Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2) (3 page)

If I’d known I would be walking into this sort of situation, I’d have bit the bullet and served my sentence at my dad’s house in Little Rock. Even if the man is the biggest prick on the planet, I’d definitely would’ve taken all his insults about what a loser I am over this shit any day. But no, I’m stuck in this hellhole with my mom’s scrutinizing glare.

I want some weed. Stupid piss test!

***

Next morning, I decide to take a drive. While I’m in the garage about to get into my car, douchebag Bob walks in and says, “Hey, son. How are you holding up?”

This is why I call him a douchebag. “I’m not your son,” I growl.

“Listen, I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye. We haven’t even really gotten to know each other. But I’d like to change that.”

I glare at him. This twat obviously needs to get with reality. Somehow I refrain from rolling my eyes and open my car door. He starts to say something else, but I hold up my hand. “Bob, look. I’m sure you’re a nice person. But let me be real with you. I’m perfectly fine
not
knowing you. Hell, man, if we never speak to each other that would be better.” He frowns. “Five months from now, you’re going to be just another face that was in this house, and another dumbfuck will replace you.”

There. That should stop him from trying to buddy up to me. His mouth hangs open. I slide into my car and drive off.

I’m coasting through town and hit the red light right beside the damn grocery store. Off in the distance, I spot a girl getting out of a powder-blue car. “Son of a …”
Beeep!
Yeah, some asshole behind me is honking because the light’s green. I flip him off and turn into the one place I should probably avoid for life.

Zooming into a spot next to her car, I park and get out. She hasn’t noticed me. She’s hunched over, digging out something from inside her trunk.

“Why are you still here?” I ask.

She flinches. I watch as her back stiffens, and then she turns those baby blues that I swear possess the sea onto me. “I … had to. Why are you here?” Her tone is defensive.

“We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you. Did you not get your trust fund or something?”

She lowers her lashes. “That’s my business.” She shuts her trunk, slings a backpack over her shoulder, then turns away from me. I grip her arm to stop her from leaving. With a fiery glare, she snaps, “I’ve got to go to work.”

I don’t loosen my grip but, instead, snort. “Been working here long then?”

“I don’t have time for pop quizzes. I have to clock in.” She jerks herself from my grip and begins to walk. “Good-bye, Graham.”

“I’m not finished.”

She pins me with a piercing stare. “Well, I am.” Then she stomps off into the store.

I run my fingers through my hair. That damn girl. I want to kiss her and bend her over her car. I want to nail her to the wall and make her scream my name. And why the hell do I also want her to be in that ugly-ass cashier uniform? I’ve got no idea, except that she makes it look hot as hell.

I check the time on my phone. Shit. I need to be at my appointment in twenty minutes. Guess I’ll have to talk to her later.

Chapter Four

Sarah

My heart hammers away in my chest as I walk away from him. The glass doors slide open, and I step in. Cool air smacks me in the face, and I take a deep breath and head to the back, where the employee area is.

I shove my backpack, along with the outfit I had on at school, into my locker then shut the door. The hammering in my chest still hasn’t settled. As I make my way to the front to clock in, Michelle, my only friend here at work, waves to me. “Hey, you!”

“Hi.”

“What’s with the frown?” she asks.

I shake my head and punch in my employee ID. She does not need to know about what just happened with Graham. I hope he isn’t swarming my thoughts all day, like he currently is. I don’t want to think about his sexy smile, or his eyes, which make me melt into a puddle. And his scent—he smells like fresh rain and mint. It’s amazing.

“Sarah?”

I snap from my thoughts and look over at Michelle. “Sorry, what’s up?”

Her short, dark hair swishes from side to side as she gives me a small shake of her head. I swear the woman doesn’t age—she told me she was close to forty, but she looks twenty-five. “You tell me. You’ve been staring at the machine for the past three minutes.” She smiles.

“I’m just tired.”

“Uh-huh. With a lustful look in your eyes? Who is he? Come on, spill it.” She throws an elbow in my side and then marches around the customer service desk.

