by Meghan March
Bad Judgment
Meghan March
Contents
Bad Judgment
Copyright
Don’t Miss Out!
Also by Meghan March
About This Book
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Epilogue
Preview of Richer Than Sin
Also by Meghan March
About the Author
Bad Judgment
Meghan March
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Meghan March LLC
All rights reserved.
Editor: Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
www.bulletproofediting.com
Cover design: @ Emma Hart
www.emmahart.org
Photo: © anetta
www.shutterstock.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com.
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Also by Meghan March
Sin Trilogy:
Richer Than Sin
Guilty as Sin
Reveling in Sin
Mount Trilogy:
Ruthless King
Defiant Queen
Sinful Empire
Savage Trilogy:
Savage Prince
Iron Princess
Rogue Royalty
Beneath Series:
Beneath This Mask
Beneath This Ink
Beneath These Chains
Beneath These Scars
Beneath These Lies
Beneath These Shadows
Beneath The Truth
Dirty Billionaire Trilogy:
Dirty Billionaire
Dirty Pleasures
Dirty Together
Dirty Girl Duet:
Dirty Girl
Dirty Love
Real Duet:
Real Good Man
Real Good Love
Real Dirty Duet:
Real Dirty
Real Sexy
Flash Bang Series:
Flash Bang
Hard Charger
Standalones:
Take Me Back
Bad Judgment
About This Book
He’s so arrogant.
She’s so self-righteous.
I can’t stand him.
I want her.
He’s a distraction I don’t need.
She’ll say yes eventually because I’m not giving up.
Justine Porter is stuck between a rock and a stripper pole. She lost her law school scholarship, which means she has two choices to keep her life on track: strip for her tuition or tutor the most distractingly sexy guy in her class—the one she’s been turning down for two years straight. It should be an easy choice, but tutoring Ryker Grant could derail her plans to graduate with honors faster than two-for-one night at the Déjà Vu. Then again, topless has never really been her color.
She could take the easy road, just this once . . . but the deal has enough loopholes to trip anyone up.
Who knew they taught bad judgment in law school?
Acknowledgments
Wow. This one was a doozy. Note to self for next time: don’t try to write a book immediately after a one-week road trip that spans more than three thousand miles and three countries (with two dogs). If not for the collective help of my fabulous team, this book might never have seen the light of day.
Special thanks go out to:
Pam Berehulke, for your patience in helping me make this story shine.
Angela Smith, Jamie Lynn, and Natasha Gentile, for your insight and kind words.
Danielle Sanchez, for every amazing thing you do, which goes far beyond PR.
Emma Hart, for creating this drool-worthy cover and overall just being freaking awesome.
My Runaway Readers, for being the best cheerleaders on the interwebz. I truly can’t thank you enough for your endless support.
My crew of fabulous bloggers, for tirelessly spreading the word about books simply for the love of books.
My family, for supporting even my biggest dreams.
JDW, for so many things I can’t even put into words, but most especially for helping me live out my crazy dreams. My life wouldn’t be what it is today without you. I love you.
Every reader who picks up this book, for taking a chance on me and allowing me to write you stories every day. I have the best job imaginable, and I’ll endeavor never to take it for granted.
Chapter One
Justine
“Becca saw Ryker at the gym last night and he was wearing these shorts, and let’s just say she said his dick print looked massive. Cock-a-licious, to quote her properly.”
I
drop my overstuffed chicken burrito on the metal pie plate, and the tortilla splits down the side. Perfect. When I snap my attention to my best friend, Merica’s face is the picture of innocence. The devil dancing in her gray eyes is the only thing that gives away her dirty thoughts.
“Really? Are you trying to kill my appetite on purpose?” Because I’m not interested in anything that has to do with Ryker Grant, or his penis. No, really, I’m not.
Merica’s blond brows wing up toward her hairline in a what could you possibly mean expression. She gestures to me with her fork. “Look, if a sexy-as-hell guy had been hitting on me for two years, I’d be pretty damn interested now that I have some inside info about what he’s packing.”
The last thing I want to hear about is one of our mutual friends staring at the crotch area of Ryker Grant’s shorts at the gym, trying to gauge the size of his package by the imprint it leaves. Who made up the term dick print anyway?
“Not. Interested.” I enunciate each word clearly as I stare down at my burrito.
I’m in law school to study, kick ass, and graduate with honors. For ten years, I’ve been pushing toward this goal. Which means I don’t have time for distractions, and Ryker Grant would be the biggest distraction of all. While he might be tall, sexy, and mouth-wateringly gorgeous, he’s also got a lock on the crown for the kingdom of Entitled Douche Bag.
I reach down to retrieve my busted burrito, but pause before wrapping my fingers around it. Before today, I would have said nothing could put me off the chicken, rice, beans, pico, and avocado goodness before me, but I would have been wrong. Now I can’t look at it without phallic thoughts running through my head.
Hearing about Ryker Grant’s dick print has officially thrown me off my game. On top of being a Grade-A jerk, he’s stupid hot. As in, the kind of hot that makes smart girls stupid. Which is why I’ve been turning him down since our first week of law school.
No time for distractions.
