Bad Behavior (Bad Behavior Duet Book 1)

by Vivian Wood

  I get there just as Jameson is unlocking the doors. He looks as mouthwatering as ever, wearing a deep navy v-neck, a dark pair of jeans, and his black Converse. He’s also carrying a black back pack, which gives me pause. I don’t think I’ve seen him with one since we were kids.

  Even though I saw him literally hours ago, I salivate a little bit and my pulse speeds up. He turns and sees me as he’s shouldering the door open.

  “Hey,” he says. I shiver and blush as I feel his eyes on my chest, my bare legs. “Long time no see.”

  “Ha,” I say. I wish I had something more, but I don’t.

  To my surprise, he holds the door open for me. I step inside into the darkened bar, brushing past him.

  “Help me get the blinds open, will you?”

  Jameson is all business right now, his mind obviously making a list of things that need doing. I’m not an actual owner per se, but being Asher’s sister, I get free drinks and food in exchange for occasional help.

  I set my heavy satchel on the bar, then get busy opening the blinds, letting the afternoon sunlight pour in. Jameson disappears into the back, probably counting money or something. When I’m done, I go to the iPad they use as a register and put some Sade on the stereo.

  As the sultry music begins to fill the bar, I plop myself down at the bar. Jameson’s backpack is right there, and it’s open a little. Biting my lip, I look up and make sure that he isn’t about to come back.

  Then I hook a finger on the gaping zipper, glancing inside. On top of everything else, there is a book. The last book I would ever expect Jameson to be carrying around, honestly.

  It’s a GED Math textbook. I push it aside with a finger, and see that he’s also carrying around science and social studies.

  I know that Jameson quit school young. When his grandmother died, he left the ninth grade to work and take care of his younger brothers. I didn’t realize that he even cared about not having a diploma, or that he was studying for the GED.

  “Hey, do you—”

  I look up, startled and guilty, as Jameson comes out of the back room. I snatch my hand back, but it’s too late to be subtle all the sudden. He sees what I’m looking at and turns a little red.

  Oh my god, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen him blush. I didn’t even know that embarrassment was even possible for him until now. He’s always so self-assured and confident.

  Cocky, at times. To find out that my perception of him is skewed… it’s a jolt.

  “Sorry!” I blurt out. “I’m just… nosy. And curious.”

  He comes over the the bar and grabs his backpack. “It’s nothing. Just something I’m thinking about.”

  “It’s not nothing,” I say.

  Instantly, I know I’ve said the wrong thing, because his expression grows guarded.

  “Not everyone has a rich family that can put them through law school,” Jameson growls, heading toward the back room.

  “Oh, Jameson—” I say, but he vanishes from sight. I push myself to my feet, hurrying around the bar. When I get into the office, I find him counting the drawer for the cash register.

  I wait until he is done, leaning up against the wall. He keeps glancing at me, aware of my presence, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

  When he’s counted the last bill, I take a deep breath.

  “That came out wrong,” I say. “What I meant was, I think that if you’re interested in taking the GED, you should.”

  “Thanks for your permission,” he says flatly. But at least he’s not growling at me anymore. He moves past me, back out front, and I follow.

  “I just never realized you were interested in it. Honestly, between surfing and working here, I kind of figured you had moved on.”

  Jameson doesn’t respond. I’m worried that I’m digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole. What can I say that will make this better? He starts pulling fruit out of the lowboy coolers, lemons and limes and oranges.

  “Hey,” I say, drawing at straws. “How much do you know about algebra?”

  He glances up at me, grabbing a cutting board. “Not a whole lot, as you can imagine.”

  “But I bet you know basically everything about surfing, right?”

  He digs a blade out from somewhere behind the bar and begins slicing lemon and lime wedges. “I like to think so.”

  “How about a trade, then? I tutor you for the GED, because I have a crapload of extra knowledge. And you tutor me in surfing, because I’ve never even touched a board.”

