[2016] Bad Judgment

by Meghan March

  Then all the sounds in my head are drowned out by the sheer force of the sensations rocking my body. My nipples pucker hard against his chest, and my hands grip his shirt as though I’m trying not to lose my grip on reality.

  His lips take and take, parting mine further until his tongue slips inside and I get my first taste of Ryker.

  He tastes even better than he smells.

  His hand slides down to cup my ass, and through the thin fabric of the short skirt, I can feel the pads of each finger make contact. He squeezes my cheeks and guides one of my legs to wrap around his hip.

  My body sighs at the contact, and it takes me a moment to realize the bulge pressing into me is his erection. And it’s just as huge as it looked, except now it’s even harder. My clit wakes up from hibernation, and I can’t help but rock my hips against him.

  All rational thought leaves my brain as a zing of sensation shoots from my clit to my nipples and lights up the pleasure center in my brain. Oh my God, that feels so good.

  He groans into my mouth, gripping my ass harder, pulling me into him. My panties are soaked, but I keep rocking.

  Ryker buries his other hand in my hair, and the change in angle intensifies the friction on my clit.

  I’m going to come. I freeze when the realization hits me. Right here. In a bar. Rubbing against Ryker Grant. I should feel humiliated, but I can’t stop myself from sliding over the edge.

  Curling my fingers into his shoulders, I tense as the orgasm bursts through me. My moan is muffled by his mouth because he doesn’t slow his kiss. The bathroom door swings open just beyond us, and reality intrudes in the form of chattering drunk girls stumbling back toward the bar. I push off Ryker’s chest, desperate to put space between us.

  I can’t believe that just happened. Thankful for the dark corner, I know my face is burning red.

  “Did you just—”

  Slapping a hand over my face, I speak through it. “This never happened. None of it. Please, for the love of anything that’s holy, don’t ever mention this moment again.”

  His head drops to my shoulder, and his voice turns husky. “This was hot as fuck. I may not mention it, but there’s no way in hell I won’t be thinking about it.”

  “Please let me go.”

  Thankfully, Ryker steps back, and I hurry out of the corner, heading for the bar.

  “Wait, I need your address.”

  I slow, not turning around as I rattle it off. I have to get out of here before I do something even worse.

  “See you at nine,” he calls as I hurry away.

  Chapter Three

  Justine

  His mouth on mine.

  His hand between my legs.

  Wet. Hot. Aching.

  I need more. I want more.

  Blue eyes burn into mine. “I’ve been waiting so long to have you under me.”

  My alarm clock jerks me awake and the dream fades away, but my thudding heart remains, along with my wet panties.

  I slap the top of the alarm on my side table to turn it off and yank the covers up over my head. I just had a sex dream. About Ryker Grant. Even the headache lurking in my temple doesn’t stop me from wanting to finish the job Dream Ryker started.

  I can’t face him today. How am I ever going to look him in those icy blue eyes and not remember just how good it felt to be pressed against him?

  Stop thinking about it.

  I’ve needed to resist him for two years, and there’s no reason I can’t make it through one more day. No distractions.

  No matter how good that distraction can kiss.

  Three hours later, it’s clear that I’m not going to need any willpower to resist him, because Ryker is late.

  An hour late.

  As I sit on the stoop of my apartment building waiting for the promised pickup truck to arrive, all my concerns from earlier this morning are brushed away.

  I knew it. I knew he was just in it for the chase, and the humiliation that I was right burns hot. Not only did Ryker get a taste of what he claimed to want so badly, but he decided that taste wasn’t good enough for seconds.

  Douche bag.

  Why didn’t I trust my instincts? I knew this would happen. So freaking typical. Apparently I should have held out until after he helped me, because now I’m not worth the trouble.

  Hurt twines with the humiliation, unleashing slap after slap of regret. I knew better. Bad judgment. That’s all it was.

  I’m never drinking again—or kissing Ryker Grant.

  And now I’ve got to figure out how to move almost everything I own to my storage unit. My boxes are packed and waiting to go, along with the hand-me-down furniture I bought for a few hundred dollars from a graduating student at the end of last year. The boxes I can haul in my car with a few trips, but the furniture will never fit.

  “Why did I think he would actually show?” I ask the question to the empty curb in front of my building.

  I’m not sure why I’m speaking out loud, because no one else is here to listen to my idiotic words. I tried both Katie and Chad this morning too. No answers from either of their phones.

  What a shit day. I reach for the Pez dispenser beside me on the sidewalk and flip up Cinderella’s head to tug out a lemon candy. Pez is my little obsession. Gramps started surprising me with them when I was six or seven, and my collection grew.

  Now I pick them out according to my mood. Cinderella should probably remind me that dreams do come true, but today she’s only reminding me that Ryker is no Prince Charming.

  How could I have fallen for his lines after all this time?

  Disgusted with myself, I stand and brush off my butt, ending this little pity party. It’s certainly not going to help me move.

  And you thought Ryker Grant would really lower himself to help?

