Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2)

by Natalie Decker

  “I’m fine. At least, I will be. I just … I ran into Graham.”

  “Graham? Why would you run into him?”

  I almost snap at her, “How the hell am I supposed to know?” She and her boyfriend are BFFs with him, not me. I mean, hello! But hey, Maddy sounds as clueless as I am. Maybe Graham hasn’t told them. But why not? “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me. He mostly grumbled and growled. He still hates me.”

  “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you, Sarah. He’s just … he’s probably still a little hurt. Anyway, you were bound to run into him at some point. You most likely won’t see him again until Thanksgiving or maybe Christmas. I wouldn’t stress too much about it.”

  I roll my eyes as I turn onto her parents’ street. “I hope he never runs into me again.” Okay, I don’t actually mean that. I just wish he didn’t look at me like I stole his soul. That’s what I hope to never see again.

  “So, other than that drama, how’s everything else?”

  “Fine. Henry asked me out again. Ugh. I swear I’m going to slip poison in his sweet tea if he keeps it up. How many times must I say no before he gets the freaking clue that I’m never going out with him?”

  “Tell him you’re into women,” Bryce says.

  My face instantly heats. “Oh my God! Did you put me on speaker?”

  “I had to, sorry. I’m trying to chop veggies while talking to you.”

  “Whatever. I’ve got to do some homework. Good night, you two.”

  “Night,” they both say, and I hang up.

  Dragging myself into my bedroom, I shut the door and plop down on my bed. I’m exhausted. I should take a shower. I should go downstairs and get some food in me. I should do my homework, or start on it, since it’s not due until Friday. But I don’t. I let my eyes fall shut and sleep takes over.

  Chapter Three

  Graham

  A question plagues me while I’m at my first stupid AA meeting: why is Sarah Morris still here? She should be off gallivanting the fucking world. Modeling or some shit like that. Instead, her sunshine locks are red, and boy, did she feel like fire. I’m not getting burned by her again. But fuck, if I said one look at her didn’t get me a chub, I’d be lying. Damn woman still turns me on.

  “Would anyone like to come up here and tell their story?” some old guy asks.

  A thin woman with dark hair and three deep scars on her face steps up to the stage. “I’m Marge.”

  Everyone mumbles, “Hey,” except me.

  “I’ve been sober for ten years. It’s a struggle. Every day. But I fight the battle every day because I don’t want to go back to the person I used to be. When I drank, Jesus, I did a lot of terrible stuff. I’d steal from anyone. I’d beg on the streets. I’d even whore around for my fix. It went from whiskey to drugs. I didn’t care. I needed it. Until one night I was fleeing from the cops and slammed a car I stole into a telephone pole. Two painful days in the hospital with no pain relief, eighty stitches, and then jail time—I finally decided this was not living.”

  Oh my God, what the hell am I doing here? These people have fucking issues. I don’t. One damn night of drinking, where I blacked out, and this is part of my punishment? Listening to these messed up fuckers talk about their screwups and celebrating their sobriety? Give me a break!

  But another woman steps up to the stage. My eyes practically bulge out of my head and my jaw unhinged from utter shock.

  It’s Ms. Matthews, my best friend Bryce’s mother. Holy shit. I shrink down in my seat and hope to hell she doesn’t spot me. I can’t have anyone knowing I’m in this bullshit place, listening to these drunks talk.

  “My name is Karen. I’m an alcoholic.” She smiles as if it’s something to be proud of. I wonder if Bryce knows about this shit. “A year ago my husband left me for a younger woman. I drank, sometimes three bottles of wine in a night. I was in a bad place. I was depressed. I felt unattractive and so old. My son was going off to college, and I was going to be alone. Very, very alone. Drinking didn’t make me feel so bad, but before my son left for college, he cleaned out my cabinets and told me he’d had enough. He called one of my friends seeing me through my divorce, and they told me I needed help.” She heaves a deep sigh. “I was in denial. I didn’t think I had a problem. But I came to these meetings. And I realized I did have a problem and I needed help. I’m proud to say I’m officially two months sober.”

  The meeting goes on like this for an hour, and when it’s called short, and I make my exit. My mom’s waiting for me, so I hurry to the car and roll my eyes as she says, “Buckle up.”

  After I slip on the seatbelt and she pulls away from the curb, she asks in a cheery voice, “How was it?”

  “Are you kidding me? Where’s Bob? I thought you said he was picking me up.” I’m not in the mood for this. I can’t wait for this day to be done. If I wasn’t under strict orders, I’d crack open a beer right now.

  “No I’m not kidding. And Bob is running an errand for me. Besides, I want to know how it went.”

  I refuse to answer her. I’m not talking about this.

  When we pull into our drive, I’m practically hopping out of the vehicle. “Hold on a second. I know you hate being forced to go to these meetings but, honey, I really think this will be good for you. If you just give it a try.”

  That only fuels my anger. “I don’t have a fucking problem, Mom! This is bullshit. This whole stupid thing is bullshit!”

  She huffs. “Fine. Forget I said anything.”

