Justine
Unwired isn’t the nicest coffee shop around campus, but it’s only five minutes away from my apartment. My phone says it’s 6:55 p.m., and my stomach is protesting the lack of proper nutrition in my mac-and-cheese bowl. I need to go to the grocery store to stock up, but I’ve been putting it off as long as I can. Grocery shopping is one of my least favorite tasks.
One bad thing—or great thing—about Unwired is the giant blueberry muffins in their bakery case. They put that crumbly stuff on top. What’s that called? Streusel? And they offer free samples to suck you in against your will.
I’m so busy fantasizing about baked goods that I completely miss the whoosh of the door as someone comes in, hood up, and heads toward me with a rangy stride. It’s not until that same person sits down across from me in my booth and drops his backpack beside him that I jerk my gaze away from the bakery case. He shakes the hood off and I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not seeing things.
Ryker Grant. In the flesh. He showed.
A small thrill of victory rises in my blood. I can hold up my end of the deal with his dad.
He holds up his phone, the screen facing me. “I’m on time.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I’m impressed.” I wait for some innuendo about the other things I’d be impressed with, but it doesn’t come.
“I’m going to grab a coffee and something to eat,” he says. “You want anything?”
He’s really taking this somewhat seriously. Again, I’m impressed, and I shake my head in response.
“No? You good?” He looks down at my cup, which is lidless to let the heat of the burning hot water escape. “What the hell are you drinking anyway? Is that tea with no tea bag?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a yellow-and-white pouch. “Yeah, I was waiting for the water to cool.” I peel open the paper and dunk the bag in.
“Did you bring that from home?” The question isn’t condescending, just truly curious.
“Does it matter?”
“Don’t like their choices here?”
“Maybe I just love Lipton.”
“Fair enough. You want anything else? Muffin? Scone? Cookie? Brownie?”
Torture. He’s freaking torturing me by reeling off all the things I would want but don’t usually let myself buy. And I’m not the kind of girl to let anyone else buy them for me either.
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“You gotta let me buy you something, otherwise there’s no date in study date.”
I hit him with a serious stare. “That’s not how this works. We come. We study. We leave.”
“If we were doing this my way, you’d definitely be coming. Sure you don’t want to change your mind? I promise you won’t regret it.”
And there’s the innuendo. My cheeks heat as he hits me with an arrogant smirk.
I beat back my instinctive reaction to tell him to go to hell, and instead fold my arms on the table and lean forward. We can both play this game. “I’ll do plenty of coming after I get home. I don’t need you for that.”
His mouth drops open at my reply, and this time I’m the one smirking, but it doesn’t take him long to recover.
“You think about me when you touch yourself, don’t you? You can plead the Fifth if you need to.”
My face flames hot again. Okay, so we can’t both play this game. I have to end this conversation. Now.
So I answer his original question. “Double-chocolate-chip cookie. Or a blueberry muffin. Either works.”
He chuckles before heading down the aisle to the cash register and the bakery cases to place an order. My heart pounding just a bit too hard from our verbal sparring match, I flip my book open and uncap a highlighter.
Pretend like you’re studying. Pretend like you’re not going to think about him when you touch yourself tonight.
Ryker’s still smiling when he comes back with a small coffee and a white paper bag. He sets both on the table between us before sliding into his seat.
I brace myself for more innuendo, but he says nothing as he pulls out his Trust and Estates casebook and opens it.
Nothing? Seriously? Just when I think I’ve got Ryker figured out, he throws me off.
He uncaps a highlighter. “All right, let’s do this.”
His sudden change into all business jolts me into the same mode.
I lay my highlighter down and meet his stare. “Have you done any of the reading for this class this semester?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to hear it from him.
There’s no hesitation before he answers. “Not a single page.”
“Have you done any of the reading for any of your classes this semester?”
“No.”
Even though I already figured that was the truth, I’m still stunned by his admission. It really, truly seems like he’s planning on failing . . . and why? Because he’s throwing some kind of tantrum?
“If you aren’t going to do any of the reading, why are you even going to class?”
“Because I promised my dad I wouldn’t drop out.” His answer fits with the story Justice Grant told me.
“And so failing out is a better solution?”
“I’m not going to fail. It’s more of an experiment to see how little effort I can put forth and still pass.”
My frustration grows. “And that makes sense, how?”
“What part of this is your business?” Anger leaks into his expression, and his tone takes on a defensive cast.
“The part where you’re supposed to be here to study with me and you don’t actually plan to study at all.”
He picks the casebook up with both hands and drops it on the table with a thud. “I’ve got my book open, don’t I? I’m not going to sit here and stare at you for a couple hours without at least pretending that I’m doing something.”
His admission cracks my shell of annoyance, and I push down the heat that blooms at his words. At least, I try.
“I won’t get any work done if you sit and stare at me. You’re distracting without even trying.”
His anger drains away at my unintentional admission, and his panty-dropping smile slides over his face again.
“Glad to hear I’m not the only one distracted as hell.”
“Study date,” I say, almost more to remind myself than him. When his smile fades away, I want to kick myself for a moment. That’s not why we’re here. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You missed a hundred or so pages of reading, and that would be a pain in the ass even if it was only one class, but you missed it in four. Have you taken any lecture notes at all?”
He shakes his head, all business again.
