[2016] Bad Judgment

by Meghan March

  “No, sir, but you asked if I had anything to share with the class.”

  The middle-aged man seems like he would have been cool in his day, and I know it’s true when he doesn’t bust my balls any further.

  “Fair enough, Mr. Grant, but save it for after class. I imagine you’re going to have a lot of apologizing to do, and perhaps some groveling.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Turner moves on to call on the next person on his list to recite the facts of the case, and I’m glad he didn’t bestow that little honor on me.

  Justine grabs the Chewbacca Pez dispenser between us and pops a few yellow candies into her mouth. Her face is still bright red, and Turner’s right. I should probably apologize for humiliating her, but it’s not like anyone in this room doesn’t know I’ve been trying since the beginning of our first year. She’s the only one who pretends like it’s not happening—at least until that night after finals at the bar.

  I haven’t been able to get the way her body curled into mine out of my head. I need to remind her how fucking good we could be together. If that kiss was anything to go by, when we get naked, we’ll be explosive.

  One more chance. That’s all I need to convince her that we have a hell of a lot more to explore.

  Class grinds on for what seems like an eternity until Turner dismisses us and everyone starts packing up their laptops and casebooks.

  I know I’ve got one shot to get Justine to agree to talk to me—especially after I made my little announcement to the class.

  Biding my time, I wait until she’s trying to pass behind me, and I stand so she runs directly into my chest. Thrown off-balance, she wobbles, and I wrap both hands around her hips to steady her.

  “I got you.”

  Her eyes narrow and her mouth curls into a scowl. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Deliberately got in your way so I could get my hands on you again? Damn right, I did.”

  I see a flash of confusion and then the anger takes precedence again.

  But we both know it’s the truth. Getting my hands on her is exactly what I want. Her shirt rides up on the sides, and I sweep my fingers along her bare skin. Fuck, she’s soft. Which guarantees my dick isn’t.

  “Let me go.”

  Instead of a demand, Justine’s words sound breathless. I have to remind myself I’m standing in a classroom with a professor up front and students filing in and out. This isn’t the time or place for a hard-on.

  “I’ve got some things I need to say to you, and you’re going to let me.”

  Her brown eyes snap up to mine, surprise clear in them. “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re nothing if not curious, and you want to know what I have to say.”

  She steps backward, and I let my fingertips trail across her skin before they drop away. Justine adjusts the straps of her backpack on her shoulders and tucks Chewbacca into a side pocket.

  “You know you want to hear the rare sound of me apologizing, don’t you?”

  Justine purses her lips, and all I can think about is the dreams I had all weekend of her staring down at me from a stage while she danced and stripped. My own private show. I’m not going to admit how many times I jacked off to the mental picture. I need the real thing, and I won’t have another shot if she won’t even give me a chance to talk to her.

  I don’t know what changes her mind, but she relaxes her posture and relents. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes. This better be good.”

  It’s not much, but I’ll take it. I lead the way out of the classroom, slipping out the side door I used to make my unobtrusive entrance. Or at least, it was unobtrusive until I decided to share my strike-out history with the entire class at Professor Turner’s invitation.

  Glancing behind me, I’m marginally surprised to see Justine actually following. I head for the third-floor doors to the library, where the private rooms are. This conversation isn’t for public consumption.

  The first private room on the right is empty, so I push the door open. Justine trails me inside, and I shrug off my backpack and drop it on one of the four chairs.

  She closes the door behind her and leans against it, her arms crossed over her chest. I’m guessing she wouldn’t stand that way if she realized how it draws attention to her chest. I force my eyes back to her face. I’m not about to fuck this up.

  “Wow, you must really plan on groveling if you need privacy,” she says, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

  “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And I’m already getting bored.”

  “You love to bust my balls, don’t you?”

  “I don’t really like to think about your balls, if you want to know the truth.”

  I try on my charming smile, the one that has dropped panties for years. “I’m calling bullshit on that. You’ve thought about me at least once.”

  She pushes off the door and turns halfway to reach for the handle. “And if that’s all you wanted to say, then I think we’re done here.”

  “Wait.”

  I’m shocked when she listens.

  Justine rubs her hands over her face, her every move revealing her frustration. “You ask me out for two years, practically blackmail me into a kiss, then you blow me off completely, and now you’re all up in my business again. What the hell do you want from me?”

  Her confusion punches me in the gut, making me wish I could tell her why I wasn’t there the morning I promised to help her move. It wasn’t for any reason she thinks.

  I stride toward her, pressing one palm against the door beside her head. “I’m not blowing you off, and I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.”

  “Then why—”

  I can’t give her the explanation she wants, so I try something different.

  Lowering my head, I catch the next words out of her mouth on my lips. They’re just as soft as I remember, and I drop my other hand to her hip, drawing her against me. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my T-shirt, almost reluctantly, but she’s not pushing me away.

