I drum my fingertips on the cool granite table of the coffee shop I’m in, impatient. Jameson is late, even though we just made these plans to study an hour ago. After his speech at Joe’s Surf the other day, I don’t appreciate it much.

I look down at the textbook I brought, but end up pushing it away across the table. Finals are soon, a fact which is weighing heavily on me. It feels like I’m running out of hours in my day to study. That, or I’m low on actually giving a crap whether I pass my classes or not. I have done everything that I could for a whole semester; now I’ve just sort of run out of steam.

I honestly wonder for a minute whether I could pass without the finals. Of course, just not taking the final exams is kind of a pipe dream, but it is nice to imagine for a little while.

The door chimes, and I look up to find Jameson entering, looking harried. Even though his expression is close to a grimace, the rest of him still looks good. His dark hair looks windswept, and he is almost edible in his dark jeans and short sleeve black Muse tee shirt, muscles bulging and veins popping. He carries his book bag slung over one shoulder.

He could easily be the rebellious bad boy in any TV show or movie. But if he’s the bad boy, what does that make me? The good girl? The ice princess?

I don’t like either option. What if I want to play the rebel, just this once?

Jameson looks around, and I raise my hand to get his attention. “Jameson! Over here.”

He sees me and heads over, weaving his way through the tables scattered throughout the cafe. “I’m late, and I’m sorry. This asshole in a Mercedes tapped my motorcycle on Longview Ave, and then he insisted on waiting for a cop to show up. My phone died too, so I couldn’t call you.”

Jameson drags one of the chairs out, slinging his backpack down on the table. For once, I play it cool, surveying him skeptically.

“It’s fine,” I say, keeping my expression neutral.

He sits down opposite me and gives me a look. “You’re mad.”

I slide my textbook backward, closing it. “I’m not mad, I’m just thinking of the lecture you gave me a few days ago.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been punished already, I promise. You should have seen how much of a dick the guy that hit me was. He was really pissed when the cops got there and told him it was his fault.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay. Let’s just work. What do you have for math today?”

“Formulas, mostly. The quadratic formula, the formula for a line, and… something with bi? Binomics, or something. I very vaguely understand them.”

“They’re hard,” I say with a shrug. “Like pretty much the hardest part of high school math. What have you got for science?”

“Uhhh…” he unzips his back pack and pulls out his science textbook. He flips to a section that is already well-marked. “It looks like today we’ve got the conservation, transformation, and flow of energy. And also work, motion, and force.”

I look at the time on my phone. “Okay. Let’s divide the time evenly, half an hour for math, half an hour for science. Then we’ll see where we’re at, okay?”

Jameson just nods. “Science first?”

“Yup. Let’s just go through what the book says…”

For the next hour, we take turns reading aloud from J’s textbooks. I stop at various points to explain something, or to sketch a quick drawing of a concept on a blank sheet of paper. For his part, Jameson is nearly mute as I explain, his brow furrowed the whole time.

He does ask for clarification on a few points, taking notes in his notebook. At about an hour, I notice that Jameson is getting anxious and cranky. He’s also starting to stare into space.

“Let’s call it a day,” I suggest, closing his math textbook. “I can see that I’ve exceeded your time limit for learning.”

He sits back, stretching. “Sorry. I just… I guess I’ve never had to sit still for so long for anything.”

I smile, keeping my tone light. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, it kind of is. I mean, you’re taking time out of your schedule. So, uh… thanks.” He starts to pack up his stuff. “Are you hungry?”

“Me?” I glance at the time. “I could eat.”

He looks a little uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “There’s this pizza place around the block from here that I’ve been meaning to try. Wanna come? I’ll buy, obviously.”

I smother a smile. “Jameson, are you asking me out on a date?”

“What?” he says, defensive. “No. Definitely not.”

“I just wanted to check. You seemed awfully sincere about the fact that you didn’t even think of me that way,” I tease. I’m looking for a reaction, and I get one. He jerks to his feet.

“Forget that I asked.”

“Wait!” I say, grabbing his forearm. “I was just kidding. Don’t be so serious all the time.”

