“Sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on.”
—Captain Kirk

CHAPTER TWO

After homeroom, Jaz and I split off until lunchtime. She was on the arts track while my schedule was loaded with honors courses. “Don’t stress,” Jaz said before she bolted for the arts studio. “I’m sure you’ll be sitting in his lap at lunch.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Instead of taking copious notes as I usually did in my morning classes, I replayed Jake’s cold stare over and over in my mind.

When I emerged into the sunny courtyard, my stomach twisted as I caught sight of Jake eating lunch at the surfer table. Somehow I’d pictured a different scenario these past few weeks, imagining him inviting me to join his posse or maybe bringing a few of his friends to join Jaz and me at our table.

Clearly too many saccharine Disney movies had corrupted my sense of reality. Paul’s son Toff sat at the surfer table, too. He caught my eye and grinned. I forced a smile but kept walking, joining Jaz and a few of her grungy arts pals.

The artists tolerated me even though I couldn’t draw a stick figure, mainly because they thought my mom was cool and they liked to hang out in our store. Listening to them argue about where to scrounge the best driftwood and scrap metal for sculptures was a distraction from Jake flirting with the blond dreadhead from this morning.

Since I’d lost my appetite, I pushed my sandwich away. A guy I knew only as Picasso, whose outfit teetered between uber-goth and beachy grunge, snatched it up. “Thanks,” he grunted.

Jaz stopped eating her yogurt to glare at me. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t turn into a pathetic, starving rejection zombie.”

I sighed in frustration. “Don’t hold back, Jaz. It’s not like I need your support right now.”

She leaned across the table. “Of course I support you. It’s him I’m mad at. I just don’t think you should give him the satisfaction of getting all mopey. He’s got one shot at making me not hate him,” she said. “If he doesn’t come over here in the next five minutes—”

“If who doesn’t come over? What’s up?” Amy turned away from the driftwood argument and focused on us, twirling a long red curl around her finger. Amy floated through school like a dreamy lovechild of Ghandi and Oprah, steering clear of gossip and drama.

She hung out at my mom’s store, too, reading, knitting, and sketching, and she helped me run the Lonely Hearts romance book club. But she didn’t know about my secret hook-ups with Jake. I’d been waiting for some sort of public acknowledgment from him before telling her.

Jaz cut her a knowing look. “Jake the Snake.”

Amy glanced between us, sizing everything up instantly. “Oh no,” she whispered. “You hooked up with him?”

Jaz nodded, her handmade feather earrings bouncing for emphasis.

“Not totally. I mean,” I dropped my voice to a whisper, “it was just um, kissing and uh…” I shrugged, embarrassed.

Amy sighed, reaching for her bag of yarn and needles. She always said knitting was her stress relief. “That sucks. I mean, he’s a totally hot hookup, but not exactly into commitment.”

“Right?” Jaz narrowed her eyes.

I shot her an annoyed look. “Weren’t you the one telling me to chase him down this morning?”

Jaz sighed, dropping her indignant posturing. “I’m sorry, Viv. I was hoping…considering how much time you two spent together…I thought this time might be different for him.”

Jake’s deep laugh caught our attention and we all turned, just in time to see him pull the blonde dreadhead into his arms and feed her a grape.

With his tongue.

Amy made a sympathetic cooing sound and handed me a bag of chips. “You should eat. He’s not worth losing your appetite over.”

Horrified, I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. I was the star of my own breakup drama, only the other half of the breakup didn’t even notice.

I wanted to ask how I could possibly eat when the guy I thought I’d loved for years had steamrolled my heart, lit it on fire, then scattered its ashes to the sea. But instead I stuffed Amy’s chips in my mouth, not even tasting them.

...

Jaz stayed after school to talk to one of her art teachers, so I left without her. I’d just strapped on my helmet when Jake the Snake sauntered over to me, splintering off from his surfer pack to acknowledge my existence.

