I Spy the Boy Next Door by Samantha Armstrong

Four p.m. spy sessions are the highlight of Mallory Taylor’s day. Observing the boy next door—one with a body and an attitude to match—has her perched beside her window so often it can’t be healthy.

When she finally convinces her mom to let her go to public school, Mallory comes face to face with her neighbor, Troy Parker. And he makes it clear he wants nothing to do with her. His rejection awakens a newfound tenacity and maybe even a touch of recklessness. But when Troy starts to show up when she needs him the most, Mallory can’t help but wonder if there’s more to him than he’s let on.

Taking chances, breaking rules, and following her heart is all new to Mallory. And no one warned her just how fickle hearts can be. When she discovers that Troy isn’t at all the guy she imagined him to be, secrets rise to the surface that will change her life forever.

SKU: B072WL1K2G Category: Contemporary Tags: bad boy, high school romance, Samantha Armstrong, suspense, twist

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About the author:

I'm from New Zealand. I have a 1-year-old boy, and I'm married to the man of my dreams. My days are filled with play dates, house work, and searching for time to write. 😉

What inspired you to write your book?

I really don't know how ideas come to me. But they do, and I just roll with them.

This book releases on May 25th. So there is no Amazon page yet.

Here is a short sample from the book:

***I apologize for the formatting. It's not like this in my book, I swear!***

Chapter 1

I’ve had a crush on the same guy my whole life. Well, not quite the entire seventeen years, but ever since he moved in next door five years ago and smiled at me. It was the only smile I’ve ever gotten from him. And even then, it didn’t last long.
When I’d handed him back his deflated football that had flown over our fence, the smile had quickly vanished. It wasn’t my fault that he’d practically enticed my dog to play fetch when his ball came barreling into our backyard.
But even as he scowled at me, something about him completely sucked me in. Maybe it was his mysterious nature and innocent, deep-blue eyes. All I know is that the attraction today is clear—his six-foot frame, unruly dark hair, and tattoos have me ogling him whenever I get the chance. But there’s no innocence captivating his eyes these days. They’re harsh, focused, and completely oblivious of me.
I take the stairs two at a time, making a beeline for my bedroom. I know his routine like the back of my hand, and right now is one of the only times knowing his routine matters.
“Mal, where did you put my—”
“Get out of the way, Grieva!” I slam the door shut in my little brother’s face and dart to the window.
Hiding behind a window frame, I peer down onto the street. The annoying OCD man in the house opposite his is mowing the lawn again. I silently scold him for ruining what is possibly the best forty-five seconds of my day. The man seems to spend an inordinate amount of time in his front yard. I glare at his back, but as he goes to turn around, I jerk my head out of the way so he can’t see me. I’ve caught him looking up here a few times, and to say it's creepy is an understatement. Though, I guess I’m the last person who should pass that judgment.
I move to the edge of the curtain and let out a breath when I see his attention has returned to his perfectly manicured grass.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I whisper-chant, flicking my gaze to the wall clock, then back out to the street below, awaiting the boy next door’s arrival.
Any minute now.
I frown when a large, flashy SUV rolls up and parks in his driveway beside mine. I’ve never seen it before. The stark contrast to the other minivans or modest run-around cars is refreshing.
A man and woman step out of the vehicle, both wearing outfits that obviously match their wealth. I don’t recognize either of them. The lady is tall, thin, and blonde. Her partner is dark-haired, stocky, and blessed with the tanned skin I often dream about. Damn. If my boy doesn’t get a move on, this dude might just take his place.
The lady abruptly jerks her head around as if she’s read my mind. Her eyes sweep my front yard then drift up to my window, connecting with mine. I freeze.
God, I hope she doesn’t narc on me for creeping. But when she smiles and turns around, I release the breath she’d taken from me. I think I just got let off the hook.
I watch as they go inside, and then something catches my eye. I lean forward so I can see the end of the street, and sure enough, my attention is held captive.
My heart kicks into gear, deciding it wants to keep up with the pace of his pounding footsteps.
He rounds the corner at full speed. At about a hundred yards away, he slows to a jog, until finally he reaches his house beside mine and stops.
His hands rest on his knees as he hunches forward, catching his breath.
I don’t know why he always pushes himself to what looks like death. Then again, I don’t know why people expose themselves to physical exercise in the first place. I’m not complaining, though. Sweat drips off his face, causing his shirt to cling to his body.
He stands, and, as he’s stretching, he peers into the tinted windows of the SUV and frowns. I wonder if that frown is because he knows the owners of the vehicle or because he doesn’t. Then he turns and walks up his drive.
Any moment now, my heart’s about to break through its ribcage.
He grabs the hem of his shirt. Any moment. Slowly, he brings it up, torturing me as he prolongs the final reveal, and then, suddenly, I’m swallowing back the excess saliva and telling myself to calm the hell down.
Who knew sweat could be so sexy? It drips off each sculpted muscle. My mind is in a frenzy and my body even more so.
There’s been more added to his tattoo. It doesn’t just cover his whole left arm anymore, but a little over his pec, too.
I squint, trying to get a better glimpse from up here, and, if I’m right, I’d say it was a wing.
I still can’t believe he has tattoos. I know his mom isn’t around. I wonder if she were, would he have been allowed to get one? If I came home with a tattoo, I’d never see the light of day again.
He hooks his shirt into his pants as he continues up the drive.
“Mallory!” My door swings open, and I almost tumble from my perched position on the windowsill. Wow, I really am a creep.
My heart’s pounding, my palms are sweating, and the apex between my thighs is throbbing.
Oh, God.
“What are you doing?” The little shit runs toward me. I jump up, grab my brother by the shoulders, and steer him back out of my room.
“I swear, if you pick my lock one more time, I’m going to chop off your fingers in your sleep.”
He screams and takes off down the hallway.
“Good boy. Run along now, and don’t come back!” Slamming my door, I dash to my computer, jerking the mouse until the screen wakes up. I login to chat with Nicole and click on the speech bubble, letting my fingers loose.
Me: Oh. My. God.
Me: Kill me now!!!
Nic: It’s just past 4:30, so my guess is you were just graced
with his presence?
Me: How is it possible to be that hot? Like how? Christian
Grey has nothing on him.
Nic: You mean Travis Maddox. *sigh*
Me: No, Mr. Darcy . . .
Nic: Jay Gatsby. Wow. We’re taking it old school.
Me: But really, boy next door . . .
Nic: Wah!! 🙁 Why can’t I have a sexy neighbor?! All I have
is an elderly couple and their annoying-ass dog that yaps all
day.
Me: Hahahahaha.
Nic and I have been pen-pals for almost three years. We’ve never met in person, so for all I know she could be a he and a psychopath, but I’m kind of hoping she’s neither because I gave her my Netflix password, and she kind of knows my whole life.
Nic: You know what you need to do?
Nic: You need to wear those skimpy sports bras, tight booty
shorts, and go for a run.
Me: No way! I’ll die of humiliation.
Me: But mostly lack of oxygen.
Nic: If your boobs really are as big as they look in your
photos, then you HAVE to do it! He won’t be able to miss you
then.
Me: That’s for sure, cause I’ll be gasping for air at the end
of my driveway. He might think I need an ambulance.
Me: Although . . . There’s a thought. He might even have to
pick me up.
Nic: Lol. Do it!
Me: Nah. I’ll just happen to bump into him at school. Then my books will fall out of my arms, and he’ll have to help me. We’ll make eye contact, and then we’ll have a moment, fall in love, and be disgustingly cute forever and ever.

