde bombshells he’s into? The gossip in the girl’s bathroom was relentless.
I’m the complete opposite of those girls. I’m the athletic type. I run track, and I’m part of the Academic Decathlon. My hair is never styled and usually up in a pony, I don’t wear make-up to cover the freckles on my nose, and I think his corny jokes are stupid.
But I love him. I mean, really love him.
The thing is, nothing will ever happen between us. I’m just Sabrina Kent, his baby sister’s best friend, that he can punk around and someone he can pass the time with when he isn’t hanging out with his friends.
“Stop staring, Spence,” I sneer.
“What am I supposed to do, turn my back and face the wall? Besides, I’ve practically seen you naked. You were wearing a bathing suit this past week.”
“I just bought that bikini, and now I can’t wear it anymore. God, my parents are going to kill me,” I say, clenching my teeth from the burning needle.
“Then wear board shorts like you used to. I like those better than that piece of nothing that barely covers your skin.”
“And what’s wrong with my skin?” I scoff, proud of the tan from this past weekend.
He shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong with your skin. It’s just that . . . never mind. If you like guys looking at ninety-eight percent of your body, be my guest.”
If he only knew that I bought the bathing suit in the hopes he would see me differently. All it made him do was not look at me at all.
“I’m so dead if my parents find out,” I say.
“They’d kill me too, knowing I’m part of the reason you’re getting this in the first place.”
“You are the sole reason I’m getting this tat, you idiot.”
“I’m not taking all the blame, Sabrina,” he chides. “Like I told you at the lake, that was our last dare game. I jumped, and I don’t know why you didn’t follow. Instead, you decided to do that.” He points to Hudson, the tattoo artist, whose face is just inches from my skin.
I want to be angry at Spencer. Instead, I’m mad at myself for feeling like a lovesick puppy. I wish I were strong enough to resist him and his charming-ass ways.
This will all change once I leave Sunnyville after graduation. For the first time, I’m traveling to Italy with my parents, my younger sister, Gabby, and my grandmother, who we call Nonna. Nonna has a home there. When I get back, I’m off to NYU. I won’t see him at all this summer. I’ll miss him terribly, but the distance will make it easier for me to get over him.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“What the hell was I thinking? Dad will kill me for getting a tattoo right there”—I point to my pelvis—“and my mom will go ballistic thinking I spent my money on it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Hudson is working on his apprenticeship and not charging you.”
“That’s not what I meant, Spence.”
Hudson’s green eyes meet mine, and he winks. He’s fully inked with tribal tattoos covering both of his muscular arms. I look around the garage where his ink supplies, equipment, and machine are set up next to me.
“Is this even safe? I mean, like sanitary-safe?” I ask Hudson.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be asking that now?” Spencer raises his brow. His phone rings, and he moves to the corner of the room to talk. I wonder if it’s his girlfriend, Rebecca, that he won’t stop talking about.
Hudson pauses, cracks his neck, then straightens his shoulders. “Look, sweetheart, I’m totally up to code. So, yes. My shit is safe and sanitary,” he says.
“Jeez, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“It’ll take a lot for me to get offended by a schoolgirl.” Hudson winks then returns to my pelvis. “So, what’s the deal with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s with the dares?”
“We’ve been doing it since we were kids.”
“Have you ever backed down from a dare?” Hudson asks, his eyes focused on his artwork.
“Nope. Never,” I reply.
“Never?” He glances up at me for a beat, then returns to my skin.
“It is always a ‘this or that’ kind of dare. And if we don’t take any of the options, we have to kiss each other.” I roll my eyes, pretending to be disgusted by it. “It is our way of calling chicken, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you just kiss him?” he asks, releasing the ink pen from my skin. “Get it over with.”
“And get called a chicken? Never.” I frown, masking my true feelings.
“So, with this one, you got a tattoo?” Hudson asks suspiciously.
I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
“I can read people pretty good.”
“And what do you mean by that?” I ask, glancing over at Spencer, who’s still on the phone.
“Most people that permanently mark their skin want to make a statement. If Spence doesn’t see the statement you’re making, then he’s an idiot.”
I’ve been making a statement for a long time, and he never notices. “Well, he is an idiot,” I say, throwing his words back at him and stifle a laugh.
“You like him, don’t you?”
I’m quiet for a moment, and I’m sure my silence is the answer. “We just have a unique friendship, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, not sounding convinced.
The buzzing of the machine fades as I gaze back at Spencer. He’s so damn beautiful. I study the cyborg tattoo on his arm that nearly gave his mom a heart attack when he came home with it last month.
It suits him, and I think it’s hot.
As if Spencer can sense me, his blue eyes meet mine after he hangs up. “You done staring, Buttercup?” he asks, and I quickly turn my face, hoping he doesn’t see the flush warming my cheeks.
“Staring? I wasn’t,” I say confidently.
While Hudson blots my skin with a paper towel, Spencer steps closer. His blue eyes lock onto mine as a grin widens his face, and my heart wants to burst out of my chest from thumping so hard. He lowers his head, leaving me frozen when he’s just inches away from my lips.
A staring contest. I swear he does this to get under my skin.
“You sure about that?” He’s so close, and I can smell the mint on his breath from his gum.
Spencer licks his mouth and keeps staring as he pushes my bangs to the side, his finger grazing my forehead. I know this trick. He’s teasing me so I can lose this stare down. I want to look away so he can’t read my thoughts, but his eyes are a hypnotizing steel-blue, and I always seem to get lost in them.
I clear my throat. “Spence, you gotta promise me you won’t tell Callie or Gabby,” I murmur.
“And why’s that?” he whispers over my lips. I close my eyes, and I know I’ve lost the stare-down. “Ha! You lose, Sabs.”
“Whatever,” I huff as I open my eyes. “I’m serious. You can’t say a word.”
“Yeah, sure. It’ll be our little secret. Besides, we wouldn’t want o
ur sisters thinking you have a crush on me.”
“A crush? You wish.” Panic sets in. Does he know? Could he see it in my eyes? I thought I was pretty good at hiding it. Every time he touched me, I did everything to push down the feelings that made my heart melt.
Who am I kidding? It’ll never happen.
“Calm down, Sabs. I’m just kidding.” He slips his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “I won’t tell them. And even if they do see it, it’s just another one of our crazy dares.”
“Exactly.” But it isn’t just a dare. Hudson is right, it’s a statement, and I want this tattoo. It’s permanent, just like our friendship.
Spencer walks over to the other side of the garage and sits on the stool. “So, who is the yahoo you’re going to prom with?”
“I told you already.”
“Well, remind me.”
“Elliott.”
“Elliott? Elliott-fuckin-Matthews?” He straightens his shoulders and cocks his head. “As in the pitcher for Sunnyville High? Got a full ride to Oregon State? He asked you to the prom?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” Spencer raises his hand in mock surrender. “Let me guess. He pitched a line that he’ll make it a memorable night and how beautiful you are and—”
“Are you saying I’m not?” I ask, cutting him off.
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