Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2) (2 page)

I tuck some of my hair behind my ear. At the start of the school year I dyed it from blond to a deep burgundy. I’d give anything to tell him he’s got the wrong girl, but the damn name tag on my shirt kind of makes it impossible to lie. This is the last place I wanted him or anyone from high school to see me. But here it is. The inevitable is happening. My luck really sucks. “Hi, Graham.” I smile. He fishes some things out of the cart his mom is standing behind. I drop my gaze to the register’s screen.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a harsh tone.

And there it is, the dreaded question that was sure to follow. I shrug. “Working.”

What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be in Knoxville. I know damn well they’re not on break right now. Otherwise, my kind-of brother, Kyle, would be home with a huge basket of clothes needing to be washed. Why do I call Kyle that? Well, that’s sort of complicated. See, my mom couldn’t have kids because her eggs were bad. My auntie Heather, who is Kyle’s mom, donated some of her own eggs to my mom in order for her to have me. They’re sisters. So, see, Kyle is kind of my brother in a weird way, but usually I call him my cousin.

The woman whose order I’m totaling up scowls. “Excuse me! I’d like to leave this store sometime in the next century, missy. Less chitchatting and more pushing those buttons.”

I hold back my snark. Part of me is ready to burst out, “Yeah, in a hurry to die or something? Calm down, there’s no need to get your granny panties in a twist.” But that would be bad employee conduct, and as much as it pains me to say this, I need this job. So instead I nod. “I’m sorry. Do you have your discount card?”

She rummages through her purse, and it turns out she doesn’t have her stupid card. I politely ask for her phone number, and she rattles it off in a huff. Once I hand her the receipt, she marches off, pushing her cart over to customer service.

I watch her as she points her stubby finger in my direction, and all of a sudden Brandon, my manager, comes toward my lane. Henry whistles. “Ohhh, you’re going to get it.”

“Shut up!” I snap. Okay, I never said I had to be nice to everyone I work with. Just customers. And Henry is a horny asshat.

I busy myself with my next order and notice Ms. Nichols’s sour expression. She probably hates me for breaking Graham’s heart last year. I don’t blame her; I hate myself too. Have for months. But there was a lot going on, there still is. It’s no excuse, I know this, but between my mom calling for money and reporters wanting an exclusive story on my life from riches to rags … I wanted no part of it. Still don’t. But what terrified me the most of everything was falling in love with Graham. So I hurt him by making out with some guy named Ryan. The kiss meant nothing. I did it to see if my feelings were real or if maybe it was me just clinging to something. Balance. Something I never had. Doesn’t matter. Someone captured a photo of it and sent the picture to Graham. I can’t change it. But if there were a way, I would.

I scan Ms. Nichols’s discount card right as Brandon comes up behind me. He whispers in my ear, “I need to speak with you after you finish with this customer.”

I nod as my cheeks blaze. Crap! I need this job. I drop my gaze to contain the flood of tears I feel threatening to spill over. Snatching one of the many items waiting to be scanned and bagged, I hear the familiar beep and continue my routine.
Beep
-swipe-
beep
-swipe. A deep, throaty growl stirs my attention as I pass the barcode on a can of corn over the scanner. My eyes find Graham near the end of the lane, his lips drawn into a grim line. I notice him white-knuckling the cart, his heated glare seemingly set on Henry.

“So why won’t you go see a movie with me, Sarah?” Henry asks.

This causes me to snort. He’s relentless. I don’t bother responding again, because I was wasting my breath. Ladies, this one here will just keep on asking. That’s why my only reply is a snort.

I grab a pack of Powerade drinks and swipe it along. “Sarah, how is Madison doing at Carnegie?” Ms. Nichols asks. Of course she’d ask about my sort-of-sister, Madison. A year ago, this would have ticked me off and I would’ve replied with something nasty. But now, I’m actually happy to talk about her. We talk every day, and we’ve come to know each other a lot better. Almost like sisters. But there are still some things I keep hidden.

“She’s doing good. She’s counting down the days until break though.” I’m secretly counting down the days too. I need someone other than the people I work with and my auntie Heather and Uncle Paul to talk to.