It’s not like Ryker has been crying into his beer over my rejections. He’s been seen with plenty of girls in our law school class in the early hours of the morning at the bars along Red River Avenue. I absolutely and unequivocally refuse to admit that I might have watched him out of the corner of my eye on the rare occasions I let Merica drag me out for a night.
“I’m just saying that even I’d consider taking a ride on that stallion if I didn’t already have my own stud. Come on, Jus. It might be good for you to de-stress a little.” She leans closer, pressing both elbows on the metal table between us. “Plus, you’ve got to confirm the dick-print rumors for womankind.”
Wanting to do anything I can to stop this conversation before I get some kind of terrible idea in my head, I wrap my hands around the burrito and lift it to my lips. Or at least, I try. Stalling out midair, all I can picture is this supposedly massive dick Ryker is packing in his shorts heading for my mouth.
And . . . nope. Operation: Stuff My Face to End Conversation fails. I can’t be thinking thoughts like that. I’ve got finals coming up, and then it’s off to my legal aid job for the summer to make an actual difference in people’s lives.
That’s what matters—making a difference. That’s why I’m studying more hours each week than most people put in at a full-time job. I’m not here to fantasize about the hottest guy I’ve ever met.
I drop the burrito on my plate again and consider it a total loss. I can’t be wrapping my lips around anything that makes me think of Ryker Grant’s penis. Bad. Plan.
I reach for a brown paper napkin to wipe my hands, determined to get my mind back on track. Crumpling the napkin into a ball, I meet my friend’s laughing gaze.
“Stop. Seriously. You know I’m not going there. Never gonna happen.”
“But you want to. You can deny it all you want, but we both know the struggle to not think about his equipment is real.”
I toss the balled-up napkin at her head, and Merica bats it away one-handed as she shovels more of her burrito bowl into her mouth. You’d never know from her napkin-defense skills that she’s one of the most uncoordinated people I’ve ever met.
First day of law school orientation as we were filing into the amphitheater-style auditorium, she tripped going up the stairs. Somehow her flailing hands reached me first and we both crashed to the floor in front of three hundred people. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Merica popped right back up and took a bow. Her positivity is infectious, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
She drops her fork and pushes the bowl away. “Come on, you know you want to. He can be your reward for kicking ass on finals!”
I rub a hand across my face. “My reward for kicking ass on finals will be getting the grades I need to keep my scholarship. That’s all that matters right now—not Ryker’s supposedly massive dick.”
My scholarship is riding on my GPA staying above a 3.75, and without it, I won’t be able to finish school. The sale of Gramps’s small house left me enough to cover most of my living expenses and buy books. That’s what he told me to do with it, because this was his dream for me too. He wanted me to make a difference, just like the legal aid lawyer who helped him fight for custody of me when my deadbeat parents tried to suck me deeper into their cons. So here I am, and I’m going to make this dream come true for both of us.
“You know my only other choice is to ask Kristy Horner about Ryker, and I’m not doing it. She takes up two parking spots in the garage with her BMW, even when she sees you coming and knows there are no other spots left. Do you know how many times I’ve been late to class because she’s a bitch?”
“Kristy being a bitch isn’t a new development, but you’re still not getting that info from me. Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to live with the mystery.”
Merica leans back in her chair, releasing an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible. I’ve been getting the same dick for two years, and I need to live vicariously through my friends to get the variety I’m missing. You need to take one for the team here, hottie.”
I choke on the sip of water I’m taking and lower the cup to the table quickly enough to have it sloshing over the sides.
“Really? Take one for the team? Pun much?”
Merica’s smile is quick and bright. “You know you want it. How long has it been anyway? I mean, your va-jay-jay is probably waving a distress flag because it thinks you’ve forgotten about it.”
She’s not wrong, but I’m also not going there.
“Ryker and me? Never going to happen.”
“Famous last words.” Merica stands and tosses me a cheesy wink.
Chapter Two
Justine
Two weeks later
“Can I get you another?” The bartender at Ziggy’s leans forward as I take up space on a bar stool, playing with my straw and my empty drink.
I scan the room for Merica, wondering how she can possibly take seven years to go to the bathroom, before I jerk my gaze back to his face. His shoulders stretch his tight black T-shirt as he stares at me.
I’ve been watching him for the last five minutes as he’s been reaching, leaning, pouring, and doing other bartender-y things. I know, there are actual verbs for those things, but right now I’m running on a strong mixture of vanilla vodka and root beer, and I used up all my actual smart words on my finals. Which are finally done. Thank God.
And now the bartender is staring at me, waiting for an answer.
Crap. I have to respond. Get with it, Justine. Do I really need another drink? What would it hurt? I’m celebrating, after all. Second year of law school, in the books.
“Sure. One more. That’d be good.” My words don’t sound slurred, thankfully. Winning.
“Root beer and vanilla vodka, right?”
He remembers my drink?
I nod, ignoring the fact that I probably look like a bobblehead. “That’s right. Thanks.”
“I haven’t seen you around much,” he says as he turns to grab the liquor and then reaches for the soda gun. “You here
by yourself or with friends?”
“Friends.” I clear my throat as if to dislodge the words. “We’re celebrating our last finals being over.”
I scan the packed barroom again for Merica, but don’t see her blond head through the crowd of students. I’m a failure when it comes to flirting and making small talk, and I can always count on her to rescue me from my own awkwardness.
