Bad Judgment (19 page)

Excuse me? It’s official. He’s really fucking creepy
.

“How do you—” I start, and he turns his phone around so I can see the screen.

The top of the chat window says “R-Fucking-G” and I have only one guess as to who that could be. Glancing down at the messages, I see a new chat bubble pop up just below the picture and the one that says—
yeah, that’s her.

The new chat bubble reads:
Don’t forget, she’s mine. Hands off.

Yes, I know exactly who that is. I lower the phone into the cradle.

“Okay, it would’ve been way less sketchy if you had just told me you’re a friend of Ryker’s.”

“Nah, this was more fun.”

This guy is a nut.
“Is there something you needed?”

“I heard you on the phone earlier. You’re really having a junkyard come pick up your car? That blows, girly.”

“One, don’t call me girly. And two, thank you for the concern, but it isn’t anything I need anyone worrying about. Three, if you tell Ryker—” I lean forward on my elbows and lower my voice. While he’s waiting for me to continue, he ducks his head closer. “I’ll check out a hundred books in this library in your name and make them all two years overdue, and you won’t be able to graduate until you pay the fines.”

He jerks back and straightens. “Whoa. Calm down. I’m not trying to cause any trouble. I just want to know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

We
undoubtedly means him and Ryker, and I don’t need Ryker to know anything about this.

“Thanks, but no thanks. If you’d just keep this to yourself, I’d appreciate it. I don’t need my business spread all over town. First off, it’s nobody’s problem but my own, and second, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like I wasn’t going to junk it eventually. My timeline just sped up a little.”

Why am I telling him this
?
Stop sharing unnecessary information, Justine.

“You need a ride home from work?” He looks down at a big and undoubtedly expensive watch on his wrist. “Ryker told me you might, and I figure I can waste another hour before the walls start closing in on me.”

I glance at my phone for the time out of instinct, even though I have no intention of accepting a ride from some random guy I don’t know—regardless of whether he’s Ryker’s friend.

While I’m debating, his thumbs are flying and he’s tapping out something on his phone. Moments later, my cell vibrates on the counter with a text.

R
YKER
: Take the ride from Ian. He’s a good guy and he knows I’ll rip his balls off if he tries anything with you.

The blond, who I now assume is Ian, waits for me to look up from my phone with a smirk. “Just take the ride, Justine.”

These guys are freaking impossible
. But I do need to get to Merica’s because I’m in desperate need of wine, carbs, and my best friend’s advice. I wonder for a moment if Ryker told him where I live.

“I’m headed to a friend’s house. She lives about ten minutes east of campus.”

He shrugs. “No big deal. It’s just completely out of my way.”

“Then I’ll take the bus, no big deal.”

Ian eyes me with a raised blond brow. “I’m giving you a ride. Be ready at seven and we’re out of here.”

Exactly fifty-five minutes later, I punch my timecard in the office and head for the side door. I’ve decided I’m not accepting a ride from Ryker’s friend, especially not after the four text messages I didn’t respond to. The ones that said:

R
YKER
: Take the ride.

R
YKER
: Don’t be stubborn.

R
YKER
: Ian says you’re junking your car.

R
YKER
: Don’t do anything until I talk to you.

Ian is a little tattletale. I asked him not to mention it, and he blabbed to his buddy anyway.

When I hit the parking lot and head for the bus stop, I see a bright red sports car parked at the curb where the bus should be in ten minutes.

I take a seat on the bench inside the clear plastic shelter, and the passenger window on the car rolls down.

I knew it would be him
.

“Get in the car.”

Ian’s blond hair is mussed like he’s been shoving his hands through it while he waited.

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s totally out of your way, and I don’t take rides from people I just met. I’m good with the bus.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes—”

Ian cuts me off. “Look, you’re not my girlfriend, so this arguing shit is really obnoxious when I’m not getting any pussy. Just get in the car so you can get where you need to go without having to sit on the bus for an hour. I’ll have you there in ten minutes.”

This guy is impossible, but it doesn’t make accepting his offer any less rational. I mentally toss my hands in the air and give in.

As soon as we’re off campus, he flies along the backcountry roads. With his car’s sleek lines and arrest-me red paint color, I doubt that Ian is really interested in the posted speed limit. Staring out my window, I wonder if we’re truly going to make this entire ride in silence. Small talk isn’t my greatest skill, and I have no idea what to say to him, but within moments I’m wishing I’d come up with something.

“So, are you fucking him for the money or are you fucking him for the position his dad has?” Ian’s question is without preamble, and surprisingly, I don’t detect a hint of malice. His tone is solidly matter-of-fact.

I yank my gaze off the fields to land on him as he expertly shifts the car and slows for a stoplight. “Um . . . neither, because I’m not fucking him at all.”