  I storm into the house and up to my room. Being in here is no better though. I’m aching for a joint. A beer. Something. After the day I had, I need it. I can’t though. Tomorrow I have a meeting with my babysitter—excuse me, my P.O.—who will collect cups of my pee and tell the court how I’m following all the rules.

  I lay against my mattress and think about Sarah. Why is she still here? It’s like added torture to this grueling punishment of being on school probation! One hundred and nineteen days, to be exact. Stuck in this shit town. Let’s add one more problem—a girl you’ve tried the whole half of senior year and summer to forget about. And fuck Maddy and Bryce for not telling me Sarah is still here. Best friends my ass! It’s straight up bullshit that they’d both keep this crap from me.

  Sad part about it is, I can’t tell anyone how severely screwed up it all is. Maddy would be the first to say, “Oh, its fate.” Let me be real clear on this right now: I do not believe in fate! I think it’s just a girlish notion that makes women believe in fairy-tale crap that may or may not coincidentally happen.

  If I’d known I would be walking into this sort of situation, I’d have bit the bullet and served my sentence at my dad’s house in Little Rock. Even if the man is the biggest prick on the planet, I’d definitely would’ve taken all his insults about what a loser I am over this shit any day. But no, I’m stuck in this hellhole with my mom’s scrutinizing glare.

  I want some weed. Stupid piss test!

  ***

  Next morning, I decide to take a drive. While I’m in the garage about to get into my car, douchebag Bob walks in and says, “Hey, son. How are you holding up?”

  This is why I call him a douchebag. “I’m not your son,” I growl.

  “Listen, I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye. We haven’t even really gotten to know each other. But I’d like to change that.”

  I glare at him. This twat obviously needs to get with reality. Somehow I refrain from rolling my eyes and open my car door. He starts to say something else, but I hold up my hand. “Bob, look. I’m sure you’re a nice person. But let me be real with you. I’m perfectly fine not knowing you. Hell, man, if we never speak to each other that would be better.” He frowns. “Five months from now, you’re going to be just another face that was in this house, and another dumbfuck will replace you.”

  There. That should stop him from trying to buddy up to me. His mouth hangs open. I slide into my car and drive off.

  I’m coasting through town and hit
the red light right beside the damn grocery store. Off in the distance, I spot a girl getting out of a powder-blue car. “Son of a …” Beeep! Yeah, some asshole behind me is honking because the light’s green. I flip him off and turn into the one place I should probably avoid for life.

  Zooming into a spot next to her car, I park and get out. She hasn’t noticed me. She’s hunched over, digging out something from inside her trunk.

  “Why are you still here?” I ask.

  She flinches. I watch as her back stiffens, and then she turns those baby blues that I swear possess the sea onto me. “I … had to. Why are you here?” Her tone is defensive.

  “We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you. Did you not get your trust fund or something?”

  She lowers her lashes. “That’s my business.” She shuts her trunk, slings a backpack over her shoulder, then turns away from me. I grip her arm to stop her from leaving. With a fiery glare, she snaps, “I’ve got to go to work.”

  I don’t loosen my grip but, instead, snort. “Been working here long then?”

  “I don’t have time for pop quizzes. I have to clock in.” She jerks herself from my grip and begins to walk. “Good-bye, Graham.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  She pins me with a piercing stare. “Well, I am.” Then she stomps off into the store.

  I run my fingers through my hair. That damn girl. I want to kiss her and bend her over her car. I want to nail her to the wall and make her scream my name. And why the hell do I also want her to be in that ugly-ass cashier uniform? I’ve got no idea, except that she makes it look hot as hell.

  I check the time on my phone. Shit. I need to be at my appointment in twenty minutes. Guess I’ll have to talk to her later.

  Chapter Four

  Sarah

  My heart hammers away in my chest as I walk away from him. The glass doors slide open, and I step in. Cool air smacks me in the face, and I take a deep breath and head to the back, where the employee area is.

  I shove my backpack, along with the outfit I had on at school, into my locker then shut the door. The hammering in my chest still hasn’t settled. As I make my way to the front to clock in, Michelle, my only friend here at work, waves to me. “Hey, you!”

  “Hi.”

  “What’s with the frown?” she asks.

  I shake my head and punch in my employee ID. She does not need to know about what just happened with Graham. I hope he isn’t swarming my thoughts all day, like he currently is. I don’t want to think about his sexy smile, or his eyes, which make me melt into a puddle. And his scent—he smells like fresh rain and mint. It’s amazing.

  “Sarah?”

  I snap from my thoughts and look over at Michelle. “Sorry, what’s up?”

  Her short, dark hair swishes from side to side as she gives me a small shake of her head. I swear the woman doesn’t age—she told me she was close to forty, but she looks twenty-five. “You tell me. You’ve been staring at the machine for the past three minutes.” She smiles.

  “I’m just tired.”

  “Uh-huh. With a lustful look in your eyes? Who is he? Come on, spill it.” She throws an elbow in my side and then marches around the customer service desk.

  I follow her since today is my day to work back here. Every other day, I’m in customer service. On the opposite days, I’m working the register. There might be long, boring—or very annoying—days involved, but it beats getting carts or cleaning the bathroom stalls.