  I take her mouth, my tongue diving between her lips to taste her again—finally, but the pulsing of my dick against the zipper of my jeans forces me to back off. If I don’t, I’ll be laying her out on the table behind us, and that’s not what this is about. At least, not all of what this is about.

  With her face flushed and her hair messy from my fingers, Justine shutters her expression. She’s rebuilding her walls brick by brick.

  That’s not going to work for me.

  “What’s it going to take, Justine?” I remember asking her the same question at the bar.

  Her dark eyes fill with confusion. “What’s what going to take?” The words come out defensively.

  “With you. To get a second chance. I fucked up once, but doesn’t everyone deserve another shot?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Justine

  My heart is hammering as heat burns in my belly and licks out to the rest of my body. How does he do this to me? We’re in the library, for Pete’s sake, and I’m rubbing against him like . . . like . . . a freaking cat in heat. And now he wants his second chance?

  What am I doing? I’m supposed to be figuring out a way to get him to study, not helping myself to another dose of Ryker’s too-tempting mouth. This is never going to work. But how can I possibly go back to Justice Grant and tell him I can’t take his deal because I can’t control myself around his son, and his son definitely can’t control himself around me? Nope. Not happening.

  You’re not quitting, Justine. I give myself a mental pep talk as Ryker waits for an answer. What’s it going to take? I wish I knew, but I don’t. And I have to cobble together some sort of coherent response.

  This is going to pay your tuition, Justine. You can do this if you just get your shit together.

  “You know what I have time for right now?” I hold up my hand and raise one finger. “Going to class.” I raise a second finger. “Studying for class.” I raise a
third finger. “Working so I can continue to have the privilege to do the aforementioned number one and two.”

  Ryker’s determined expression doesn’t change. “You can carve out time for one date. We’ll go somewhere nice. I promise you’ll have fun.”

  I drop my hand and ball it into a fist. A date is not what we need. What we need—okay, what I need—is for Ryker to get his ass in gear and study. And to be able to push him away when he kisses me.

  “I don’t need you to take me somewhere nice. I need to study. You want to impress me, try applying yourself. You’re not an idiot, so quit acting like it in class.”

  He crosses his arms, and I wonder how he’s going to respond. “So you’ll go out with me if we study.” He narrows his eyes. “I’ll take that.”

  Seriously? It can’t be that easy. Given that I’ve got an entire year’s worth of tuition riding on getting him to crack a book, I’m not going to say no. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to get the word yes out.

  “Okay.” My voice sounds rusty as though I wasn’t talking thirty seconds ago.

  His eyes light up in triumph, so I quickly continue.

  “Meet me at Unwired. Seven o’clock. I’ll be there until ten. If you want another shot, that’s the only one I’m giving you.” I have to pretend I’m not doing mental cartwheels over my easy victory because Ryker would know something is up. A sliver of guilt at manipulating him like this flashes through me, but I push it down.

  It’s for his own good too. I’m not doing anything wrong.

  “It’s a date,” he says, his smirk intact.

  I uncross my arms and grab the door handle. “A study date,” I clarify before I pull the door open and shut it behind me.

  Now I just wonder if he’ll show up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Justine

  Unwired isn’t the nicest coffee shop around campus, but it’s only five minutes away from my apartment. My phone says it’s 6:55 p.m., and my stomach is protesting the lack of proper nutrition in my mac-and-cheese bowl. I need to go to the grocery store to stock up, but I’ve been putting it off as long as I can. Grocery shopping is one of my least favorite tasks.

  One bad thing—or great thing—about Unwired is the giant blueberry muffins in their bakery case. They put that crumbly stuff on top. What’s that called? Streusel? And they offer free samples to suck you in against your will.

  I’m so busy fantasizing about baked goods that I completely miss the whoosh of the door as someone comes in, hood up, and heads toward me with a rangy stride. It’s not until that same person sits down across from me in my booth and drops his backpack beside him that I jerk my gaze away from the bakery case. He shakes the hood off and I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not seeing things.

  Ryker Grant. In the flesh. He showed.

  A small thrill of victory rises in my blood. I can hold up my end of the deal with his dad.

  He holds up his phone, the screen facing me. “I’m on time.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I’m impressed.” I wait for some innuendo about the other things I’d be impressed with, but it doesn’t come.

  “I’m going to grab a coffee and something to eat,” he says. “You want anything?”

  He’s really taking this somewhat seriously. Again, I’m impressed, and I shake my head in response.

  “No? You good?” He looks down at my cup, which is lidless to let the heat of the burning hot water escape. “What the hell are you drinking anyway? Is that tea with no tea bag?”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out a yellow-and-white pouch. “Yeah, I was waiting for the water to cool.” I peel open the paper and dunk the bag in.

  “Did you bring that from home?” The question isn’t condescending, just truly curious.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Don’t like their choices here?”

  “Maybe I just love Lipton.”

  “Fair enough. You want anything else? Muffin? Scone? Cookie? Brownie?”

