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Overview
"If you're looking for an excellent, well-written, cute, fun YA romance read, Anya and the Shy Guy is well worth checking out. I adored it!" -Deanna, Okie Dreams Book Reviews
Anya Anderson doesn’t just need a big break, she needsany break. Living on the streets doesn’t leave a girl many options, so when she scores a gig reporting on the Seconds to Juliet tour, she jumps at the chance to earn enough money to sleep somewhere safe. And the paycheck will get bigger—and keep her off the streets for good—if she can dig up dirt on Will Fray, the irritatingly hot “shy guy” of the band.
Problem is, Will Fray isn’t who everyone thinks he is. In fact, he’s not Will at all. Matt, Will’s identical twin, is actually the guy onstage, reluctantly covering for his brother while he’s in rehab. To make matters worse, Matt’s being shadowed by a cute reporter with troubled eyes determined to get the scoop. On him. And he’s having trouble finding the willpower to keep his distance…
But if the secret gets out, it won’t just be his head on a platter—it’ll be the whole band’s.
Disclaimer: This Entangled Teen Crush book contains steamy make out scenes, graphic language, and a love story so hot your copy may spontaneously burst into flames. You’ve been warned.
Each book in the Backstage Pass Series is a standalone, full-length story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Series Order:
Book #1 - Aimee and the Heartthrob
Book #2 - Mia and the Bad Boy
Book #3 - Daisy and the Front Man
Book #4 - Anya and the Shy Guy
Book #5 - Abby and the Cute One
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781633753426 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Entangled Publishing, LLC |
| Publication date: | 07/14/2015 |
| Series: | Backstage Pass |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 231 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 12 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Anya and the Shy Guy
By Suze Winegardner, Stephen Morgan
Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2015 Suze WinegardnerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-342-6
CHAPTER 1
Anya let her battered backpack fall to the floor in the small guard hut at the stadium. She peered again at the letter she'd just been given along with her backstage all-access pass.
"Will Fray?" she whispered, the words crackling in the back of her throat. "I'm assigned to Will Fray? I thought I had access to the whole band." She stopped to clear her throat as her underused vocal chords fritzed.
"What did you say, hon?" The huge, tattooed security man's eyes were glued to his monitors.
She struggled to remember which one Will was. The blond? The one with all the ink?
No. Now she remembered him. She pictured a magazine photo of a good-looking guy half hiding behind dark floppy hair. He was the shy one. The one who could barely string a sentence together for the few interviews she'd read. Awesome.
The guard shrugged and pointed to a fleet of buses at the far side of the parking lot. "Will's over there on the bus. Watch where you walk. There's cables and expensive equipment everywhere. You'll be thrown out of here if you damage anything."
Anya had a nasty feeling that if she left the security hut with the letter it would cement her fate. She cleared her throat again, but her voice still came out in a pathetic whisper. "Who do I talk to about this?" And then her reedy voice found its volume knob and echoed around the mostly empty hut. "I was supposed to be covering the whole band, but they only seem to have given me access to one of them."
This was not cool. Not cool at all. Fear of failure gripped her, pressing down on her chest as she tried to take an even breath. She really didn't want to pass out this close to the jackpot.
He heaved a sigh. "The person you need to speak to is S2J's manager, LJ. But I wouldn't if I were you. I'd suck it up and keep out of his way. Just a friendly piece of advice." He sat back down and turned his attention to the security monitors.
Frustration burned behind her eyes, and she kept her face as straight as she could. She'd learned from living on the street that tears didn't make anything better. Tears were only useful if you needed food or the odd dollar. She wasn't going to waste them on the security man or this boy band.
But still, she'd accepted the job so that she could try to dig up some exclusive dirt on one of the band members in the hope that it could earn her a big enough payday to get off the streets and back to school. And get Jude the help he needed. She had to keep that at the front of her mind.
Money. I'm here for the money. The money that can make me safe. Make us safe.