His expression is as black as a thundercloud. He carefully disengages from my grasp. “If I’m serious, it’s because life makes me that way. Somebody has to be the responsible one around here.”

Oooh. I did not expect him to get so prickly about it.

“I’m sorry. I know that you’re the big brother. You feel responsible for Forest and Gunnar. I get it.”

The look on J’s face is skeptical. “I really doubt that, princess.”

I don’t have a snappy comeback for that one, so I stick my tongue out at him. He pauses, then gives me the ghost of a smile. I assume I’m forgiven.

“Are we going to dinner or what?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Pack your stuff up.”

I grab my bag and shove my books inside. Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I hurry to follow Jameson.

“Your legs are like twice as long as mine,” I complain as I struggle to keep pace with him. He glances at me, flashing half a smile, and deliberately slows his pace.

He leads me around a bland city block, and heads over to a nondescript restaurant. I wouldn’t even know that it was, in fact, a restaurant except for the tiny neon sign outside that simply said P I Z Z A. When he pushes the door open, holding it wide for me, I’m not sure what to expect.

But of course it’s actually a nice place, with white tablecloths and a scattering of people eating, though it’s only early afternoon. There’s even an impressive-looking blonde at the hostess stand.

“Hi! Do you guys have reservations?” the hostess chirps.

“We’re friends of David Gage’s,” Jameson says.

The hostess widens her eyes a little. “Of course! Right this way…”

I look at Jameson questioningly as she leads us right to a table by the tiny front window. He just lifts his brows in response. The hostess seats us at a rounded table, puts a couple menus in front of us, and promises that someone will be right with us. Then she scoots off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Who is David Gage?” I whisper.

“He’s the chef.” Jameson picks up the wine menu, squinting at it.

“The hostess seemed to think that was weird.”

“What?” he says, discarding the bar menu in favor of the food menu.

“That you were a friend of the chef.” I pick up my menu, studying the salads.

“Oh… David’s sort of…” He thinks for a second. “He’s never had a thought that he kept to himself. He just says everything he thinks, some kind of radical honesty bullshit. And he’s pretty critical. I’m guessing that most of his staff are afraid of him.”

I peer at Jameson over my menu. “But you’re friends with him?”

“Yeah. The guy’s a genius, and a riot too.”

A waiter arrives to take our drink orders and tell us the specials. Jameson looks at me.

“Is there anything you don’t like on pizza?”

“I’m a vegetarian,” I answer. “So… meat.”

He folds his menu and looks at the waiter. “Will you ask David to make us a vegetarian pizza? Chef’s choice.”

“Of course,” the waiter says, bobbing his head. “I’ll put that in for you.”

“And a bottle of whatever wine he recommends to go with it,” Jameson says, handing the menu over. “Thanks.”

I hand my menu over as well, thanking the waiter. The waiter vanishes, and Jameson and I are alone again.

“So…” I say, trying to think of something to talk about. “Have you talked to Asher at all?”

Jameson frowns. “No, not really. Your brother is a stubborn bastard. Every time I get home, he’s not there. And when I see him at work, he’s very…”

“Brusque?” I supply.

He squints at me. “I was going to say untalkative. Is that a word?”

I shrug a shoulder. “It gets your point across well enough.”

The waiter returns with a wine bottle and two glasses. There is a whole charade that Jameson and the waiter play, where the waiter pours the wine, waiting for him to smell and taste it. The waiter even leaves the cork on the table, which is something I recognize from eating at fine dining places with my parents.

I finally get a little of the wine, which is red. I turn the label toward me, and read it.

“Garnacha. Sounds fancy.”

“Mmm,” Jameson says, taking a sip. “Your brother would probably appreciate this more than I do.”

I taste it, finding it a little more bitter than I expected. I make a face, and Jameson chuckles at my expression.

“That good, huh?” he asks.

“The only wine I’ve ever had much of is my mother’s chardonnay.” I sit back with a sigh.

