Bad Judgment (13 page)

She picks up a highlighter, gripping it tightly in her fist. “We’re just studying. That’s all.”

“We both know that’s bullshit.” I pull my laptop out and slide it onto the table between us. “But feel free to keep lying to yourself, and I’ll keep kissing you anytime I want. Deal? Now, what do you want to start with?”

Justine releases a sound that’s close to a growl and buries her hands in her hair. Instead of tearing it out in frustration, she twists it up into a messy bun and shoves a pen in to hold it.

It takes a spot on the list of the top ten sexiest things I’ve ever seen a woman do.

She scrubs both hands over her face, and I can’t help but like the way I unsettle her. That’s exactly what I want.

I wait while she stares at the pile of casebooks next to her. “Professional Responsibility. It’s my least favorite, so I want to get it out of the way first.”

“Sounds good.”

We both flip open our casebooks and work through the reading, talking about the cases and typing out notes for class. Every time she readjusts her hair or bites her lip, I’m reminded how badly I want to get my mouth on her again. Everywhere. But at the same time, I’m strangely turned on by how hard she focuses. This is study date number two, and I understand how Justine has kept her grades so high. She’s a machine, and totally relentless in her analysis and memorization.

I was right before—her brain is just as sexy as the way she fills out the V-neck she’s wearing. I want to see her in a dress, or even a skirt like she wore that night at the bar. I want a chance to explore her body and her brain.

My mind is wandering when I’m supposed to be finishing up reading this case, but I’m out of time. Justine looks up and cracks her neck before she starts rattling off the points she thinks Babcock will cover in class.

My fingers pound the keys on my laptop as I try to get down all the details, but Justine’s stomach growls louder than my typing.

“Did you have dinner already? I’m frigging starving.”

She shakes her head, and her tone is wry when she says, “But I’ve got a mac-and-cheese bowl waiting for me at home.”

I don’t think before I reply. “That’s not real food. You need protein. Vegetables. You know? Let’s finish up Trusts and Estates and go grab something.”

Justine slaps her casebook closed. “I beg to differ that it’s not real food, because mac-and-cheese bowls have been a major part of my diet for the last six years. Cheap, quick, and easy. What’s not to like?”

“Babe, there’s nothing cheap, quick, or easy about you. If you were . . . well, we both know the last two years would’ve gone differently.”

Her eyes go wide at my words, which are nothing but the truth. When she says nothing in reply, I realize I’ve knocked her off-balance, which works for me just fine.

Changing the subject, I ask, “How about Chinese? Panda House isn’t far.”

Her eyes light up when I mention the student favorite of all the Chinese restaurants in town, but I wonder if she’ll actually accept.

“Panda House?” Excitement tinges her tone. “I guess that would be okay. But work first, and then food.”

The buzz of victory rises through me.
And that’s how it’s done.

I keep my face expressionless as I nod and we both crack open our Trust and Estates books. We continue to study in companionable silence, but inside I’m fucking thrilled.

I’m finally taking Justine on a real date, whether she realizes it or not.

Justine

I’m starving, and Panda House Chinese is my weakness. It’s not fair that Ryker played that card, especially after the territorial kiss to ward off the bartender Caruthers. But I’d probably go to dinner with the devil himself at Panda House if he caught me at a moment when my stomach is growling.

Now, with plates heaping with the deliciousness that Panda has to offer sitting in front of us, we’re eating in non-awkward silence. It’s not until I’m halfway through my food and slowing down when I take a look around us.

The stares. They’re coming from tables in every direction. And several of them I recognize.

Ryker lowers his chopsticks and follows my gaze. When he looks at me, it’s with an unreadable expression. “Finished?” He says nothing about the fact that we’re apparently the main source of entertainment in the restaurant tonight.

Am I done being stared at like an attraction at the zoo? “Sure am. You?”

“I’m just getting started here.” That expression of his? It stays unreadable, but his words tell me that he sees the stares too—and if I’m not mistaken, he likes them.

I decide to throw it out there in the open. “Do you like this? Being the center of attention?”

“When I’ve got the most beautiful woman in this room across from me? What’s not to like?”

I should scoff at the line. It’s not light years away from the ones he has been using on me since first year, but for some reason, it feels different. More intimate. It doesn’t put my back up the way it did before.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” I joke.

“No. I don’t.”

A thrill zips through me at his response, but I have no idea how to reply to that, so I dig my fork into my fried rice deliciousness and keep eating.

The server comes by as I’m stuffing my face in lieu of conversation. When he sets the bill folio down, Ryker lowers his chopsticks and grabs it before I can even do a mental count of how much money I have in my wallet.

He pulls out a credit card and slips it in without even looking at the bill, then hands it back to the server, who hasn’t had a chance to walk away yet.

“I’ll be right back with this,” the kid says before hurrying off.

I fish my wallet from my purse and pull out one of the two tens inside and slide it across the table.

“Here you go. I can throw in more for the tip.”

Ryker does exactly what I expect and pushes it back toward me. “I got it.”

“I’m not letting you buy me dinner.”

“Because it’ll make this too much of a date?” He tilts his head, and his expression dares me to tell the truth.

“Yes,” I admit. And I can’t cross that line.

Ryker leans back against the booth and crosses his arms. “I think you’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever had dinner with, so that means you should be able to figure out when you’re on a date.”