Ian’s head swings toward me, surprise—no doubt at my honesty—arching his eyebrow. “No shit? Damn, he’s losing his touch.”

“We’re studying. We’re . . . friends. That’s it.” If I don’t sound one hundred percent confident, it’s because I don’t know what we are any more. And the deal Ryker and I made this afternoon . . . how does that change things?

I catch Ian’s eye roll at my answer before he shifts into gear and attempts to break land-speed records for zero to sixty miles per hour. Or maybe that’s the way Ian drives. I’m beginning to suspect it’s the latter.

“What’s your hang-up? You’re sexy as shit. He’s been obviously sniffing around for way too fucking long for you not to realize how bad he wants in your pants.”

“Aren’t you blowing the bro code here? Spilling his secrets?”

“Nah, it’s no secret. You’re not an idiot, which you’d have to be if you hadn’t figured that out already. But since you’re in denial, there’s nothing I can do to really help his cause. So, moving on . . . You have any hot friends who like to bang on the first date?”

Confirmed, this guy is a nut. “Umm. I don’t know?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I don’t think I want to tell you.” The turnoff to Merica’s apartment is coming up, so I point. “Right at the light and then the first right after that. I’m going to Knob Hill.”

“And who are you going to see in Knob Hill?”

“Not really your business.”

We pull into the parking lot and I direct him to Merica’s building, where, predictably, she’s standing on her balcony, wrapping hot pink Christmas lights around a palm tree. She’s already done the pink flamingos.

She pauses to take in the sexy car, and when I open the door, her eyes widen. “Hot ride!”

Ian is glancing up at her. “What’s her name?”

“She has a boyfriend. Thanks for the ride.” I shut the door and head for the stairs.

He rolls down the window. “Tell her I’m taking her out on Friday night. I’ll be here to pick her up at eight.”

“She has a boyfriend! Thanks for the ride!” I repeat, this time with more force.

He smirks at me as he backs out and roasts the tires before taking off.

Merica’s watching, a bemused expression on her face. “It’s definitely time for wine, and you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

Justine

The scent of fresh-baked bread hits me when I walk through Merica’s unlocked door.
Carbs.
Thank God. I need them.

Merica comes in from the balcony and slides the door shut behind her. She cocks a hip and puts a hand on it.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Did you already pour the wine?”

“Of course.”

An hour later, I finish my third glass of wine and Merica stares at me slack-jawed. A half-eaten loaf of amazingly delicious bread and the remains of a demolished stick of butter sit between us.

“Ho. Ly. Shit. How did you keep this to yourself? Seriously. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you, Justice Grant told me I couldn’t. But I decided I had to invoke the unwritten, unspoken
best friend
exception, even if I’m technically violating the contract.”

“Screw the contract. This is way too important to worry about that.”

“But what the hell am I going to do? I feel like I’m crossing a line here.”

“Ryker’s the one that threw down the deal, though, right? He’s the one pushing you to study with him. So what if he’s motivated by pussy and blow jobs now? He’s a guy—they’re always motivated by pussy and blow jobs. Now you know he’s going to get the grades and you get your tuition paid. You’re not doing anything wrong, Jus.”

Which is exactly what I’ve been attempting to get myself to believe.
I’m not doing anything wrong. Right?

“You really don’t think I’m crossing into the gray area here?”

Merica reaches for the box of wine and slides it over the edge of the table before holding her glass underneath the spout and pressing the button. When it’s filled an inch from the brim, she releases the button and raises it to her lips.

“You wouldn’t be wrestling with this so much if you didn’t think you were. But I think you need to cut yourself a break. You’ve busted your ass for every single thing you’ve ever gotten. You got dealt a shitty hand in so many ways, and to lose a full ride at the beginning of third year? That’s just another epically shitty blow. Life is just a series of decisions. What other acceptable choice did you have? None. I know it, and you know it. So make your peace with the fact that you did what you had to do and move on.”

I’m afraid to give voice to the last concern rolling around in my head. I refill my glass and take a long swallow before I find the courage to put it into words.

“But what if this actually becomes something . . . real? Then what?”

Merica studies me, probably catching all my nervous tells. “Do you think it’s going to?”

“I don’t know. We’re going in totally different directions. I want to work at Legal Aid and make a difference. I don’t think he has a clue what he wants to do with his life. At this point, I just know that I don’t hate spending time together. I actually . . . I kind of like him, even though I didn’t want to.”

Merica’s shrewd gaze assesses me—hearing all the things I’m saying and all the things I’m not. “Do you think you could fall for him?”

It’s a question I’ve been avoiding asking myself because I’m afraid to even consider the possibility. “I don’t know. I just . . . I’m worried about what would happen if in some crazy parallel universe, I did.”