  He paused, his knife in the air. “Never?”

  “Not even once. Mother said it was unseemly.” I roll my eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he says, frowning. He goes back to cutting lemons and limes. “I don’t think Asher would like it.”

  “Come on. Asher’s not even talking to you!” I cross my arms. “And I’m serious! I want to learn how to surf.”

  And maybe spend a little more time with you, in less clothing, I think.

  He just gives his head a tiny shake. “Unh uh.”

  “What’s the slope of a line?” I ask. “What is the quadratic formula? Or the Pythagorean theorem?”

  The tips of his ears grow red. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s why this is perfect!” I declare. “Seriously, you could probably be ready in like a month. And I could use the vitamin D from being on the beach. It’s good for mood elevation. It will be good for both of us!”

  I hold my breath, waiting. Jameson hesitates.

  “Your brother can’t know about it,” he says. “He already thinks I’m a fuck up. Even without ruining his wedding, which he definitely thinks I did.”

  I can’t contain my grin. “Yes! You will not regret this. I promise.”

  As if summoned, Asher pulled the door open just then. He doesn’t have the I’ve-just-eaten-a-lemon expression that I expect him to, but he doesn’t look happy either.

  I’m just shocked to see him so soon, honestly. I figured he would hide out for a week or so, lick his wounds.

  “What?” he barks at me. “Find somewhere else to study. It’s Saturday. We’re going to be busy tonight.”

  He storms past Jameson, not even making eye contact with him. I look to Jameson, but he just nods gently.

  “He’s right,” Jameson says.

  I roll my eyes, then hold up my phone. I mouth I’ll text you.

  He glances toward the back, where Asher disappeared. He doesn’t say anything else, so I grab my satchel and head for the door.

  I walk the block to the beach, shading my eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sun. The ocean is there, waves crashing on the beach. I am going to teach Jameson. And he’s going to teach me.

  Hopefully, if I have anything to say about it, he’ll be tutoring me in a lot more than how to catch a wave. Smiling to myself, I wander down the beach.

  3

  Jameson

  The next day at work, I’m relieved that I’m not scheduled to work with Asher. Instead, it’s me and Gunnar opening, with Alice and Maia showing up a little later.

  I go about my bar prep silently, thinking about what a shit show last night was. It was busy as fuck, and Asher was pretending I didn’t exist. To say that last night was rough was an understatement.

  I wish I could rage about how fucked up it was, and how I didn’t see any of it coming. But the problem was, I kind of did.

  I love Asher. Straight out, flat out love him. He’s as much a brother as Forest or Gunnar. I’d stick with him through hell, if that’s what’s needed. When we got drunk at his engagement party and he said he had a plan for Cure, I was with him even though he had no idea what he was talking about.

  The problem is his fiancee. Or ex-fiancee, I guess. Jenna has always been weirdly jealous of Asher’s time. She resents any time he has to spend at Cure, throws a fit once a week.

  Then there is the fact that she treats everybody like dirt. Only that’s not even the bad part. Most of all, the way she refers to the future is w
hat makes me hate her.

  She’s always so sure that he’s going to tire of the bar, that eventually he will grow up and suddenly like her friends more than us. She’s made herself perfectly clear on this topic a number of times.

  That’s why I was so thrown yesterday when she made her move, trying to grab my cock and trying to kiss me. It just seemed to come from nowhere, but maybe that’s just some rich person shit that I can’t even understand.

  The part where it became my problem is the part where I decided to confront Asher. Rather than hear what I was saying and take it under advisement, he freaked out. Then he lashed out.

  Things have been strained for a good couple of months now, but I didn’t expect anything like what happened the night before last. Asher walking in on that, and assuming that I did something wrong…

  It was pretty brutal.

  As customers start to filter in I run the service well, not inclined to stand and talk to customers. I like working the service well on days like today, because I don’t really have time to think.