“This isn’t a date,” I protest. “This is two study buddies grabbing a meal because we were both starving. At least, it was until you decided to do that.” I nod toward the spot where the bill had been laid.

“Justine, I hate to break it to you, but we’re on a date.”

“No, we’re not.”

The situation is turning ridiculous, but it’s obviously not an argument I’m going to win. That doesn’t mean I have to let it happen again. Note to self: be quicker on the draw when it comes to bills.

Wait, wouldn’t it be easier not to go to dinner with him? Why didn’t my brain go there first?

Guilt washes through me because Justice Grant isn’t paying me to spend time with his son outside of the studying context. But Ryker won’t stay in the neat little box where I’m trying to keep him. The kisses, dinner . . . he’s blurring the lines. This is about focusing on the goal, not letting myself get distracted.

I steal another glance at Ryker from under my lashes.
No matter how sexy and tempting the distraction is.

Ryker

Justine tries her car three times in the parking lot before I get out of my Camaro and walk around to the driver’s side window and knock on the glass. She opens the door and looks up at me with frustration lining her features. I don’t like that look on her.

“It won’t start.”

“Let me try it.”

Justine slides out of the driver’s seat, and I take her place. A few turns of the key tells me a jump probably isn’t going to solve the problem, but it’s worth a try.

Five minutes later, after Justine tries to start it a few times hooked up to the Camaro, I’m unfortunately proven right.

“I’ll give you a ride home and you can call a garage in the morning about having it picked up.”

Her expression falls. From the looks of the car and everything else I’ve gathered about her, I know this probably isn’t an expense she has figured into her plans. It’s clear her budget is tight, judging by the Lipton tea she brings to study and her diet of mac-and-cheese bowls.

When she drops her head against the steering wheel, she confirms my thoughts.

“I didn’t exactly figure a tow truck and a repair job in my budget.” She lifts a hand and slaps the dash. “Why? Why couldn’t you just hold out a few more months? Six on the outside? Don’t you have any sense of loyalty?”

The desperation in her voice as she talks to her uncooperative car cuts into me, but I keep my mouth shut. Right now, I don’t think there’s anything I could say that’s going to change the situation.

“Grab your stuff. I’ll give you a ride, and you can think about what you want to do in the morning.”

“Things don’t always look better in the morning, you know.”

Justine’s dark eyes are shiny, but I’d bet my Camaro she’d never let those tears fall in front of me.
Good. I don’t want to see them
. Something tells me that they’d gut me more than the last girl who tried tears with me when I told her we weren’t actually dating. Ironic that now I’ve got a girl telling me the same thing I’ve told others.

“I know, but at least it’ll be light out, and you might think of some more options. You strike me as a pretty resourceful girl.”

She forces a smile to her face, but it’s pained. Turning, she grabs her backpack off the passenger seat and shoves a few more things in it.

“Then I guess I’m taking you up on your ride because right now, I really don’t feel like schlepping my stuff to the bus stop.”

“I’ve got you covered, Justine. It’s gonna be okay.” I say the words, but I wish I could make them true. I don’t like seeing her struggle.

We climb in, and I back out of the parking lot. “Am I taking you to the same place you lived last year?”

From the passenger seat, she shakes her head, her arms wrapped around the backpack on her lap.

“No, I had to find a cheaper place. I’m over in the Gilroy Student Housing Complex.”

Yanking my eyes from the road, I look at her. “I thought that place was being torn down this year.”

When Justine shrugs and her grip tightens on her backpack, I chastise myself.
Pride, Ry. Tread carefully
.

“Nope. They decided to hold off until next fiscal year because the demo costs were higher than planned. They’ve got one of the buildings rented out. It was dirt cheap, so I was pretty lucky to get in.”

Lucky isn’t exactly a word I would use to describe the complex I’m remembering.
Shit hole
is a better description.

Ten minutes later when I pull into the parking lot in front of the building, I confirm my opinion. This place is a dump. The yellow, orange, and blue panels that make up the corners of the buildings are faded almost beyond recognition and are falling off in chunks. Basically, picture the crappiest ’60s no-tell motel you’ve ever seen and downgrade it another step. I remember coming to a party here when I was a senior in high school and being shocked at the shitty conditions. That was over six years ago, and things have only slid further downhill since.

“I’m down at the other end. Last one on the first floor.”

I guide the Camaro in the direction Justine indicates and pull into a parking spot marked by faded yellow lines and a crumbling curb.

“Shit!”

My gaze jerks to Justine, but she’s already out of the car and dashing toward the building before I realize what the problem is. The door looks like someone kicked it in.

I yank open the door of the Camaro and charge after her. The girl’s an idiot to go running into a break-in scene. Wrapping a hand around her wrist, I pull her back.

“What the hell are you doing? Someone could still be inside.”

She struggles against me, then twists out of my grip with what must be some kind of evasive move like they teach in self-defense classes.

“And if they’re still inside, they haven’t gotten away with stealing my stuff!”

Her struggles intensify, so I wrap her in a backward bear hug, locking both arms around her waist before I pick her up off the ground. “Not fucking happening,” I growl into her ear. No way in hell am I letting her take a chance of getting hurt because of her adrenaline-fueled reaction. “Get back in the car and call Campus Safety. I’ll go in.”