Bad Judgment (18 page)

I leave the bathroom wondering what the hell got into me. Why did I rile up Kristy? She’s just going to spread rumors about everything I just said far and wide across campus.

When I slip into Advocacy, the one class I don’t have with Ryker, students are flipping casebooks open and taking notes on the first PowerPoint slide, even though the lecture hasn’t started. Kristy lowers herself into the seat ahead of me, not bothering to look at me this time. Well, that’s a positive change.

When Professor Alexander takes the lectern and begins the lecture, my fingers don’t move as fast over the keyboard, because I’m stuck on how I’m supposed to respond to Ryker’s question this morning about how I’m paying for law school.

He’s not going to let it go.

And I can’t tell him.

I still have absolutely no idea what to do when class is dismissed and my sketchy notes stare back at me from the screen. The last thing I need to do is start getting distracted.
Keep your eye on the prize, Justine.

Maybe I just need more caffeine. I’ve got a half hour between classes, so I head down to the café to get a shot of espresso. Everyone else seems convinced that coffee can solve the world’s problems, so I’m willing to give it a try.

“Hey, hottie! We need to talk.” Merica is coming toward the café, book in hand and a determined look in her eyes.

Oh crap.
“Hey, sorry, I just got out of Advocacy. Today was mind-numbingly boring.”

“Try taking Federal Income Tax. Boring doesn’t even begin to cover it. All I know is the IRS is the devil and that whole tax code needs to go in the shredder. Let’s just have one rule instead of a fucking zillion that I have to memorize for the final. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

I could remind Merica that her stepfather insisted she take the class, but it’s not exactly a reminder she’s going to appreciate.

We get into line behind ten other students, and Merica pins me with a direct stare. “So, what’s this I hear about you and Ryker arguing in the parking garage? And you getting a ride with him? Have you seen the package? Can you confirm the rumors?”

I would have thought it was impossible to laugh, but leave it to Merica to have giggles breaking free from my throat. It’s good to know that some things don’t change, including the fact that my best friend is amazing.

“Don’t even start that rumor,” I reply, unwilling to confirm or deny, even though I have the inside information she’s after. Now is not the time or the place. Besides, I’m not thinking about Ryker Grant’s penis ever again. Never. Ever.

Nothing like setting yourself up for failure
, I chide myself, knowing that I’m spouting nothing but nonverbal lies.

“Then tell me the truth so I won’t have to use my overly vivid imagination.”

Only six students ahead of us now, and I’m praying the barista picks up his pace, because at least two of them are not even pretending to ignore us. The girl in front of Merica just straight-up turned around.

Merica glares at her. “Do you mind? We’re having a conversation.”

The girl glares back and shoves her earbuds in her ears, and my best friend’s attention is immediately back on me, one eyebrow raised.

“I stayed at his parents’ house last night. It’s a really long story.”

Merica’s eyes bulge wide. “You did what?”

I fill her in on the break-in, but not the dirty details of last night. That’s not something I want to get into in the middle of the student café.

By the time I’m finished, Merica’s mouth is hanging open. “You’re coming over tonight to tell me the rest and we’re drinking box wine.”

“You have no idea how badly I need that. I get off work at seven.”

“I’ll be ready and waiting. Tonight I’m trying that bread maker my mom gave me for my birthday in an attempt to turn me into a domestic goddess. This situation calls for carbs too. You should probably wear yoga pants.”

“I love you, Mer.”

“Love you more, Jus.”

I’m outside the law school and heading for the bus stop to get to work when Ryker’s Camaro slows at the curb.

“Get in.”

My hackles are up as soon as the words are out. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“You don’t have a car. Your shift starts at the library in twenty minutes, and you’re going to be late if you take the bus.”

I stop in midstride. “How do you know that?”

“I called the library and flirted with the girl to give me your schedule.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Now, get in the car so I can take you to work.”

I make a noise low in my throat that sounds a little too close to a growl. “You’re impossible.” But still, I stalk toward the car and yank open the door I jumped out of so quickly this morning.

“Determined.”

“Maybe you should apply that trait to school.”

“I already am, thanks to you.”

He pulls away from the curb but instead of heading toward the business school, he takes the second exit out of the traffic circle.

“Where the hell are you going? I need to get to work.”

“And I know you’ve got twenty minutes, so I’m going to make use of them.” He turns and flashes me a grin.

This. This right here is why I’ve avoided Ryker for two years. Because when his attention is focused on you, it makes you want to soak it all up. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize that not only am I not immune to it, I’m more susceptible than ever. That’s dangerous.

Ryker turns into the lot outside the performing arts center, shifts the car into neutral, and pulls the emergency brake before turning to face me.

“I miss the taste of your pussy already.”

Oh my God! Did he really say that?

“You can’t say things like that to me.” My words come out higher pitched than I expect.

“Then how are you going to know how fucking bad I want you? I can’t stop thinking about it. I want more.”

And I can’t have more.

“We can’t do this.”

His grin fades. “Fuck if we can’t. We
are
doing this.”