Jude had saved her life when she'd first become homeless. Literally. An older man — a veteran, judging by his tattoos, he'd never said so himself — he had his own demons that kept him on the streets. And now, finally, she was in a position to help him for a change. She could not blow this. She wasn't going to let him down.
She picked up her backpack, trying to appear casual, instead of the total mess of anxiety that was her default state of being, and made her way through the elaborate row of gates and fences designed to keep the fans away from the band.
Girls were five deep trying to get a glimpse of the world-famous boys. Homemade posters hung on the metal bars, and for a second she wondered how much she could sell her all-access pass for. Since she'd been assigned to Will Fray, the quietest guy in the band, that might actually be her best money-making option.
Jeez. Just one break. Please.
Except this was her break, and she was going to make it work. Or die trying.
She hauled her backpack onto one shoulder and, by habit, patted the pocket that held her notebook. Check. With no cell phone and no laptop she relied on her notebook to record every conversation, every interview, every idea.
It was that attention to detail that had gotten her this gig. WowSounds.com had been so impressed with the authenticity of her article on the homeless of Tulsa that they'd asked her to pick up Seconds to Juliet's Make it Last tour here. They'd never suspected she was, in fact, one of the people she'd "interviewed" for that piece. They'd also never suspected she was only seventeen.
"You all right, miss?"
She turned back to the security guard who had come out of his hut. "Are the fans here every day?"
His gaze flittered over the throng of girls. "Since we arrived in town, yeah. They're not allowed to go speak to them. The boys I mean."
"Why's that?"
"LJ thinks that once the girls get a photo and an autograph, they won't bother buying the albums or coming to the concerts."
"Is that true? I would've thought it would make them want to see them more."
"Me, too. But what do I know? I'm just the muscle." He took her by the shoulders, turned her back around, and pointed her in the direction of the buses.
She stiffened under his touch but tried not to react. He pushed her lightly. "Leave your luggage at the bus, and then someone will show you around."
"Thanks." She headed off across the lot, sweat trickling down her back. She mentally went over the very few articles she'd read about Will Fray. She'd have to look at her notes as soon as she found somewhere safe and quiet to work.
She'd spent the last two days researching at the library she'd always used to send her articles in to the editor. Her notebook was filled with the songs, albums, quotes, and background info on all the guys.
This would have been so much easier if she had access to the whole band. Out of all of them, Ryder was the one most likely to have some dark secret she could expose. He was the bad boy. Instead, she was stuck with Will Fray. Magazines had dubbed him the "shy one," but as far as she was concerned, he may as well be the "boring one."
What did girls even see in him? She was sure he was cute and all, but she liked boys who weren't afraid to speak their mind. The chances of him giving her any kind of info to work with were probably next to none. Zero. Nothing.
She stopped dead and looked at the bus in front of her.
Were they for real? The freaking tour bus had a huge decal of the band with no shirts on. She pushed up her cheap sunglasses and took a long look. She couldn't take her eyes off it.
It was cheesy, campy, and made her stomach feel weird. She rubbed her belly for a second and then took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching her. She sneaked her small digital camera out of a pocket and took a quick snap. She pressed down the five-year-old Hello Kitty sticker on the camera and peered again at the picture on the side of the bus.
Hmm. Will must be one of these half-naked guys. She wished she could remember exactly which one. Though she had to admit, all of them looked pretty good.
Here goes nothing.
Anya took a breath, smoothed down her choppy, pinned-up hair and knocked on the bus door. Music boomed from inside the bus, and she rolled her eyes to herself. They were listening to their own music on their own tour bus? She couldn't wait to slip that nugget into her story. Could they be further up their own butts?
This time she knocked with her whole fist, rattling the door. The music went silent. Thank God for small mercies.
* * *
Matt didn't care how much fun movies made it seem for twins to switch places. This was anything but fun.
I wish I wasn't here.
