Free Bad Judgment by Meghan March Page B

anything wrong .
    “It’s a date,” he says, his smirk intact.
    I uncross my arms and grab the door handle. “A study date ,” I clarify before I pull the door open and shut it behind me.
    Now I just wonder if he’ll show up.

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