I follow her since today is my day to work back here. Every other day, I’m in customer service. On the opposite days, I’m working the register. There might be long, boring—or very annoying—days involved, but it beats getting carts or cleaning the bathroom stalls.

Michelle props herself against the wide counter with all the money drawers and says, “You’re going to tell me. We’ve got six hours together, chica. You better spill it.” Michelle is not Hispanic, and I’m pretty sure she said she never took Spanish in high school. But she loves the word
chica
, so whenever she gets the chance to call a girl that, she does. She says it in like this gangster voice, though, so it just makes me smile and shake my head at her.

“There isn’t a man. I mean, not really. It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it. This is entertainment for me. Besides, I need something to talk about other than what my rotten son did today.”

“What did Jared do now?”

She wags a finger at me. “No. Uh-uh. We’re not changing the subject, chica.”

I grab up a money tray and start counting out the bills. Each starter tray gets three hundred bucks. “His name is Graham. Happy?”

“Very. So what makes Graham so complicated?”

“Well, it’s not him. It’s me. What I did to him. He’ll never forgive or trust me ever again, so that’s why it’s complicated. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. But every time I try not to, there he is, popping up like a wild flower.” Especially since I’ve had a burning question on my mind ever since our previous encounter in this store: why is he here?

Michelle snaps one of the metal latches in the cashbox and then stares at me. Like she’s waiting for the rest. But I’m not giving her any more. I’m just not. She drops another metal latch, and it makes a gun-firing sound. Normally I’d flinch, but her tactic will not get me to talk.

After the last bar is lowered, she sighs. “For real? Fine. Listen, I don’t think this is all that complicated.”

“It probably isn’t. But he’s normally in Knoxville, and I’m here. It’s not like I could see him everyday. And I’m not driving back and forth in that rust bucket in order to have some sort of relationship. I’ve got school and this place. Those two things take up my free time.” Really, they don’t. But Michelle doesn’t need to know that most of the guys on campus are like Henry. Gross. And around town, they’re either way too old, just graduating high school this year, or still in high school. Basically, it’s slim pickings, ladies, and this girl would rather be old and lonely than hook up with anyone just to have someone. Not to mention the whole issue I have to deal with when they figure out who I am. “The girl from the news.” “The scandal girl.” Yeah, that’s always a deal-breaker.

Michelle lifts a brow. “So … what you’re telling me is if the boy were interested, you wouldn’t hook up with him?”

“I can’t, Michelle. What we had, I messed up. So there is no point in going backwards to try and get it back.”

She shrugs. “If you say so. But here’s the thing I’ve learned: if something comes back to you, it’s for a reason. You need to look at it before you toss it aside.”

I groan. Of course she’d say this to me. And maybe she’s right. But I can’t. There’s something else going on here. I’m on track with school and might actually be able to sign up for nursing classes I’ve been looking into by next fall. That’s the goal. Getting involved with anyone will just take me away from my goal or I won’t have time for them. So I just get back to work and focus on that for the next six hours.

***

I’m sitting on my floor looking over my study sheet and groan as I stare at this one question that’s kicking my ass. I don’t want to use my book, because I know it’s going to be on my test. Besides, I should know this stuff.

After five minutes, with no answer, I decide to set it aside and take a breather. I head to the kitchen and start snacking on bread, hunks and hunks of it. This is so not helping my figure, but I don’t care. I need carbs.

Auntie Heather walks into the kitchen and smiles at me. “Hey, hon. How was your day?”

“Good,” I mumble around a wad of bread in my mouth.

“Great. Hey, listen. I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. What are your thoughts on that?”

I nod. “That sounds fine to me.” I just added probably ten pounds to my butt eating all this delicious French bread she made.

She beams. “Okay. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll meet down here in thirty minutes.”

I smile and head upstairs.