“All right, then I’ll give you my notes.”
His eyebrows go up, because it’s a pretty generous offer.
“But—” I continue.
“There’s always a catch.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go ahead,” he says.
“You’re going to start reading for all of your classes, and you’re going to catch up on the reading for the class that I’m not in—or you’re going to find someone who is as nice as I am to take pity on you.”
His eyes narrow on me. “Why would you help me out? You’ve gone out of your way to shut me down for two years.”
Shit. I knew this was too easy. Why didn’t I come up with an answer beforehand? I knew he’d start to wonder if I deviated too much from my normal blow-off behavior. Think, Justine. Think.
“Because I think it’s bullshit that you’re going to settle for a barely passing grade when we both know you’re capable of so much more. This is the easiest year we have. You worked your ass off to get the GPA you have—you can’t deny that. Why would you let it all go? Prove that you can finish what you started, and finish strong.”
I feel like a coach delivering a locker-room speech at halftime, but my words aren’t BS. I really do mean them. I would hate to see anyone throw away an opportunity like this, and given all of us who have lost our scholarships, the fact that he’s thinking about throwing away his free ride really pisses me off.
Ryker reaches for the bakery bag between us but keeps his gaze on mine. “I don’t think you’ve said that many words to me at once . . . ever.”
“Someone has to point out how shortsighted you’re being to waste an opportunity that some people can only dream about.”
Again, my words are not only the truth, but ones I strongly believe. With the kind of doors his parents can open for him, Ryker could have a life that I can’t even imagine. The more I think about him throwing that away, the angrier it makes me. I open my mouth to say more, but he raises his hand between us.
“I get it. You’ll think I’m a totally ungrateful little prick if I don’t get my head out of my ass and apply myself.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”
And if that’s all it takes to change his mind and get him back on the right track to studying and not failing, then I just earned my tuition in ten minutes. If only it were that easy.
“Then let’s make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” My tone is skeptical at best.
“I’ll study . . . but only if I’ve got you sitting across from me to stare at.”
My brain goes blank for a second, and then the thoughts come fast and furiously. First, a flash of victory. Graduation, here I come. My tuition is paid. And withstand the distraction of Ryker to get my own studying done? Finally, that dumb feeling of guilt creeps in and I shove it away. This is for his benefit. I’m not doing anything wrong.
I might have expected the guilt, but I didn’t expect his condition. I need to say something. I can’t agree right away because he’ll know something is off. Past history would have me turning him down cold.
“We can’t study together every day. Seriously. That’s . . . not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
I’m still struggling for a legitimate reason, and I blurt out the first one I can think of. “Because I like to take my contacts out, put my glasses on, put my hair in a bun, wear my pajamas, and ditch my bra.”
Of course, as soon as I say the word bra, Ryker’s gaze drops to my boobs.
“Feel free to ditch the bra anytime. It’s not going to bother me at all. Actually, I’ll be perfectly honest—I’ve got zero motivation to study on my own, but a braless Justine sounds like amazing motivation.”
Covering my chest with both arms in an attempt to escape the intensity of his gaze, I force myself back to the subject at hand. Is he playing me? Or is he serious?
I’m still not ready to give in and make this seem too easy. Strategy. This is all about negotiation. “Look, we can only study together a couple times a week. I study every day, and I can’t have you up in my business all the time. I don’t want anyone up in my business all the time. I don’t actually like people enough for that much human interaction.”
His response is so quick, it’s like he was anticipating me shutting him down. “Three days during the week and one day on the weekend. A couple extra days before the Professional Responsibility midterm, and then we go hard for all of our finals.”
When he says go hard, my mind immediately dives into the gutter. Bad, Justine. I force the illicit thoughts away and focus firmly on the subject at hand—studying.
“You know you need to ace that Professional Responsibility midterm, right? Because otherwise Babcock is going to screw you over. You need irrefutable proof that you crushed that test so if she does screw you over, you can appeal the grade. You pissed her off, and she’s not going to forget.”
He nods. “I know. That’s why I’m thinking we have to focus harder on that one.”
When did this become a we thing? But then again . . . Professional Responsibility is my least favorite class of the semester, so it’s not like I’m going to be all that motivated to study for it on my own either. Maybe this will actually be beneficial for me too.
“So, do we have a deal?” Ryker holds out his hand to shake, but I hold mine up instead. “You also have to study for the class we don’t have together. What was it?”
“Election Law. Easy shit. My dad wants me to go into politics, so it’s actually not that bad. I’m taking it pass-fail.”
“You better not fail it, because that would be moronic.”
“I can’t fail Election Law. That’s practically impossible.”
“Fine.” I reach out and slide my small hand into his much bigger one, and he grips it firmly. I’m so focused on the feel of his hand wrapped around mine that I almost forget to add, “We have a deal.”
His smirk tilts up the corners of his mouth, and I snatch my hand back. Okay, no touching. That needs to be a rule.
I hope to hell I know what I’m doing. Because another kiss like the one in the library can’t happen again. I’m getting paid to help him study, not to date him. I need to draw the line and keep it there.
He picks up a highlighter, and my eyes are riveted on the muscles of his forearm and his watch. Why is that sexy?
Shit. I’m so screwed.
Desperate for a distraction, I reach for the bag between us.
“What’d you get?”