  The blow to my pride stings more than it should.

  The apartment complex’s lawn guy parks his beat-up Chevy pickup at the curb in front of my building before hopping out to lower the ramp and roll a lawn mower down it.

  An idea strikes. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m nothing if not resourceful.

  “Hey! How would you like to make twenty bucks?” I call out as I head toward him.

  Chapter Four

  Ryker

  I fucked up, and I know it. I’m not a day late and a dollar short. Nope, I’m six hours late and shit out of luck. I pound on the door, but the piece of notebook paper taped to it tells me everything I need to know.

  THANKS FOR NOTHING.

  She’s not inside, and I’d bet the pickup truck out front that Justine Porter doesn’t believe in second chances.

  The words are written in all caps in black permanent marker. There’s no mistaking the angry slashes of the letters. She was pissed when she wrote it, and now she’s gone.

  Why the hell didn’t I get her number at the bar last night? Fucking moron. If I had, I could have called this morning to tell her I was running late.

  There was no way in hell I could tell her why, but I guarantee it’s not for the reason she thinks. Even if she were here, my vague excuses wouldn’t matter to her.

  I’ve never had to work to get a girl, but Justine has turned me down at every opportunity. I won’t lie—I like a challenge—but it’s not just the chase I’m after with her. At least, not now.

  There was a time when she only fascinated me because of her sexy-as-hell wild dark hair, rockin’ body, and her continued shutdowns. But that lasted through orientation and maybe the first week of school—just until I figured out that she was probably the smartest girl I’ve ever met. It also didn’t take long for me to realize that her brains were even sexier than the rest of the package.

  And apparently she’s too smart to wait for an asshole like me. I deserve it, and yet I’m still disappointed. I shove the Yoda Pez dispenser package back in my pocket. She might think I don’t notice anything but her tits and ass, but she’s wrong.

  I turn away from the apartment and head back to the truck. I’
ve got three and a half months to come up with a new game plan. There’s no way in hell I’m giving up on her this easily.

  Chapter Five

  Justine

  Three and a half months later

  One more year. One more year and I’ll have the diploma I’ve been working toward for a decade. I just wish Gramps could be here to watch me walk across that stage. He’ll be there in spirit, though—I know it.

  The summer went by ridiculously fast, but I learned more working at Legal Aid than I did in all the time I’ve spent in class. I also worked my ass off as a server at the local pub, saving up to help cover my expenses this year, and managed to have a little fun.

  Being back on campus just makes me realize how badly I want to be finished with school so I can get back to the real world and start making a difference. I can’t save people from eviction sitting in a classroom. I can’t help fight for custody of someone’s kid while I’m studying in my apartment. So basically, I’m here keeping my grades up while I mark time until graduation.

  But I won’t take it for granted, because at least I get the privilege to finish school. Chad not only lost his standing offer at the criminal defense firm, but the school revoked his scholarship. After a month of me texting and calling with no answer, and scouring the Internet for news, he finally e-mailed me to let me know he’d officially dropped out.

  Why even bother to finish and rack up the debt when I know I won’t be able to get a job to pay it off? Katie was offered a job at a good physical therapy clinic in Arizona, so I’m going with her. Good luck, kid. Go kick law school’s ass for both of us.

  All my replies after this message went unanswered.

  My phone dings with a text from Merica, dragging me out of the depressing thoughts.

  Merica: Get your ass to the board room. Scholarship meeting starts in 20.

  I’m late getting back in the swing of things because I wanted to work for as long as possible before coming back to campus. Not only because I needed to save the money, but because I felt like I had a purpose. Unfortunately, the Legal Aid office couldn’t support another full-time lawyer due to budget cuts, which puts me back to square one in the job hunt.

  Hefting my backpack, I head for my car, catching a glimpse of myself in the storefront window. The hour a day I carved out at the gym made a difference. My ass has never looked better, and there’s no way Ryker Grant is getting another shot at it.

  Nope. Stop. Not thinking about him because he doesn’t merit the brain space. Especially because embarrassment still creeps into my veins when I remember that night and how he left me waiting on the curb the next morning. Asshole.

  I sneak through yellow lights and dodge students on bikes to get to the school on time. Last year’s scholarship meeting was a stern lecture about how we had to keep our GPAs at a certain level depending on which scholarship we received.

  The room is already packed when I manage to squeeze in the door, but Merica waves from an end seat. Her giant purse takes up the chair next to her, and I’m sure her don’t you even think about asking if you can sit there look kept plenty of people from trying to take it. I smile and squeeze by a few of the students leaning against the walls.

  The dean takes the lectern moments after I sit. The entire board of trustees flanks him on either side—including my former boss and the father of he who shall not take up any space in my head. Justice Grant meets my eyes for the briefest moment but doesn’t smile before looking away.

  What is that about? Justice Grant is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met—always ready with an easy smile and a kind word. Uneasiness twists my stomach. Does he know what happened between his son and me? The judge was an amazing boss and I thought we parted on great terms, so I don’t have any other explanation for his odd behavior.