“Hey, Viv.” He stopped next to my bike, his eyes roaming everywhere but my face.

I glanced over his shoulder and saw the dreadhead watching us curiously. Don’t worry, I wanted to say, he’s obviously moved on.

I hated confronting people, but maybe now was a good time to give it a try. “Do I know you?” I was shocked at the tiny bit of snark that made it past the gatekeeper of my thoughts, even as my heart raced and my hands shook.

“Hey.” He raised his eyes to mine, scowling. “That’s harsh.”

I looked away from his beautiful, traitorous eyes and wound my bike lock around the handlebars, fantasizing that I was winding it around his neck instead. “Whatever, Jake.”

He didn’t say anything. Was this a lame attempt to apologize? Did he think if he stood there looking guilty I’d send him away with a few confession prayers and complete absolution? I pretended Jaz was there, poking me in the back to make sure I stood up for myself.

“M-my definition of harsh,” I said, frustrated with how squeaky my voice sounded, “is ignoring the person you’ve been hooking up with.” I glanced at him and saw his eyes widen in surprise. He definitely hadn’t expected this. I pictured Jaz high-fiving me. “Also, engaging in obnoxious PDA with s-someone else…” I felt tears threaten but refused to let them fall. “In front of me was…” I sucked in a deep breath. “Not okay. At all.”

Jaz would be so proud.

His faded camo Vans kicked at the ground, then he stared up at the sky and sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look,” he said, “hanging out with you was…just something I did because I was bored and it was summer. I figured you knew it didn’t actually mean anything. And summer’s over now, so…” He shrugged and pinned me with a cold stare.

My body flushed with anger and mortification. I was a summer fling? We were an ancient 1950s movie where perky couples played on the beach, captured forever in freeze-frame, but discontinued once the lights came back on?

He glanced at his surfer posse, and I suddenly knew why he’d done this. Because I was still Chunky Monkey—nerdy bookstore Viv—and he wasn’t about to be seen with me in the light of day.

My whole body trembled. Must not cry. I took a breath, then the words tumbled out, almost like Jaz was telling me what to say. “So I’m not cool enough for you to hang out with in public, right? It was okay to use me at night over the summer when no one was around but now…” I gestured toward his friends. Toff watched us, frowning.

Jake’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t use you.”

I swallowed my tears. I could not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt me. “Then what do you call it, Jake? I’m not some library book you can borrow for two weeks, then return and forget about.”

He smirked at me. “You’re weird, Viv. But you were…available. And like I said, I was bored.” He narrowed those icy blue eyes I used to dream about. “Besides,” he said, “we didn’t really do much. Nothing for you to get all territorial about like you freaking own me.”

Territorial? I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing all the ways I could kill him. Sometimes I was more like my murder-plotting mom than I realized. I opened my eyes and met his hard stare, forcing a sickly sweet smile. “This has been… enlightening, Jake. For both of us.”

He took a step back, half-turning toward his posse. “Whatever, Viv. I just wanted to, you know…”

I crossed my arms, waiting, but he didn’t finish his thought, so I had to do it for him. “You wanted to let me know—officially—that we’re done. So I wouldn’t embarrass you by talking to you or making actual eye contact.” I hoped he didn’t hear the quiver in my voice. I needed to bolt before he saw me cry.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Like I said, we hardly even did anything.” His words cut like a knife as he drove home the message: I really had been a throwaway distraction. The worst part was that I knew he was right. If it had been anyone but me or anyone but him, I would’ve seen it coming a mile away.

But stupid me had believed all that kissing meant something. Since I’d crushed on Jake since kindergarten, I’d wanted so badly to believe he cared about me. My emotions had betrayed me, overpowering any logic, and because of it, I’d gotten burned.

Jake the Snake had just proven how he’d earned his nickname. It wasn’t only because he was a snake who stole waves from other surfers. He stole hearts, too, and crushed the life out of them.