I wish Will was here.
Twin swaps were not as much fun when you were over the age of eight. It wasn't The Parent Trap anymore, it was more like The Shining.
He flipped the page of his notebook full of S2J song lyrics and skipped over "The One" — maybe their most popular song to date. He already knew the words to virtually all the songs, especially that one ... hell, everyone in the effing western hemisphere knew the lyrics to that one.
Better for him to focus on the couple of songs that tripped him up every time he rotated to backing vocals. Luckily, the fans just screamed the whole way through the set, so no one ever noticed him screwing up the words. But someone would eventually, which meant he'd better figure out the songs fast. He'd come too far to let his twin down now.
A loud banging at the door shook the whole freaking bus.
What the ...?
He stomped over and swung it open, forcing the visitor back down the steps.
Well hell-o, sunshine.
Except there was nothing sunshiny about her at all. She was all rich black hair and a pissed off expression. Her hair had a row of tiny hair grips, like little kid ones with cartoon characters and small flowers, which didn't distract him at all from her eyes. Gray and blue and ... unforgiving.
Geez. He'd hate to be the one who crossed her.
A tiny ring decorated her left eyebrow. So she had a hint of dangerous, too. He didn't know if he was insanely attracted to her or just scared of her. But there was something else in those eyes. Some kind of wariness or sadness or something.
I wonder what her secret is ...
"Can I help you?"
"I'm beginning to doubt it, but I was told that I'm stuck with you for two weeks." She dropped her backpack to the ground, and it looked so heavy it must have had her whole life in it. "You are Will Fray, aren't you?"
He kept his eyes on her hands, as he'd been drilled to. Not in case she had a gun, but in case she whipped her top off. It happened. A lot. And their prick of a manager had warned them that a photo with a topless teenager would get them kicked out of the band faster than a missed stage cue. Fortunately, her hands remained at her side.
"Maybe. Why are you stuck with me?" He scanned the parking lot for the nonexistent security. Typical.
Her eyes sparkled a little as she thrust a letter at him. It was from LJ, the prick of a manager, telling this girl — he looked at the name it was addressed to — Anya Anderson, that she was assigned to Will Fray for two whole weeks to write an article for WowSounds.com.
Matt's blood ran cold.
Bastard.
He'd seen that LJ was a little suspicious of him, had seen the odd looks he gave him when they were onstage, but this was a nightmare. How could he keep his brother's secret if he had to be Will 24/7?
He tried for a smile. "I guess you are stuck with me."
"Well now that that's settled ..." She started to climb up the steps to the bus.
He held up his hand. "No, no, no. Just no. Stop right there. Only the band is allowed on this bus. You get to ride on the hangers-on bus."
Her eyes narrowed at his dis, and the wave of shade coming from her was overwhelming. Shit. One way to make sure she dug deep until she found out his secrets was to piss her off.
Charm her, idiot.
"I meant the Hanging On bus," he said. "All the buses on tour are named after the songs from our first album. This bus" — he gestured behind him — "is called The One."
She stepped back and looked at the side of the bus. He cringed. His one saving grace was that it wasn't actually his half-naked body on the photo, it was his twin's. But she didn't know that. And come on. He might spend a little more time in the gym than Will, but at the end of the day, they were twins. Same genetics. Same body.
She cocked her head. "Are you sure it's not called Not Tonight?"
He laughed. At least she had the band's discography down. "Nope. Not Tonight is the name of the chaperones' bus. The one with the shitty suspension is called the Rock You bus."
"Dare I ask who rides on the Kiss This bus?" she asked with a completely straight face.
"I couldn't possibly divulge that kind of private stuff without knowing you better. Much better."
This girl. He had to give it to her, she wasn't like the other journalists he'd avoided thus far. He might even be okay with a little up-close-and-personal time with ... what was her name again? Anya?
She paused and tipped her head to one side. "You're not as shy as you make yourself out to be, are you?"