  Actually, the presence of the board of trustees at this meeting is completely different from last year. But the beginning of the dean’s speech is exactly the same—a boring rendition of the long proud history of this law school as one of the finest legal academic institutions in the country, and remarks about how grateful he has been to be at the helm through its rise through the ranks. That’s where the similarities end.

  “And despite our continued rise in the world of academia, we’re facing an altogether too common problem shared by many institutions. We are not immune to the downturn in the economy and the financial hardships that have plagued so many schools. This is probably the most disheartening speech I’ve ever had to deliver during my tenure, but I don’t believe in sugarcoating the facts.”

  He reaches for a glass of water and makes eye contact with Justice Grant. Grant nods in return as if giving the dean a push to deliver the rest of his speech.

  What the hell is going on? Because something is definitely wrong.

  The dean replaces his water glass on the table next to Grant and stares out into the audience of students and faculty with an apologetic expression.

  “What the hell is he dragging his feet for?” Merica mumbles under her breath.

  “We faced a difficult choice this summer, and after reviewing all of our options, it has been determined that the merit scholarship program will be suspended indefinitely and immediately.”

  A collective gasp sweeps through the room, followed by the rising murmur of voices. I overhear dozens of what in the fucks and no fucking ways while my stomach drops to my feet. Merica slaps a hand over her mouth to cover her sharp inhale.

  I blink repeatedly as if trying to wake myself up from a bad dream. Because this has to be a dream. A really awful, fucking horrible dream. What the dean is saying can’t happen. Desperate, I pinch my arm to wake myself up, but all I feel is the sting of my nails digging into my skin.

  This isn’t a dream. Holy shit. And that’s why Justice Grant wasn’t smiling. He knew what the dean was going to say. And what’s more, he knows I’m here on a full ride.

  Merica grabs my arm with her free hand and squeezes.

  “We understand the hardship placed on many, but when the choice came down to keeping the law school open for all students and a small fraction losing their merit scholarships, the board of trustees has unanimously voted in favor of the financial health of this institution and the best interest of the greater good. All students with scholarships will receive appointments with the financial aid office to set up alternative financing, if it is required, and if no financial aid is received, you’ll be set up on a monthly payment plan for your tuition, which will hopefully make it less burdensome.”

  “You can’t do that!” The man beside me jumps to his feet, and I think every head in the room nods along with his statement. “We’ll sue. You’ve made us promises that we’ve relied on. You can’t do this!”

  And this is what happens when you deliver bad news to a room full of law students. The real question: is he right? Can we file a class action against the school to force them to reinstate the scholarships for everyone who has already been awarded them?

  The arguments are working through my head, but the dean’s next words kill the blooming hope.

  “Unfortunately, there is no such recourse available to you. The school has always maintained that it is able to cancel the program at any time and makes no promises. In addition, there are several other legal theories that would prevent the school from being compelled to continue to provide funding, especially for a program that would bankrupt it. We’ve reviewed the termination of this program with the brightest legal minds in the country, and they all agree. You won’t find a class action attorney to take the case because it’s going to be a loser.”

  More shouted comments come from around the room aimed at the dean, and none of them are complimentary. He holds his hand out.

  “Please refrain from shouting; it will not change the opinion of the board of trustees, who retains the ultimate say over this matter. Now, if you’ll stay seated, we’ll have someone come around with the schedule for the financial aid department, and get everyone who needs an appointment i
n as soon as possible.”

  Merica’s hand is still wrapped around my arm, and my gut twists into knot after knot. Did the board of trustees decide unanimously? Did Justice Grant agree with this? It doesn’t jibe with the man I thought he was.

  The dean looks ill as he swallows the remainder of his water and steps away from the lectern. The man just handed down a judgment that’s going to spell the end of more than one legal career before it starts.

  Including mine. All the appointments with financial aid in the world won’t help me secure a conventional student loan. Why? Because I’m the daughter of two con artists who used my social security number for dozens of loans before I turned eighteen. My credit was trashed before I even had a chance to use it myself. My only way through school has been scholarships, and I’ve worked my ass off to get them.

  How can this happen?

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but there’s no way I’m going to cry in public.

  “I need to make an appointment with financial aid before I go beg my stepdad for a loan, just so I have a backup plan. And then after that, we’re getting shitfaced.” Merica’s tone sounds a lot more like she’s telling me someone was murdered.

  Just our dreams. Hopes. Future plans.

  Without an extra sixty grand sitting around to cover my tuition, I’m screwed. Two years of my life, wasted. Any loan I could get would have credit-card-level interest rates, and with my ambition to get a job at Legal Aid . . . there’s no way I could afford to live and pay a fraction of the monthly payment.

  From behind me comes a hushed conversation. “My old roommate stripped her way through all three years of school. She graduated with no debt.”

  I peek surreptitiously over my shoulder to see a pretty blonde I remember from classes first year. She wasn’t a standout student, just average. She’s whispering to a brunette seated beside her.