Bad Behavior (Bad Behavior Duet Book 1) Page 5

  I’m immediately suspicious. “Where is it?”

  “It’s right around the corner, in my guest house. My father is out of town for the next three months, and I don’t think my mom has even been out to the guest house since I was a kid. Long story short, I asked if I can set up my band stuff there, and she said yes.” He looks extremely pleased with himself.

  I am sure that I heard wrong. Life hasn’t exactly been rewarding to me.

  “I… what?” I ask.

  Asher reaches out and claps my on the shoulder. “Dude, I’m telling you that you have a place to stay. Until my father comes back, at the very least. It’s a palace, compared to that place you’re staying.”

  For a second, I just blink at him. I’m expecting that he will start laughing and say it’s all some sort of joke, even though Asher isn’t really like that. I stare him down until he gets uncomfortable.

  “Do you want to come check out the bungalow or not?” he asks.

  “Are you sure you’re serious?” If he is, that would mean that I can spend this month’s rent money on food and school supplies. Hell, if we can get a break from some expenses for a little while, I could save enough for a real apartment. My eyes begin to sting

  “Dead serious. Come on,” Asher says, turning toward the space in-between the fence and the palm trees. “There’s a shortcut just through here.”

  I glance at Gunnar and Forest, then motion for them to follow me. I try not to let the smile show, but I can feel it stretching my face.

  We just got ourselves somewhere to stay for a while.

  6

  Jameson

  Current Day

  I am deep in thought as I mop the floors of Cure, reflecting on that time that we stayed in Asher’s guest house. We were able to string things along for almost a year and a half, sneaking in and out and avoiding the Alderisis.

  When Mr. Alderisi eventually caught us and threw us out, I had saved quite a bit of money. I was able to pay for a downpayment on a one bedroom bungalow. I would never have been able to work and watch my brothers and still have a little money left over… not without Asher.

  And that is why I have to keep reminding myself that, until the recent stuff with Jenna, Asher’s been a remarkable friend. I’m not loyal to many things or people, but Asher…

  Asher is good, deep down to his bones. That’s why I can’t stand to see him with someone who just uses him. And also why I can’t betray him, can’t sneak around behind his back with Emma.

  Not ever.

  No matter how tempted I am. No matter my personal feelings.

  No matter how amazing she looked yesterday in those ridiculously short shorts. Every time she wasn’t looking, I was scoping her out…

  But that’s all, I tell myself.

  It’s also why I have gone out of my way to try to apologize to him for the misunderstanding last week. I’ve waited at home, but he hasn’t been there all week. I’ve tried to talk to him here at the bar, but I’ve been shut down.

  I get that he needs time to pout and lick his wounds, but he’s going to have to forgive me eventually… especially since I didn’t actually do anything wrong.

  I check my watch and redouble my efforts on the floors, trying to finish before Alice and Gunnar get here to start their shifts. I finish mopping, then head to the bathroom to stow the mop. I hear the door chime, and assume that one of the other employees has arrived.

  When I head back out though, Emma glances up at me from the bar. She’s got a stack of books with her, and a notebook.

  She also looks fucking hot, in a black miniskirt and a navy striped tank top. I notice that she’s wearing lipstick, which is normally not something I’d even see.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Hey,” she says, smiling a little. “I figured this was as good a place as any to study. You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

  I tamp down any feelings I might be having and shrug. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  Her smile slowly vanishes. “Right.”

  I head behind the bar, cutting some lemons, limes, and oranges. I keep sneaking peeks at Emma while I work. I can look, I just can’t touch. Or even fantasize about touching.

  Her dark hair is pulled into a messy bun. As she looks down at her textbook, she nibbles on the end of a pen, a little furrow in her brow. Now and then, she pulls the pen from her lips and makes a note of something.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I offer, feeling like a creepy old man.

  She purses her lips. “Maybe just a water? When I’m done, I’ll celebrate with a drink.”

  I grab her a bottle of water. I try not to stare as she gulps half of it down in one go, her throat moving faintly.

  I try not to look, honestly I do. As Gunnar and Alice arrive, I keep myself busy. I work the service bar, making drinks for the tables, and let Gunnar woo his patrons at the bar.

  As the bar starts to get a little more crowded, I relax into the rhythm of making drinks and opening beers. I can get pretty zen back behind the bar, not talking to anybody. Just being in my well, my space that I have set up just how I like it.

  The drinks are set up for a pretty automatic mixing process. First I pour the liquor in the shaker. Then the fruit juice or liqueurs. Then I top it off with ice, and shake or stir the drink. Finally, I pour it into a glass, usually straining the ice… and top it with a garnish.

  The music is loud, some BritPop remix album that Alice put on. I bob my head along to the beat, getting into my groove. I occasionally sip a beer that I keep on ice, but otherwise just keep rolling.

  Emma is definitely still sitting at the bar, still sucking on that pen, but I do my best to ignore her.

  The rush hits, people streaming in the front door. One of the great things about our location is that there’s a boardwalk just across the street. People strolling see Cure, note how busy we are, and they come in droves.

  It gets loud, with people yelling to each other and the music just a little louder than that. I dim the lights, setting the mood for the evening. I like it dark and slutty, which is my preferred light setting at most bars.