The social suicide of homeschooling has produced a homebody whose life has been replaced by books and romcoms. All of which are full of happily-ever-afters, which may have quite possibly ruined any chance for a healthy relationship in my future.

Nic: First of all, high school isn’t at all what it’s cracked
up to be. That shit doesn’t happen. Romance isn’t so cliché.
It’s cutthroat, just like two-faced bitches—that’s the only part
that’s real.
Nic: And second, your mom isn’t going to let you go to public
school.

But she has to. I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months, and I’m sure she wouldn’t want to ruin the last bit of time she has left as an authority figure by denying me my one and only wish.
I didn’t just learn the ways of romance from devouring novels and movies; I learned the inner workings of a troubled teenager’s mind. If you don’t get your own way, rebel until you do. Top tip, if you ask me.

Me: You just wait.
Nic: I think I’ll be waiting forever.
Me: Can’t you give me a little confidence?
Nic: Sorry, someone has to slap some reality into you.
Me: I can’t help that I’ve been sheltered my entire life.
#homeschoolproblems
Nic: Well, for your sake, I really do hope you can convince
her because then you might wake up to the real world.
Me: Ouch. Sometimes you can be kind of bitchy.
Nic: I’m just preparing you.
Me: Sure you are. Well, I’ll keep you updated. Tonight’s the
night I’m either celebrating or coming up with an evil plan to
be the worst teenager alive.
Nic: See you on the other side, my friend.
***