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I took off on my bike, pedaling as fast as I could. No one chased after me or called my name. Tears blurred my vision as I rode. I took the fast way home, riding up Main Street instead of the meandering beach path, anxious to hide out in my bedroom until I could get myself under control.

I dreaded telling Jaz because I knew she’d say “I told you so.” She’d warned me when I’d called her after our first bonfire hookup. “I know you think you love him, Viv, but you don’t even know him. Just because he’s cute—”

“Hot,” I’d interrupted. “Gorgeous. Amazing.”

“Do you hear yourself? You, who’s always ranting about how sick you are of guys only liking girls for their looks? You’re doing the same thing with him. You know his reputation.”

I’d ignored her like I’d ignored the mental warning bells the few times I’d asked Jake to meet me for lunch and he’d bailed on me. I hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility that he was using me or didn’t want to be seen with me in public because how could such an externally gorgeous person not be just as amazing on the inside? I knew the world didn’t work that way, but I wanted it to.

Right now, I felt as if the universe was punishing me for my own hypocrisy and stupidity. And I felt like I deserved it.

...

Mom’s bookstore had a prime location, smack in the middle of Shady Cove’s quaint Main Street dotted with funky stores and one-of-a-kind restaurants operating out of pastel-colored buildings that resembled life-sized dollhouses. Benches made from repurposed surfboards dotted the street, flanked by faded whiskey barrels overflowing with cascading rainbows of flowers.

We lived behind the bookstore in a house that looked a lot like our store, only smaller. Our faded blue home, surrounded by an overgrown garden of wildflowers and untended vegetables, beckoned me like a comfortable old blanket.

I started up the deck stairs to the kitchen door, but I froze when I remembered Mom wanted me at the store after school today to meet the computer genius she’d hired to automate our system.

The last thing I wanted to do was meet with some McNerd and explain our index card system to him. I pictured a skinny old guy with thick glasses and a stained Star Wars T-shirt rolling his eyes at the old school way Mom and I kept records.

Hiddles the angry feline met me at the top of the deck. He rolled on his back, squinting his eyes in the sun, which was quickly disappearing behind the usual afternoon fog rolling in off the water. When I leaned down to rub his stomach he batted a paw at my hand, claws out.

“I’d like to claw somebody, too, Hiddles. But I’m a pacifist.” In the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of pomegranate juice, then hurried upstairs to take off my stupid hooker librarian outfit.

I hated that I’d spent so much time primping this morning for such a jerk. I shimmied out of my tight jeans and tugged on leggings, then unearthed a faded Cal sweatshirt. I felt safe in these clothes, hiding my body from anyone else who thought they could use me and discard me like an empty candy wrapper. My eyes pricked with tears again, and I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

I would not, could not, let this devastate me. You’re stronger than that, Viv. You’re a smart, funny, enlightened feminist. Who happens to love romance novels. Who should know better than to let her hormones have any say in decisions about secret beach hook-ups. Even if the kissing was amazing.

Hormones shouldn’t even get a seat on the brain council, but mine had staged a coup this summer, taking over all rational thought and sending me straight into Jake’s muscled, traitorous arms. Everyone said that guys were the ones controlled by their hormones, but girls weren’t immune to their scary power. I’d just learned that the hard way.

My cell pinged, jarring me out of my self-pity trip.

“Need you at the shop. Bring cookies pls.”

I leaned against my bed and closed my eyes. I’d have to postpone my breakup detox for later, when I could call Jaz. If I called her.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a package of Paul Newman’s do-gooder fake Oreos, pausing to glance in the mirrored key holder. My eyes had the telltale just cried her eyes out red glow. The waterproof mascara I’d put on this morning was a perfect example of false advertising. My curly hair was a tangled mess from the bike ride home. Lovely.

Not like it mattered. I knew the regular customers and didn’t care what the coder might think of me. The only potential issue was Mom, who’d zero in on my post-crying appearance and demand to know what happened. But, of course, I couldn’t tell her because she didn’t know about Jake.