  Eventually, the rush slows, and I can slow down too. I look up to find Emma sliding into a seat opposite where I’m standing behind the bar.

  “Hey,” she says, smiling a little. Her voice is just the right amount of throaty. “How about that drink? I think I’ve been a very good girl tonight.”

  She actually winks at me when she says it, too. I can’t help that I immediately get halfway hard; I’m just glad that the heavy leather bartender’s apron I’m wearing hides multitudes of sins.

  I play it off, as if her words have no effect on me. “What’ll you have?”

  She twists her dark hair around a finger, sucking on her lower lip. “Mmmm… surprise me. Dealer’s choice.”

  I don’t really know what that means, but I remember that she likes drinks with a lot of fruit. I decide to make a Moscow Mule, vodka and ginger beer and lime. I pour it into a copper mug, garnishing the drink with lime.

  Then I set it before her. “Here. The dealer felt like making you a Moscow Mule.”

  Emma’s brows lift a little, but she leans in and takes a sip from the straw. “Mmm! That’s so good.”

  “I mean, I do make drinks professionally.” I stand back, wiping my hands on a bar towel.

  She laughs. “I know. I just meant… I thought that you might serve me something made with whiskey. I was preparing myself for the worst.”

  I grin. “You’ve never tried my Lynchburg Lemonade. It’s bourbon and lemonade, and even the girliest girl sucks them down like there’s no tomorrow.”

  A moment passes between us, where I realize that what I just said sounds vaguely sexual. She realizes it too, I can tell by her face. For a second, I’m not sure how or if I want her to respond to that.

  Then it passes. She makes it easy, rescuing me.

  “Would I want to try it?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

  “The
next drink I make you will have whiskey in it,” I warn her. “It’s decided.”

  She grins. “If you make it, I will try it.”

  Alice rings in a ticket of wines for a table. I grab it, but Gunnar comes up to me. “I’ll take that one. You should get out of here.”

  I hand the ticket over, cocking a brow. “Do these glasses of wine happen to be for that table of girls in the corner?”

  Gunnar smothers a grin and shrugs. “Maybe.”

  I roll my eyes and start untying my apron. “Have fun with that.”

  I head into the back room, hanging up the apron and gathering my leather jacket, motorcycle helmet, and cell phone. When I get out to the bar again, Emma is standing in the gaps between the counters, her satchel slung over one shoulder. She looks over at me, looking a little nervous.

  “Do you wanna give me a ride?” she asks, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her face heats. “On your motorcycle, I mean. It’s kinda late to be walking by myself.”

  Do I ever, is my first response. But I just cock my head. She’s made the walk home alone dozens of times, but I can’t say that to her. Asher would never forgive me if anything happened to his precious little sister.

  I just need to remember that.

  “Yeah, alright,” I say, keeping my expression neutral. “It’s less than a mile.”

  She smiles. “Yep. I’m just… really tired?”

  She turns her statement into a question, which makes me think that she’s full of shit. But I just head out of Cure, expecting her to follow. She’s such a flirt, been teasing me all fucking night.

  I’ll be glad to see the back of her when I’m riding away, I tell myself. But it’s not really true, and I know it.

  I go around to the back of Cure, where my black Triumph is propped up. Waiting for me.

  I start to put my leather jacket on, then pause. One glance at Emma says that I need to offer it to her instead. If we wrecked, she has a lot more skin showing than I do.

  “Here,” I say, thrusting the jacket at her. It’s better to present it as an order, rather than an offer. “Put this on.”

  She turns pink, but she diligently puts the jacket on. “Thanks.”

  I open the bike’s storage compartment, pulling out the extra helmet I keep for guests. I hand her the helmet, then pull my own helmet on. I climb on first, starting the bike, revving it a couple of times.

  I look behind me, to where Emma is standing. She is drowning in the motorcycle jacket, but it looks pretty good on her anyway. You can hardly make out that she’s wearing a skirt under the jacket, and for a second I allow myself to picture it.

  Emma, butt ass naked, except for my leather jacket?

  Fuck yes. My grip on the handlebars gets a little tighter… and I get another half-assed erection.

  Great. That’s what I get for letting my imagination wander.

  “Come on,” I say, though I know my voice is muffled by the helmet. “Climb on.”

  She looks at me with anxious eyes for a minute, then she puts a hand on my shoulder. She swings her leg over the bike, coming into full-body contact with me.

  My cock stands at full attention the second we touch. I can feel her soft curves against my hard body. I close my eyes briefly, reminding myself that she’s definitely off limits.

  After a few deep breaths of the salty air, I reach back and pull her arms around my waist. She immediately leans forward, pressing her tits against my back.

  Fuck, I think, gritting my teeth. I have to get her home, that’s the only way that this torture ends.

  I rev the engine and then pull out. It’s after nine p.m., and there’s hardly anyone on the road. I play by the rules on the way to her house, keeping it under the speed limit.

  A mile has never seemed so long before now.

  When I finally get to her house, I pull up out front. She slides off, and starts to pull the helmet off.

  Trying not to overthink it too much, I pull out and race away. She can get the helmet back to me some other time.

  Right now, I just need a cold shower and some sleep.

  7

  Emma

  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.