His smile fell from his face.
Nice one, Matt. Don't forget you have a secret to hide. Distract, distract.
"Don't believe everything you read, baby, everything you see, baby, I can be your everything, baby ..." He winced. Crap. What possessed him to quote his brother's lyrics? He'd been doing so well pretending to be Will, and three seconds with this Anya person had thrown him off his game.
"Really? Does that actually work? Quoting your own lyrics at girls?" She looked almost embarrassed for him, pitying, even.
"I'm — I'm sorry," he deliberately stammered, trying to channel Will's shyness. "I — I just liked, like the way you look." Jesus. Even Will would have come up with something smoother than that.
She peered awkwardly down at her thick black tights, jean shorts, and holey T-shirt. "Now I know you're lying. I like that. That's actually a good start." She took a thick notebook from a pocket of the bag and hauled her backpack onto her shoulder. She uncapped a pen with her mouth and nodded. "A very good start."
Crap.
CHAPTER 2As soon as she heard the trailer door shut behind her, Anya stopped and held her shaking hand out in front of her. It trembled as if she'd just witnessed a murder. She fisted it and took a deep breath. Even her inhale was unsteady. She'd forgotten how long it had been since she'd looked someone in the eye. Since she'd spoken to someone her age. Since she'd felt interested in anything beyond finding a safe place to sleep.
Two years ago, she'd woken up alone in the house to the sound of the bailiff hammering on the front door, and ever since then, she'd been pretty much on her own. Okay, there'd been one foster home, but three days there had been all it took for her to figure being murdered on the streets would be preferable to another night under that roof.
Survival meant staying invisible. Not being noticed.
Except Will had noticed her.
It was her own fault. She'd been so aggressive with him. But what else was she supposed to do when he talked to her like that? He was just begging for a nice verbal lashing.
She had to be careful. It was amazing she'd gotten this far as it was.
She was lucky WowSounds.com liked her writing enough that they hadn't dug too deeply into who she was. She'd written that one piece on the homeless — never divulging that she knew so much because she was homeless. They'd sent a check for $50 to a friendly grocery shop owner, who'd cashed it for her. She'd then written a feature piece about being homeless on the streets of Tulsa, which had garnered $250 and a request to spend two weeks with the band.
WowSounds.com had no idea she was seventeen. She may have even led them to believe that she was a married mother. Another lie. But one that seemed to warm them toward her. Add one more knot to the tangled net in her stomach.
She found the Hanging On bus — not that hard since the name was emblazoned down the side — and knocked on the door.
It flew open with a bang, and a young woman stared down at her. A grin immediately spread across her face. "You must be Anya Anderson. Come on in." She stepped back inside the bus and disappeared from view.
Anya took the few steps up into the darkness and tried to keep up. It was like another world in there. All the windows had blinds drawn and spotlights hit beige leather seats, sofas, and booths.
The woman was talking as she caught up with her. "It's just us on this bus. There are six bunks — look. I took the one at the end, hope you don't mind. I won't be here much, though. I have family in town and they're all staying at a fancy hotel downtown, so I'll be visiting them mostly. Pick a bunk." She chattered at about a hundred miles an hour, her long dark hair swinging with every step and almost every word.
The sleeping section was unlit, and each bunk had a curtain. She pulled one back and looked inside. They were pretty big beds, with a storage unit above them, and a TV in the wall at the foot of the bed. They were two by two, and the lower bunk seemed to have slightly more room to sit up in bed, so she slid her backpack off her shoulders and fought back a fizzing in the back of her eyes. She would have a bed tonight. Her fingers fluttered over the soft sheets. It was a real bed.
"Are you okay?" the woman asked.
No sense in being truthful. Instead she stuck out her hand. "I'm Anya."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Anya and the Shy Guy by Suze Winegardner, Stephen Morgan. Copyright © 2015 Suze Winegardner. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
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