  Maia and Alice ring in the tickets, and I have to make the drinks. Most of the cocktails I know from memory. It’s sort of like an assembly line, slight variations on the same six or seven drinks.

  I do it for almost four hours, filling the time in between orders by running the undercounter dishwasher and restocking liquor up on the shelves.

  It’s not until Gunnar comes up behind me, clapping me on both shoulders, that I pause to look around. The bar is quiet, which is pretty normal for a Sunday night.

  “You can get out of here,” he says. “I’m about to send one of the girls home too. I know you guys were slammed last night. You probably didn’t get much sleep, huh?”

  “I mean, I’m fine.” Even as I say it, though, I feel the pull of wanting to leave. “Actually… yeah. I do want to get out of here early.”

  “I knew it,” Gunnar says. “I’m psychic.”

  “You sure you’re good?” I ask, rubbing the back of my head.

  “Yeah,” Gunnar says good-humoredly. “I got this.”

  I clap him on the shoulder and head to the back room. I switch out my bartender’s apron for my hoodie, grab my backpack, and then hit the front door.

  It’s officially dark by now. I walk to the beach, which is just a block away. Even though I can’t see much of the ocean, the salt spray and the sound of the waves work their magic. I take a deep, calming breath.

  I walk a little ways down the beach, my thoughts scattered. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, the first time I’ve felt it all night.

  I pull it out and realize I’ve missed a few texts from Emma.

  Hey! What are you up to?

  Wanna study?

  About to get in my pajamas if you don’t text me…

  The last one is only a minute old. I see an image in my head of her in her pajamas, which is burned into my brain from earlier this week.

  I know I need to get my mind out of the gutter, but I can’t help it. I smile a little to myself as I text her.

  I’m here. Just left work. It’s not too late to study, is it?

  A few seconds later, I have my reply.

  Nope. Wanna come over here?

  I really, really do. But I just text back: Sure. Be there in 5.

  I walk to her house, just a handful of blocks from the beach. It’s a ramshackle little house painted baby blue, and barely big enough for two bedrooms. No yard to speak of, just sand surrounded by a white picket fence.

  When I approach the house, Emma is sitting on the porch, reading from a huge textbook. Her dark hair is braided around her crown, her long legs looking sunkissed in her little short shorts. She’s wearing an oversized pink shirt and no shoes, and she’s curled up comfortably on a big gray papasan chair.

  This is really a terrible idea, a voice says in the back of my head. Just one glance at her, and I am already feeling guilty as fuck. But I shove the voice away and let myself in the squeaky white picket fence’s gate.

  Emma looks up and smiles, her blue eyes warm.

  “Hey,” she greets me.

  “Am I interrupting something?” I ask, nodding to her textbook.

  She shuts it, shaking her head. “Not at all. I was looking for any reason whatsoever not to study property law.”

  “Mmm,” I say. I look at the empty chair beside hers, stacked with a couple more textbooks. “Can I sit down?”

  “Yep.” She pulls everything off of the chair and stacks it neatly on the floor. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want something to drink?”

  I sit down, suddenly a little self conscious. The chair is a plain wooden one, and it’s too small for my big frame. I take my backpack off of my shoulder, putting it on the floor. “Uh… nah.”

  “I have wine,” she says, her expression thoughtful. “A couple bottles that Asher brought over here. Pinot noirs, I think.”

  “No thanks. I’m still trying to completely get over Friday night’s drinking binge,” I say, pulling a face. “You can drink if you want to, though.”

  She waves a hand. “Not necessary. Did you bring your books?”

  “Yep.” I unzip my backpack and pull out the science and math GED prep books. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

  “Do you have a studying plan? Certain days of the week, you study certain subjects? Or…”

  My lost expression is enough to stop her words. I shake my head, out of my depth in this arena. It’s not a comfortable feeling.

  “Okay,” she says. “That’s not a big deal. I think it would be best if we set up a studying system, though.”