***

Dinners with my auntie and uncle are kind of weird. With Madison at Carnegie Mellon and Kyle at University of Tennessee, it’s really awkward. Besides discussing school and work, there really isn’t much conversation going on. And we never bring up my parents. Because I would honestly rather not talk about them again for as long as I live.

As the waiter seats us at our table, I casually glance around the place, and right in the far corner is Graham and his family. I plop down in a seat and throw up my menu to shield my face. Jesus, does the boy have to be everywhere I am?

I peer around the stitched edge of the menu. His table is too close to ours. He’s practically in direct view of it. I study his movements, from the lean in his posture to the roll of his eyes, until someone clears their throat.

“Do you know what you want to drink, Sarah?” my auntie asks.

“Oh, um, water is fine.”

The lean waiter with a thick mustache asks, “Lemon?”

“Yes, that will be great. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back with those,” he says with a wink at me. Gross.

I look about the room again, and my attention falls right back on Graham. He runs his hand through his brown hair, which appears disheveled. But Graham himself looks calm and a little frightening. I’m so caught up in staring at him, I forget to drop my gaze or hide behind my menu when his eyes travel the room.

When his gaze locks with mine, a warm swell of feelings bubbles through me. My face heats as his eyes narrow slightly. I need to break contact. A blond waitress stops at his table, and I watch as he flirts with the girl. Laughing and touching her hand.

I think I’m going to be sick. He hates me. He really hates me. This is just a game to get back at me for what I did. I know, because I’ve played this same game with all sorts of people who did me wrong. Let me correct myself: the
old
me did.

“Sarah, do you have an idea of what you might like?” my uncle asks, causing me to blink and exhale loudly.

I glance down at the menu and then back at my uncle Paul. He’s smiling as if he knows I want something that isn’t on the menu. Of course, this only makes my face heat more. “I … um …”

“Excuse me,” a deep voice breaks into our conversation. “Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Issac, may I have a word with Sarah?”

My uncle Paul nods. My auntie Heather smiles. “Hello, Graham. How have you been, hon?”

“I’ve been good.”

Auntie Heather waves me off. “Go on, dear.”

I glance up at Graham and push away from the table. He helps me out of my chair, which surprises me, but it also makes me melt. Just a little.

This isn’t good for me.
I will not get caught up in the game. I will not fall harder for Graham than is necessary.
I need to let these feelings I have for him go. Get some closure and be done.

He guides me out into the garden area, where blue and white flowers cascade around us and twinkly lights weave overhead. It makes me think of the perfect place to have a wedding. “It seems we’re going to keep running into each other,” Graham says in an irritated tone.

I flinch. “I suppose so. Wait, why? Aren’t you returning to school? Oh God, is your mom sick or something?”

Graham glares at me. “No, my mom is perfectly fine. I’m just not returning to school right now. I’ve got some things I have to take care of, which is none of your concern. Figured the decent thing to do was to warn you. So we might as well get used to this. Us seeing each other. We can pretend we don’t know one another. So I won’t say your name or hello. You can do the same.”

I drop my gaze to my feet and sigh. “Okay. If that’s what you want I understand.”

“Jesus, Sarah, you ripped my heart out and handed it back to me mangled. What did you expect here?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I know what I did was wrong. Hurting you will be one of my many big regrets, but I can’t focus on that. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” I feel the hot sting of tears sliding down my face. I will not look Graham in the eye so he can see the effect he has on me. So I swipe my hands against my cheeks and pretend I’m just brushing my own hair out of my face. Then I head off to the restroom.

Trust me, I want to get a glance of his face the moment I confess that hurting him was a huge mistake. But I can’t. Doing so would leave me more open to his wounding words than ever. What if he said something cruel like, “Good, that’s what you get.” Believe me, I know it’s all on me, but to know that I’d ruined any shot with him forever? To confirm how much he hates me? It would probably kill me. What’s worse, I feel like he was the only one here who got closure. How the hell can I possibly move on while I feel like my heart was thrown in a blender and then served right back to me? Heart à la mode, anyone?