Hey Viv, clue numero uno that maybe the whole Jake thing was a bad idea: hiding it from Mom. Thank you, non-hormone-influenced brain. I grabbed a paper towel, dampened it under the kitchen faucet, and scrubbed off the mascara stains. Not much of an improvement, but it would have to do.

I entered the store through the back door, buying a few extra minutes before facing Mom. Her laughter rang out from the front of the shop, answered by a deeper laugh. Oh, no. Was the McNerd flirting with her? Gross. I took a deep breath and navigated the stacks of books in our screened-in back porch store room, passed through the tiny store kitchen, and emerged into the main store.

Years ago, Mom had remodeled, tearing down the inside walls to create an open, high-ceilinged space full of bookshelves and a few cozy reading nooks tucked into the corners. Framed photos of Mom’s favorite mystery authors dotted the walls, along with framed READ posters from the ALA. Though I didn’t stalk them the way Jaz did, who didn’t love pictures of sexy actors holding books? Nathan Fillion’s poster had a place of honor by the mystery section because Mom loved Castle and I loved Firefly.

A u-shaped counter hid our battered desk piled high with index card boxes and paperwork. We used an old cash register that required me to make change in my head, and one of those ancient credit card slider gadgets that still used carbon paper. Tourists thought we were intentionally quaint, but the truth was Mom didn’t have time to bring the store into the twenty-first century. Much as she loved the store, she loved writing her books even more, so when push came to shove, automating got shoved right out the door. Until today, apparently.

I approached Mom and the McNerd, who sat at the desk behind the counter, laughing together. Great. How was I going to fake enthusiasm when my heart was broken?

Mom glanced up. “Vivvy! There you are. I wondered what—” She paused, and I knew her Mom-scanner was assessing my bedraggled, post-breakup appearance. “What happened?” Her voice sharpened with worry. I glanced away from her, only to look right at the McNerd, who’d raised his head when Mom greeted me.

Shockingly, he wasn’t an old, skinny guy in a stained Star Wars shirt. He was, in fact, a young, buffed guy in a clean Star Trek shirt. Big difference. His short dark hair stuck up randomly, and I wondered if it was an actual style or if it was nerd hair, like he couldn’t be bothered with combing it. Nerd-hot expert Jaz might know.

I absorbed the full impact of his broad shoulders, his sexy mouth curving in a tentative smile, his steady green-eyed gaze behind the glasses, and tanned and chiseled features. This guy was definitely packing a lot of cute underneath deceptively dorky wrapping.

He adjusted his glasses on his nose, his gaze moving from Mom to me and back to Mom. Hmm…glasses. A frisson of recognition ran through me.

Oh no. The guy from school who’d heard not one but two embarrassing Jake-related tongue discussions. Was today the day all my bad karma got rolled into a giant ball and dropped on my head?

“What is it, Viv?” Mom asked, reading my face like an FBI investigator.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “But I have a lot of homework so I can’t stay long.” I could only put off my meltdown for so long.

Mom frowned. “But I need you to show Dallas our system.” She shot him an embarrassed smile. “Such as it is.”

He shrugged. “I can come back another day if today doesn’t work.”

His voice was much deeper and sexier than the nerd voices on TV.

“But I know your schedule’s busy,” Mom protested, shooting me a death glare.

“Yeah, but I’m flexible.” He glanced at me and his lips quirked. And I knew—absolutely knew—he was remembering the overheard conversations about morning tongue action. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

Mom sighed and rustled papers on the desk. “Well, I don’t know, Dallas. I hate to inconven—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted. I would not be shamed into making the precious McNerd rework his busy schedule. Somehow I’d have to postpone my meltdown until later. I held up the box of cookies.

“Are these for you?” I looked into Dallas’s shockingly green eyes assessing me from behind the black frames. His eyes locked with mine a few seconds longer than necessary, then he focused on the box.

