Bad Judgment by Meghan March Page B

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?”

Justine
     
    Before I can call Merica and spill about the Ryker study date, her name pops up on the screen of my cell. Part of me expects a barrage of questions more intense than those the professors throw at us with the Socratic method, but apparently she can’t actually read my mind because all I get is a yawn.
    “I slept through my night class, and now I’ve gotta ask Kristy Horner for notes.”
    The name Kristy Horner brings an automatic groan to my lips. She’s the most vocal of my classmates about the fact that she slept with Ryker, and apparently had several repeat appearances. Don’t care , I snap at myself. I just wish it was the truth. I’m still deciding how to respond when Merica continues.
    “Maybe I’ll use this opportunity to strike up a casual conversation about Ryker’s dick and finally get my answers.”
    “Ugh. Please don’t. That’s just . . . really?”
    “What? You keep telling me you’re not going to take one for the team and find out, so what choice am I left with?”
    “To live on blissfully without the knowledge, continue to be happy with your boyfriend?” And let me stop thinking about the size of Ryker’s penis when I’m only supposed to be thinking about his grades , I add silently to myself.
    I open my mouth to tell Merica everything, but she launches into another tirade about the horribleness that is Kristy Horner. I stop at a train crossing, half listening, and my gaze lands on the white bakery bag on the seat beside me that holds half a blueberry muffin.
    Because Ryker wanted to buy me something to make it a date . . . even though he has no idea that the only reason I was there is because I signed a contract with his dad.
    Another shard of guilt lances through me. Nope. Not thinking about it.
    After the way our study date—no, study session—started, I expected the rest of the night to be filled with me trying to ignore more innuendo and smug smirks with very little actual studying getting done. That wasn’t the case, and it totally threw me.
    I don’t like it when people surprise me. I put Ryker into a little slot marked overprivileged douche bag , and if he doesn’t fit there, then I’m not sure where to put him. This deal I made with his dad depended on him staying in that slot.
    Instead of focusing only on my work, I spent way too much time noticing how delicious the five o’clock shadow shading his jaw looks, and how he pushes up his baseball cap and messes up his blondish-brown hair before readjusting it while he’s reading. Then there’s the way he taps his highlighter twice on a page when he’s committing a concept to