  Torture. He’s freaking torturing me by reeling off all the things I would want but don’t usually let myself buy. And I’m not the kind of girl to let anyone else buy them for me either.

  “I’m good, but thanks.”

  “You gotta let me buy you something, otherwise there’s no date in study date.”

  I hit him with a serious stare. “That’s not how this works. We come. We study. We leave.”

  “If we were doing this my way, you’d definitely be coming. Sure you don’t want to change your mind? I promise you won’t regret it.”

  And there’s the innuendo. My cheeks heat as he hits me with an arrogant smirk.

  I beat back my instinctive reaction to tell him to go to hell, and instead fold my arms on the table and lean forward. We can both play this game. “I’ll do plenty of coming after I get home. I don’t need you for that.”

  His mouth drops open at my reply, and this time I’m the one smirking, but it doesn’t take him long to recover.

  “You think about me when you touch yourself, don’t you? You can plead the Fifth if you need to.”

  My face flames hot again. Okay, so we can’t both play this game. I have to end this conversation. Now.

  So I answer his original question. “Double-chocolate-chip cookie. Or a blueberry muffin. Either works.”

  He chuckles before heading down the aisle to the cash register and the bakery cases to place an order. My heart pounding just a bit too hard from our verbal sparring match, I flip my book open and uncap a highlighter.

  Pretend like you’re studying. Pretend like you’re not going to think about him when you touch yourself tonight.

  Ryker’s still smiling when he comes back with a small coffee and a white paper bag. He sets both on the table between us before sliding into his seat.

  I brace myself for more innuendo, but he says nothing as he pulls out his Trust and Estates casebook and opens it.

  Nothing? Seriously? Just when I think I’ve got Ryker figured out, he throws me off.

  He uncaps a highlighter. “All right, let’s do this.”

  His sudden change into all business jolts me into the same mode.

  I lay my highlighter down and meet his stare. “Have you done any of the reading for this class this semester?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to hear it from him.

  There’s no hesitation before he answers. “Not a single page.”

  “Have you done any of the reading for any of your classes this semester?”

  “No.”

  Even though I already figured that was the truth, I’m still stunned by his admission. It really, truly seems like he’s planning on failing . . . and why? Because he’s throwing some kind of tantrum?

  “If you aren’t going to do any of the reading, why are you even going to class?”

  “Because I promised my dad I wouldn’t drop out.” His answer fits with the story Justice Grant told me.

  “And so failing out is a better solution?”

  “I’m not going to fail. It’s more of an experiment to see how little effort I can put forth and still pass.”

  My frustration grows. “And that makes sense, how?”

  “What part of this is your business?” Anger leaks into his expression, and his tone takes on a defensive cast.

  “The part where you’re supposed to be here to study with me and you don’t actually plan to study at all.”

  He picks the casebook up with both hands and drops it on the table with a thud. “I’ve got my book open, don’t I? I’m not going to sit here and stare at you for a couple hours without at least pretending that I’m doing something.”

  His admission cracks my shell of annoyance, and I push down the heat that blooms at his words. At least, I try.

  “I won’t get any work done if you sit and stare at me. You’re distracting without even trying.”

  His anger drains away at my unintentional admission, and his panty-dropping smile slides over his face again. />
  “Glad to hear I’m not the only one distracted as hell.”

  “Study date,” I say, almost more to remind myself than him. When his smile fades away, I want to kick myself for a moment. That’s not why we’re here. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You missed a hundred or so pages of reading, and that would be a pain in the ass even if it was only one class, but you missed it in four. Have you taken any lecture notes at all?”

  He shakes his head, all business again.

  “All right, then I’ll give you my notes.”

  His eyebrows go up, because it’s a pretty generous offer.

  “But—” I continue.

  “There’s always a catch.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go ahead,” he says.

  “You’re going to start reading for all of your classes, and you’re going to catch up on the reading for the class that I’m not in—or you’re going to find someone who is as nice as I am to take pity on you.”

  His eyes narrow on me. “Why would you help me out? You’ve gone out of your way to shut me down for two years.”

  Shit. I knew this was too easy. Why didn’t I come up with an answer beforehand? I knew he’d start to wonder if I deviated too much from my normal blow-off behavior. Think, Justine. Think.

  “Because I think it’s bullshit that you’re going to settle for a barely passing grade when we both know you’re capable of so much more. This is the easiest year we have. You worked your ass off to get the GPA you have—you can’t deny that. Why would you let it all go? Prove that you can finish what you started, and finish strong.”

  I feel like a coach delivering a locker-room speech at halftime, but my words aren’t BS. I really do mean them. I would hate to see anyone throw away an opportunity like this, and given all of us who have lost our scholarships, the fact that he’s thinking about throwing away his free ride really pisses me off.

  Ryker reaches for the bakery bag between us but keeps his gaze on mine. “I don’t think you’ve said that many words to me at once . . . ever.”

  “Someone has to point out how shortsighted you’re being to waste an opportunity that some people can only dream about.”