  Michelle props herself against the wide counter with all the money drawers and says, “You’re going to tell me. We’ve got six hours together, chica. You better spill it.” Michelle is not Hispanic, and I’m pretty sure she said she never took Spanish in high school. But she loves the word chica, so whenever she gets the chance to call a girl that, she does. She says it in like this gangster voice, though, so it just makes me smile and shake my head at her.

  “There isn’t a man. I mean, not really. It’s complicated.”

  “Un-complicate it. This is entertainment for me. Besides, I need something to talk about other than what my rotten son did today.”

  “What did Jared do now?”

  She wags a finger at me. “No. Uh-uh. We’re not changing the subject, chica.”

  I grab up a money tray and start counting out the bills. Each starter tray gets three hundred bucks. “His name is Graham. Happy?”

  “Very. So what makes Graham so complicated?”

  “Well, it’s not him. It’s me. What I did to him. He’ll never forgive or trust me ever again, so that’s why it’s complicated. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. But every time I try not to, there he is, popping up like a wild flower.” Especially since I’ve had a burning question on my mind ever since our previous encounter in this store: why is he here?

  Michelle snaps one of the metal latches in the cashbox and then stares at me. Like she’s waiting for the rest. But I’m not giving her any more. I’m just not. She drops another metal latch, and it makes a gun-firing sound. Normally I’d flinch, but her tactic will not get me to talk.

  After the last bar is lowered, she sighs. “For real? Fine. Listen, I don’t think this is all that complicated.”

  “It probably isn’t. But he’s normally in Knoxville, and I’m here. It’s not like I could see him everyday. And I’m not driving back and forth in that rust bucket in order to have some sort of relationship. I’ve got school and this place. Those two things take up my free time.” Really, they don’t. But Michelle doesn’t need to know that most of the guys on campus are like Henry. Gross. And around town, they’re either way too old, just graduating high school this year, or still in high school. Basically, it’s slim pickings, ladies, and this girl would rather be old and lonely than hook up with anyone just to have someone. Not to mention the whole issue I have to deal with when they figure out who I am. “The girl from the news.” “The scandal girl.” Yeah, that’s always a deal-breaker.

  Michelle lifts a brow. “So … what you’re telling me is if the boy were interested, you wouldn’t hook up with him?”

  “I can’t, Michelle. What we had, I messed up. So there is no point in going backwards to try and get it back.”

  She shrugs. “If you say so. But here’s the thing I’ve learned: if something comes back to you, it’s for a reason. You need to look at it before you toss it aside.”

  I groan. Of course she’d say this to me. And maybe she’s right. But I can’t. There’s something else going on here. I’m on track with school and might actually be able to sign up for nursing classes I’ve been looking into by next fall. That’s the goal. Getting involved with anyone will just take me away from my goal or I won’t have time for them. So I just get back to work and focus on that for the next six hours.

  ***

  I’m sitting on my floor looking over my study sheet and groan as I stare at this one question that’s kicking my ass. I don’t want to use my book, because I know it’s going to be on my test. Besides, I should know this stuff.

  After five minutes, with no answer, I decide to set it aside and take a breather. I head to the kitchen and start snacking on bread, hunks and hunks of it. This is so not helping my figure, but I don’t care. I need carbs.

  Auntie Heather walks into the kitchen and smiles at me. “Hey, hon. How was your day?”

  “Good,” I mumble around a wad of bread in my mouth.

  “Great. Hey, listen. I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. What are your thoughts on that?”

  I nod. “That sounds fine to me.” I just added probably ten pounds to my butt eating all this delicious French bread she made.

  She beams. “Okay. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll meet down here in thirty minutes.”

  I smile and head upstairs.

  ***

  Dinners with my auntie and uncle are kind of weird. With Madison at Carnegie Mellon and Kyle at University of Tennessee, it’s really awkward. Besides discussing school and work, there rea
lly isn’t much conversation going on. And we never bring up my parents. Because I would honestly rather not talk about them again for as long as I live.

  As the waiter seats us at our table, I casually glance around the place, and right in the far corner is Graham and his family. I plop down in a seat and throw up my menu to shield my face. Jesus, does the boy have to be everywhere I am?

  I peer around the stitched edge of the menu. His table is too close to ours. He’s practically in direct view of it. I study his movements, from the lean in his posture to the roll of his eyes, until someone clears their throat.

  “Do you know what you want to drink, Sarah?” my auntie asks.

  “Oh, um, water is fine.”

  The lean waiter with a thick mustache asks, “Lemon?”

  “Yes, that will be great. Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back with those,” he says with a wink at me. Gross.

  I look about the room again, and my attention falls right back on Graham. He runs his hand through his brown hair, which appears disheveled. But Graham himself looks calm and a little frightening. I’m so caught up in staring at him, I forget to drop my gaze or hide behind my menu when his eyes travel the room.

  When his gaze locks with mine, a warm swell of feelings bubbles through me. My face heats as his eyes narrow slightly. I need to break contact. A blond waitress stops at his table, and I watch as he flirts with the girl. Laughing and touching her hand.