Graham mutters something I can’t quite make out. I dare myself to glance over at him and ask, “So, are you on some sort of break?” Again, I know he isn’t, but I want to know why he’s here on a Tuesday.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he’s shooting daggers at Henry. Fine. Whatever. I guess Graham is going to hate me forever. I work on finishing up the order—no need to prolong this any longer than necessary. Ms. Nichols clears her throat. “Graham, aren’t you going to answer Sarah?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I was just trying to make conversation.” I refuse to make eye contact with her son ever again. Ringing up the last item, I press
total
and say, “That’ll be $89.20, please.”

She slides her card through the card reader, and I press the appropriate buttons then off they go. Hopefully, it’s the last time I see Graham Nichols, because I’m pretty sure my heart can’t take encountering his coldness again.

***

Brandon didn’t yell at me. He did, however, give me a pamphlet on customer service and told me to look it over. With my trusty pamphlet of bullshit in hand, I make my way to my fugly, powder-blue car.

As I ease my way into the seat, my phone begins to ring. I pull it from the glove compartment and answer, “Hi, Maddy.”

“Hey, I was calling to … Quit that. Sorry. I was calling to see how you did on your test?”

I hear my cousin smack something and then giggle and smack something again. “Um. It went okay. I can talk to you later.”

“No, it’s fine. Bryce is being his usual attention-whore self. So you think you did okay then?”

She knows I was nervous about my math test, and I’m glad she’s checking in on me, but math is the furthest thing from my mind. What I want to discuss is my WTF moment at work with her best friend, Graham-freaking-Nichols. I indulge her for a bit though. “Yeah. I think it went okay.”

“You sound … erm … odd,” she says. “Are you all right?”

Hell-effing-no, I’m not all right! I saw Graham today. The guy I’m still in love with. The guy who will own my heart forever. The guy I purposely started dating to piss off Maddy and wound up head over heels for. Because Maddy and I had to
work
at being friends and not enemies with each other. I did everything in my power to piss her off. I saw the way her eyes lit up at the first mention of Graham and how she ran down the stairs to greet him. Yeah, I was a world-class bitch. There, I said it. But why was I so mean to Madison? For a long time I thought Madison knew that were kind-of-sisters and hid it from me. And I was extremely jealous of her—who wouldn’t be? Maddy is smart, pretty, talented, and she’s got a hot guy who adores her. Also, her parents are really cool people and a close-knit bunch. Whereas my parents and I are … not. The Issacs’ idea of family time is movies, family vacations, game nights—that kind of stuff. My parents’ idea of family time was throwing money at me while they did whatever they wanted without me. Until one day the FBI came and took them both to jail. Because my parents are crooks.

“I’m fine. At least, I will be. I just … I ran into Graham.”

“Graham? Why would you run into him?”

I almost snap at her, “How the hell am I supposed to know?” She and her boyfriend are BFFs with him, not me. I mean,
hello
! But hey, Maddy sounds as clueless as I am. Maybe Graham hasn’t told them. But why not? “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me. He mostly grumbled and growled. He still hates me.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you, Sarah. He’s just … he’s probably still a little hurt. Anyway, you were bound to run into him at some point. You most likely won’t see him again until Thanksgiving or maybe Christmas. I wouldn’t stress too much about it.”

I roll my eyes as I turn onto her parents’ street. “I hope he never runs into me again.” Okay, I don’t actually mean that. I just wish he didn’t look at me like I stole his soul.
That’s
what I hope to never see again.

“So, other than that drama, how’s everything else?”

“Fine. Henry asked me out again. Ugh. I swear I’m going to slip poison in his sweet tea if he keeps it up. How many times must I say no before he gets the freaking clue that I’m never going out with him?”

“Tell him you’re into women,” Bryce says.

My face instantly heats. “Oh my God! Did you put me on speaker?”

“I had to, sorry. I’m trying to chop veggies while talking to you.”

“Whatever. I’ve got to do some homework. Good night, you two.”

“Night,” they both say, and I hang up.

Dragging myself into my bedroom, I shut the door and plop down on my bed. I’m exhausted. I should take a shower. I should go downstairs and get some food in me. I should do my homework, or start on it, since it’s not due until Friday. But I don’t. I let my eyes fall shut and sleep takes over.