“You tutored me,” he says, moving his chair closer to mine. I can’t help but feel a little flutter in my stomach at his nearness. “Let me teach you how to taste wine. That way even if you don’t like it, you will look fancy when you try it.”

I laugh. “Okay…”

“Okay. First you want to take the glass, and hold it by the stem. Apparently that’s important so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the wine.”

He shows me how to hold it, and I copy him.

“Okay.”

“Next, you want to swirl it clockwise. You get a good view of the color of the wine, and then you stick your nose in the glass.” He does, inhaling deeply.

I do the same. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to smell. It just smells like wine to me.”

His mouth kicks up into a half smile. “I’m just smelling the raspberry and cherry notes. Anyway, then we taste… just take a small sip, and kind of roll the wine around in your mouth.”

Sipping the wine, I swish it around a little, then swallow.

His mouth quirks up. “You’ve got a little…”

He reaches out and touches the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb. Our eyes meet, and I swallow. I watch his eyes drop down to my mouth.

Maybe he’s wondering how I taste right now?

Then he gives himself a visible shake. “Sorry. Um… what did you taste? In the wine, I mean.”

“It tastes like wine.”

He rolls his eyes a little. “Alright. I taste maybe… black cherry, cinnamon, black pepper… but overall it’s very fruity and full-bodied.”

I grin at him. “You sound very proper. A well-mannered young man.”

He chuckles. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess. And it’s a little weird to hear you refer to me as young man.”

I make an exasperated sound. “I’m not that much younger than you are.”

“Ten years,” he chides me.

“Almost ten years. We’re not that different, you know. It’s all in your head.” I take a sip of the wine to punctuate my statement.

He sets down his glass, turning serious.

“We couldn’t be more different if we tried.”

I cock my head. “Do you think so?”

“I do. First off, I basically dropped out of middle school, while you’re getting a degree after college.”

I give him a hard look. “You dropped out of high school.”

“Yeah, but it was in the beginning of the ninth grade year. Anyway, our growing up was… very different. You were always wrapped in bubble wrap, while the world just dragged me over the rocks, again and again.”

I couldn’t really disagree with that. “I can’t help being born rich any more than you could help being born… not rich.”

I blush a little. He frowns.

“Right. There are other reasons we don’t hang out, though. Like your big brother will beat me to a pulp if he finds out that we had dinner tonight, no joke. And I owe Asher, big time. I wouldn’t do anything to mess up our friendship.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think Asher already thinks your friendship is wrecked.”

Jameson pulls a face. “Yeah, but I didn’t do anything to make that happen. That’s my point.”

“And yet, here you are, hanging out with me,” I say, sipping my wine. “Tasting the forbidden.”

He goes a little pink. I’m starting to love that I can make someone so much bigger than me uncomfortable. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Relax. I’m just teasing you again.”

He sighs. “The point’s the same. I’m like some wrong side of the tracks nobody, while you’re just… you’re like a princess who is locked away in her tower of books. You just look down on the rest of us, and pass judgement.”

He waves a hand. I feel indignant.

“I am not!” I say, smacking his shoulder. “That isn’t fair.”

“It doesn’t have to be fair,” he says, pinning me with his dark chocolate gaze. “It just is how it is.”

“What if I don’t like how it is?” I say. I lean closer to him. “What if I want to smash the paradigm? What if I want to rebel a little?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah… I’m not really in the market for any rebels, just now.”

The waiter comes back, loaded down with a freshly made veggie pizza and a couple of plates. He sets them down on the table. “Can I get you anything else right now?”

Jameson looks at me, amused. “Do you have any water for our young rebel over here? She doesn’t like wine, apparently.”

I flush deep red. “I don’t need any. I’m fine.”

“I’ll bring them just in case,” the waiter reassures me with a wink.

That wink makes me want to die.

“Fine,” I mumble.

Across the table, Jameson is dishing up the pizza. I take my slice, taking a bite. But I don’t taste it, really. As Jameson moves onto talking about a movie that he’s seen recently, I’m wondering about his list of differences between us.

Are they really that great?

More importantly, can they be overcome?

I silently sigh, indecisive.