“I won’t say no to cookies.” He grinned and held out his hand. I transferred the package to him, careful to avoid extraneous skin contact.

Mom jumped up from her chair. “I need to get back to my research.” She glanced at us. “Do you know how many drugstore items can be used to poison someone? You’d be surprised.”

Dallas paused mid-chew, eyes widening.

“She’s an author,” I explained, shooting my mom an exasperated smile. I never knew when she’d say weird writer stuff that shocked people. “A mystery writer. Killing imaginary people is her first love; the bookstore’s a close second.”

Mom smirked. “So many ways to die, so little time to write about them.”

Dallas laughed, choking on his cookie.

“When do you need to leave, Dallas?” Mom asked.

“Four thirty.”

I glanced at the cat clock on the wall. Three forty-five. Great. Forty-five minutes to spend with a stranger who already knew more about me than I wanted him to.

Mom nodded. “Well, you’ll be working mostly with Vivvy—oh, excuse my horrible manners! Dallas, this is my daughter Vivvy—”

“Vivian,” I corrected.

Mom ignored me because she was going to call me Vivvy forever. “And Vivvy, this is Dallas Lang. You two can work out a schedule together.” Mom beamed at us. “This is so exciting. I’ve wanted to computerize the inventory for years.”

Dallas and I avoided looking at each other while Mom gathered up a stack of papers and her Sherlock teacup, then left us, gauze skirt swishing in her wake, fuzzy slippers peeking out from under the hem. I bit back a smile, wondering how many customers had noticed.

I broke the avoidance awkwardness first, leaning over the counter to take a cookie from the package. Dallas thrust the box toward me.

“So you’re new in Shady Cove?” I asked casually.

He ran a hand through his hair, and I realized that must be why it stuck up in places. It didn’t look weird, though. On him it looked sort of sexy—wait, what the heck was I doing? I’d been dumped half an hour ago and I was already noticing some other guy? Is it really a dumping if you were never together? asked my traitorous brain.

“Not exactly,” he said, settling his gaze on mine. “My family moved here last April.”

I frowned. “I don’t remember seeing you at school.”

“Because I wasn’t. Since it was late in the year, I did online classes to finish my junior year.”

“So you’re a senior,” I said. Duh, Vivian.

“Yeah.”

“And, let me guess…you’re from Texas?”

Laughter sparked his eyes. “The name’s more of a red herring. We’re from Wisconsin.”

“Don’t try to suck up to me by throwing around mystery jargon.” I narrowed my eyes and tried to look unimpressed, even though I was.

His laughter reached his mouth this time. “I wouldn’t dare.”

I walked behind the counter to sit in the chair Mom had vacated. The close proximity to this mysterious, potentially nerd-hot boy was unsettling. I needed to focus on the job at hand.

“So you saw Mom’s desperate plea for help on Craigslist? Or was it the help wanted board in the coffee shop?”

Dallas pulled a notebook out of his backpack and glanced at me. “Coffee shop. This sounded a lot better than washing seashells.”

I was still too miserable to laugh at his dumb joke, but I tried to keep the conversation going. “It must be weird to go to a new school for your senior year.” I busied myself with a stack of Mom’s invoices and saw him shrug from the corner of my eye.

“Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but moving to the beach from the frozen tundra didn’t exactly su—stink.”

Was he worried about swearing in front of me? That was odd. And sort of cute. I turned slightly in my chair. “Still.” I shrugged, then forced a tiny smile. “Moving here gives you an opportunity to fulfill your mission.” I gestured vaguely to his shirt and stared at his neck rather than those hypnotic eyes. “Exploring strange new worlds and civilizations and all that jazz.”

He chuckled softly and goose bumps rose on my arms when he spoke. “Original, Next Generation or Voyager? Not Deep Sleep Nine, I hope.”

I faced him full on. This was tricky. He was clearly a Trekkie with strong opinions. I wasn’t Comic Con crazy, but I did like Star Trek, especially the movies with Chris Pine. And the Next Generation series with Patrick Stewart, who also graced a READ poster on our wall.