I have to use the only kind of honesty he’s going to understand and pray that he respects it. “No, because if you’re thinking about my pussy and how much you want my lips wrapped around your cock or burying yourself inside me, you’re not thinking about school. And guess what? I’m not too proud to admit that I can’t concentrate if I’m thinking about it either. This is exactly why I’ve been shutting you down. This year is too important to screw up because you want to scratch an itch.”

“This isn’t an itch, Justine. I’ve been there, done that. This is something completely fucking different.”

Dammit, I want to believe him when he tells me how different this is—and that terrifies me.

“You need to focus on school. I need to focus on school. We’re not doing this.”

“What are you scared of? Tell me the truth. Not some bullshit answer.” His blue eyes drill into mine, demanding an honest response. So I give him one.

“I’m afraid that you’re the ultimate distraction, and I won’t be able to help myself. I’ll just get sucked in deeper and deeper until I forget why I need to keep my priorities straight.”

His stare intensifies, and I wish I could read his mind. It’s like he’s working out a complex analysis in his head.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Suspicion coats my every word.

“The kind that incentivizes us both.”

I glance at the clock in the dash. “You’ve got five minutes, and I need to get to work.”

“This will only take two, because you’re going to say yes.”

“Cocky bastard,” I murmur under my breath.

He pays no mind to my comment. “If we both get As on the Professional Responsibility midterm, we both a get a reward.”

“What kind of reward?”

“I get your lips wrapped around my cock, and you get all the orgasms you can handle—any way you want them.”

I fight to keep my blush from creeping up my neck. “And how is that going to help?”

“Because we’ll both study our asses off—me, because I want you, and you, because you would anyway . . . and you want my cock, even if you won’t come out and admit it. We’ll keep studying like we have been, and after the midterm, we both reap the rewards.”

“Just study?”

He meets my skeptical stare head-on. “I can’t promise I won’t kiss you again. You can’t expect me to agree not to touch you at all. But we will study. Both of us. You think I’m going to fuck up my grades if you’re the prize? No way in hell.”

“And your other classes?”

“I’ll fucking rock those too. We both will. I’m going to prove that not only are we hot as fuck in the bedroom, we’re going to kick ass in class.”

How can I say no to that? Honestly, he’s almost making this too easy. He gets the best grades of his life and makes his father happy, and I get everything I’m willing to admit that I want and everything I’m not. For the first time in my life, I can have my cake and eat it too. What other answer can I possibly give than yes?

I wait only a few moments before I tell him what he wants to hear. “Okay. You’ve got a deal.”

I hold out my hand and he wraps his fingers around it, but rather than shaking it, he pulls me halfway over the center console before burying his other hand in my hair and lowering his lips to mine.

His tongue steals inside as he takes control. I’m lost in the kiss, forgetting everything, including the time, when he finally pulls back.

“We’re going to make a hell of a team, Justine. Now let’s get you to work.”

Justine

I make it to work five minutes early, and my first order of business is to figure out what I’m going to do with my car. It’s still sitting in the Unwired parking lot, and a quick call there and a chat with a manager tells me they’ll give me another few hours before they have it towed to a lot and send me the bill. Just the thought of how expensive it will probably be to fix has me considering all my options.

Regardless of what’s wrong with it, even the cheapest repair job is going to max out my budget and cost more than the car is worth. The next call I make hurts, but my choices are limited. It looks like I’ll be using some of the four hundred dollars from the junkyard to buy myself a bike.

It also means that I’ll be hopping the bus to Merica’s house and arriving a little later than planned. No worries, though. It won’t be the first time I’ve bussed it, and I’m certainly not the only student on this campus to be sans car. The hipsters think it’s super cool to ride vintage Schwinns and shun anything with four wheels and an engine.

I’m nearing the end of my shift when a guy comes up to the counter and stands in front of me, waiting a solid thirty seconds before he clears his throat as I’m highlighting the facts of a case.

I drop the highlighter and jerk my attention to his face.
Have I seen him here before
? Messy blond hair, green eyes, a smirk that rivals Ryker’s—
stop right there
.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re a law student?”

I glance down at the two other casebooks stacked beside the open one. “Your observational skills are impressive.”

His eyes narrow as he studies me. “You got a name?”

Mine narrow right back at him. “Does it matter?”

“I just want to know if you’re who I think you are.”

Well, that’s creepy.
“Can I help you with something? Library related? You know, because that’s my job, not answering your questions and confirming suspicions.”

He pulls out a phone and before I realize what he’s doing, I hear the click of the camera app and a small flash bursts from the front.

Yes, very creepy.
My hand goes to the staff phone on the desk next to my books. Two calls to campus police in one week is more than I need to deal with.

“What the hell are you doing?” And where the hell does this guy get the audacity to take a picture of me?

“I told you, I want to know if you are who I think you are.”

“I’m calling campus police. You need to leave. Now. And delete the picture.”

He’s tapping out something on the screen and within moments, a self-satisfied grin stretches his face. “Figured I was right.” He looks up at me. “Great to meet you, Justine. Now I see the appeal.”