  I incline my head. “If you think so.”

  Emma smiles at me. “I think so. Let’s see… how many days do you have available to study, for how long?”

  She reaches out and grabs the math book from me, her hand brushing mine. I swallow, trying to remind myself that I’m not a middle schooler, and this isn’t a soap opera. There is no hot-for-tutor thing going on here.

  I shift in my seat, willing my body to comply with my brain’s wishes.

  “Probably two nights a week, one or two hours?” I answer.

  She looks up from my book, biting her lip. “Is there any way you can do three days? And make it two hours? That would really be ideal.”

  I hesitate, then shake my head. “I don’t think so. At least on the number of days. I’ve got Cure to run, and I have to surf at least a couple times a week. Otherwise I’ll lose my shit on someone, real quick.”

  She looks a little nonplussed, but she shrugs.

  “Okay. Probably then like… a month and a half, or two months,” she says, flipping through the book. “I hope you can cram a ton of stuff in your brain.”

  “Well, it helps that it’s broken down by section. I’ve already taken the English and social studies parts.”

  Emma lights up. “Really? You did?”

  I nod.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone!” she says, punching me lightly on the arm. She wrinkles her nose. “Jesus, it’s like hitting a rock or something.”

  I chuckle at that. “Do you need me to flex for you?”

  She grins. “Maybe later. Where are you in this book?”

  I shrug, growing uncomfortable again. “Mmm, about a quarter of the way through it. I’m not feeling sure about any of it though, honestly.”

  She purses her lips, thinking.

  “Alright. Let’s start by taking the first practice test in the book. Then I can see where you’re at, and go from there.”

  “Okay.” I move a little closer to her, to see the book.

  She smiles at me, tucking a wisp of hair back behind her ear. When she looks back down at the math book in her lap, I notice the slender column of her pale neck, dotted here and there with tiny freckles.

  She flips through the book and locates the first test. “Here we go. You ready?”

  I nod. Emma asks me the first couple of questions. They’re simple enough, with the math in them easy to do
. Then I have to pull out a notebook and pencil for the next few questions.

  “It looks like you’ve got most of these down, no problem,” she says when I’ve finished the test.

  “Yeah. It’s more like… the formula you were talking about yesterday. Or that thing that tells you when to multiply and subtract… what’s it called?”

  “The order of operations?” She waves a hand. “Things like that are easy enough. Really just a matter of memorizing stuff. I can do some flash cards for you the next time we meet.”

  “Good enough,” I say with another shrug. “Now the science stuff… that’s a different thing. It’s not as easy to work out as math. Math is like… concrete, I guess.”

  She wrinkles her forehead. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re not going to be an astrophysicist?”

  “Not anytime soon.” I look down, realizing that I’m clenching and unclenching my fists out of pure nervous discomfort. Emma is so fucking educated, and I can barely get the math for dummies stuff she’s trying to help me with.

  I’m so fucking out of my depths here, it’s not even funny. Luckily, she doesn’t notice that I’m so uncomfortable… or at least she doesn’t say anything.

  “Alright, let me look through the science book.” She holds out a hand, and I plop the heavy textbook in it. “Jesus. Apparently you have to know a ton of science to graduate high school.”

  I nod quietly, and she flips through the textbook. “Oh, this is great. It seems like you have more leeway here. Like you can probably guess every other question using reading and logic. That’s no sweat for you, probably.”

  I shrug. “If you say so. I haven’t really studied much of the science stuff, because it looks impossible. ”

  Emma looks up at me, her brow puckering. “Jameson, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Seriously, that’s why it sort of blew my mind that you were going to even take the GED. When you’re ready, this test is going to be your bitch.”

  I feel my ears grow a little warm. The fact that I’m being encouraged by someone ten years my senior, for something that is so basic… it’s a little bit of an ego killer. “I’m definitely going to flunk it the first time, hard.”