“I like TNG,” I said, “with the occasional original series sprinkled in for variety. I did a DS9 marathon last summer. Don’t need to repeat it.”

Dallas and I stared at each other in silence and I wondered what he was thinking. My Trekkie creds ran more shallow than deep. I suspected he was more interested in the science and space exploration aspects of the Final Frontier, unlike me, who was mostly drawn in by the relationship drama.

“Spock or Kirk?” he asked, a glint of humor in his steady green gaze.

My pulse rate sped up, even though his question wasn’t flirtatious. “I have to choose?”

He shrugged. “Most people lean one way or the other.”

His quiet intensity made me anxious. Was he staring at my smeared mascara? Did he really overhear the tongue chats?

“Isn’t that kind of like asking me to choose either peanut butter or jelly?”

He laughed, making me smile for the first time since Jake had ignored me this morning.

“So...” I cleared my throat, grabbed a random box of index cards, and popped it open. I could not let my hormones suck me into another vortex of cute boy craziness. “This is the official method of tracking sales and trade-ins at Murder by the Sea.” I glanced at him, surprised by the sudden worry that he might make fun of our ancient system.

He opened another index box and pulled out a card, frowning. “What do the columns mean?”

I scooted my chair closer to him, trying to ignore his distractingly sexy scent. Was that soap? Or just eau de nerd? I cleared my throat nervously. “Well, the date is obvious. Date of transaction. Number is how many books we bought from the customer. Cash is how much we paid for the books. Trade is how much we gave in store credit. And the letters are for genre. R for romance, M for mystery, etc.” I glanced at him and he nodded, scribbling in a notebook. “Customers can choose store credit or cash. We give a higher dollar amount in trade credits than cash.”

He stopped scribbling and turned to face me, making my breath catch. Who knew that Wisconsin grew such cute boys? I’d never thought about it; but if someone had asked me, I’d have guessed they were all beefy and red-faced, wearing foam cheesehead hats and screaming about the Packers. Somehow I couldn’t picture Dallas in a cheesehead hat.

“Why do you give more in credit than cash?”

I knew why but the words took a detour on the way from my brain to my mouth. I’d felt this way around Jake at first, but the truth was we hardly talked at all on the beach. Somehow Dallas already knew things about me that Jake didn’t, as in my secret Star Trek obsession. How had that happened?

“We, uh, want to encourage customers to shop in the store. Read more books.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, creating random hair spikes that looked cuter every time he did it. “So, you want to keep the money in the store? Increase your profits?”

I looked away from the spiky hair and the green eyes, focusing on my index card. “Honestly, my mom doesn’t care much about profit. She does okay as an author. The bookstore is more of a…personal mission.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should read her books.”

I glanced at him and smiled. “First you have to figure out her pen name.”

His eyebrows shot up. “She doesn’t publish as Rose Galdi?”

Feeling smug, I shook my head. “Nope.”

“As a consultant to Murder by the Sea, it’s important that I know,” he said in a serious, deep voice, a glint of laughter in his eyes.

“You’ll have to ask her,” I said airily, trying to hide the impact his voice and laughter had on me. “I’ve signed a secrecy oath.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the chest I’d somehow overlooked when he’d bumped into me in the hallway this morning. “I’m sure I can Google it in five seconds.”

“Go for it.” I bit my lips, repressing a smile.

He leaned back in the chair. “I will. But before I do, let’s make it interesting. If I figure it out by tomorrow, I get to borrow one of her books to read. No charge.” He glanced toward the rows of shelves. “I’m sure you stock them here.”

My lips twitched. He was about to embark on one of the favorite past times of Shady Cove residents: figuring out my mom’s authorial identity. Very few people had done it and those who had were sworn to secrecy. Mom ensured their secrecy by inviting them to private book talk nights with wine and cheese and free autographed copies of her latest releases.