Chapter Three

Graham

A question plagues me while I’m at my first stupid AA meeting: why is Sarah Morris still here? She should be off gallivanting the fucking world. Modeling or some shit like that. Instead, her sunshine locks are red, and boy, did she feel like fire. I’m not getting burned by her again. But fuck, if I said one look at her didn’t get me a chub, I’d be lying. Damn woman still turns me on.

“Would anyone like to come up here and tell their story?” some old guy asks.

A thin woman with dark hair and three deep scars on her face steps up to the stage. “I’m Marge.”

Everyone mumbles, “Hey,” except me.

“I’ve been sober for ten years. It’s a struggle. Every day. But I fight the battle every day because I don’t want to go back to the person I used to be. When I drank, Jesus, I did a lot of terrible stuff. I’d steal from anyone. I’d beg on the streets. I’d even whore around for my fix. It went from whiskey to drugs. I didn’t care. I needed it. Until one night I was fleeing from the cops and slammed a car I stole into a telephone pole. Two painful days in the hospital with no pain relief, eighty stitches, and then jail time—I finally decided this was not living.”

Oh my God, what the hell am I doing here? These people have fucking issues. I don’t. One damn night of drinking, where I blacked out, and this is part of my punishment? Listening to these messed up fuckers talk about their screwups and celebrating their sobriety? Give me a break!

But another woman steps up to the stage. My eyes practically bulge out of my head and my jaw unhinged from utter shock.

It’s Ms. Matthews, my best friend Bryce’s mother. Holy shit. I shrink down in my seat and hope to hell she doesn’t spot me. I can’t have anyone knowing I’m in this bullshit place, listening to these drunks talk.

“My name is Karen. I’m an alcoholic.” She smiles as if it’s something to be proud of. I wonder if Bryce knows about this shit. “A year ago my husband left me for a younger woman. I drank, sometimes three bottles of wine in a night. I was in a bad place. I was depressed. I felt unattractive and so old. My son was going off to college, and I was going to be alone. Very, very alone. Drinking didn’t make me feel so bad, but before my son left for college, he cleaned out my cabinets and told me he’d had enough. He called one of my friends seeing me through my divorce, and they told me I needed help.” She heaves a deep sigh. “I was in denial. I didn’t think I had a problem. But I came to these meetings. And I realized I did have a problem and I needed help. I’m proud to say I’m officially two months sober.”

The meeting goes on like this for an hour, and when it’s called short, and I make my exit. My mom’s waiting for me, so I hurry to the car and roll my eyes as she says, “Buckle up.”

After I slip on the seatbelt and she pulls away from the curb, she asks in a cheery voice, “How was it?”

“Are you kidding me? Where’s Bob? I thought you said he was picking me up.” I’m not in the mood for this. I can’t wait for this day to be done. If I wasn’t under strict orders, I’d crack open a beer right now.

“No I’m not kidding. And Bob is running an errand for me. Besides, I want to know how it went.”

I refuse to answer her. I’m not talking about this.

When we pull into our drive, I’m practically hopping out of the vehicle. “Hold on a second. I know you hate being forced to go to these meetings but, honey, I really think this will be good for you. If you just give it a try.”

That only fuels my anger. “I don’t have a fucking problem, Mom! This is bullshit. This whole stupid thing is bullshit!”

She huffs. “Fine. Forget I said anything.”

I storm into the house and up to my room. Being in here is no better though. I’m aching for a joint. A beer. Something. After the day I had, I need it. I can’t though. Tomorrow I have a meeting with my babysitter—excuse me, my P.O.—who will collect cups of my pee and tell the court how I’m following all the rules.

I lay against my mattress and think about Sarah. Why is she still here? It’s like added torture to this grueling punishment of being on school probation! One hundred and nineteen days, to be exact. Stuck in this shit town. Let’s add one more problem—a girl you’ve tried the whole half of senior year and summer to forget about. And fuck Maddy and Bryce for not telling me Sarah is still here. Best friends my ass! It’s straight up bullshit that they’d both keep this crap from me.

Sad part about it is, I can’t tell anyone how severely screwed up it all is. Maddy would be the first to say, “Oh, its fate.” Let me be real clear on this right now: I do not believe in fate! I think it’s just a girlish notion that makes women believe in fairy-tale crap that may or may not coincidentally happen.