“Mom’s books are always on the shelves. Some hardback, some paperback. Some new, some previously loved.”

He licked his lips in a way that made me wonder what it would be like to kiss them. I spun around in my chair and grabbed another index box. I was heading to the Herb Cottage as soon as I closed the store tonight. There had to be a cure for my condition.

Dallas resumed scribbling in his notebook. “Tell me more about your record-keeping.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and glanced at the clock behind us. “But you need to leave in ten minutes.”

He nodded, still scribbling. “I know.”

I glanced at his wrists; he wasn’t wearing a watch. “How do you know? Do you have a timer inside your brain or something?”

He shot me a sideways smirk. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Seriously?” I spun back and forth in my chair. In my experience, lots of boys were clueless about time. Paul and Toff were always late when they joined us for dinner. Then again, so was my Mom, so she couldn’t get mad.

“We should figure out a schedule for the rest of the week.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket, fingers flying over the screen. “Can’t do it tomorrow, but I could meet you here after school on Wednesday from three thirty until five thirty.”

I grabbed a Post-it and wrote down the day and time.

“Don’t you, um, need to check your calendar?” He sounded anxious.

I raised my eyes to his. “I’ll remember.” I gestured to his phone. “Mr. Organized.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I’m, uh…sort of…particular…about some things.”

“Like being on time.”

He shut his notebook and capped his pen. “Exactly. Which is why I need to go. I have a cello lesson at five thirty.”

I stared at him as he stood up and hoisted his backpack over his shoulders. His very broad shoulders that matched the broad chest.

“You play the cello.” I stated this fact with the awe it deserved. I was hooked on YouTube videos of the uber hot Croatian cello duo who performed their own versions of popular songs.

He grinned down at me. “Yeah.”

“And you’re a computer whiz.”

He tugged at his hair, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “I guess so.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to hide any sparks of interest that might betray me. “You sure you’re from Wisconsin?”

His eyebrows arched. “Stereotype much?”

It was my turn to blush. I lowered my eyes. “Sorry.” He was right; I sounded like a snob.

“It’s okay, Vivian. I expected all the girls here to be beachy airheads. I’m still adjusting to the reality of Shady Cove.”

My eyes narrowed as Dallas leaned down to retrieve a helmet from underneath the desk. Was that a compliment or a dig?

He stood up, and I glanced at the helmet dangling from his hand. It was white with a Union Jack flag painted on both sides, and it was definitely not a bicycle helmet.

“Do you ride a motorcycle?” My voice was a whisper. Did he leap tall buildings in a single bound, too? Maybe Jaz was right about the Superman thing.

He shook his head, one side of his mouth quirking up. “No, just a Vespa. Part of the parental bribery package to convince me to move in the middle of my junior year.” He adjusted his backpack over his shoulders. “Don’t forget our little wager about your mom’s pen name.”

I blinked, clearing my mind of the image of Dallas playing the cello, arm muscles rippling, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead.

“Wait. What if you don’t figure it out? Because you won’t. What do I win?”

“Hmm.” Dallas rubbed his jaw. His very strong jaw. God, I was as pathetic as some of the girls in the novels I read. “Well…wagers should be roughly equal. If I can’t figure it out, you can borrow my Star Trek bible. Original series episode guide, behind-the-scenes trivia, all that stuff.” He tugged his helmet onto his head, the Union Jack flag’s red and blue colors flashing in the sun beaming down from the skylight. “Unless you already have it.”

It took me a few seconds to recover my voice. “No. I mean, I don’t have it. Yeah, sure. Deal.”

“Cool. It’s a bet. See you back here on Wednesday.” He lifted his chin in acknowledgment, then turned to leave.

I would not let myself look at his butt as he left the store. Things were already out of control in the Vivian hormonal department. I heard the slight rumble of the Vespa and peered over the counter as he drove off.

Nerd-hot was most definitely a thing.