Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2)

  GRAHAM

  Book #2 Scandalous Boys Series

  Natalie Decker

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2016 by Natalie Decker

  GRAHAM by Natalie Decker

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  EPub ISBN: 978-1-945107-38-2 Mobi ISBN: 978-1-945107-39-9

  Published by Swoon Romance, Raleigh, NC 27609

  Cover design by Najla Qamber

  For those of you who love a little scandal. Ethan and Leeah you’re the best parts of me.

  GRAHAM

  Chapter One

  Graham

  I sling back another plastic cup of beer and chug all the contents down. Cheers fill the crowded room as I discard the empty Solo on the stained rug underneath the beer pong table. This place feels like a sauna from all the heat generating off the crush of people surrounding the game. I wipe a trickle of sweat from my brow. At the other end of the table my opponent stares me down like we’re in a draw or some shit. I have to stifle back my laughter. He twirls the small ping-pong ball in his hand and then it sails through the air.

  It bounces twice and dings off the rim of the cup in the front, then rolls off the side of the table. Everyone makes “ooo” and “ahh” sounds. I smirk at the punk. I’ve only put away two cups, which weren’t completely filled, so all in all, one and half beers. Being that I’m no stranger to drinking or a lightweight, I’m practically sober. So his ass is going down. Him and his stupid Sigma Pi brothers. And yes, I’m going to make a show of it because I’m just that kind of person. Competitive and cocky.

  I’m about to make my move when a tall blond with a display of cleavage slinks up to me. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, yourself,” I say. Her delicious lips look like they need to be kissed and bitten right now.

  She runs her tongue along them, and I gaze like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. Someone shouts, “Let’s get on with the fucking game, pussy, or are you wimping out over there?”

  Snapping my attention from the sexy blond back to the asshole at the end of the table, I say, “Jealous a pretty girl is talking to me and not you, limp dick?”

  He flips me off with a growl. “Better watch it, running your mouth, freshdouche. You’re in our house.” Wow, and to think this is the best insult this troll fuck has, such a shame. Probably wise of me not to keep goading the little bitch on. Seeing as I am in “his house,” as he eloquently put it. But here’s the thing about being me: I stopped giving a fuck a while ago. So this guy and everyone else here can kiss my ass.

  I flip him off just to show him how much his piss-ass threat sunk in.

  The pretty girl leans into me. Her scent of cinnamon and sugar assaults my senses, and then her lips touch my ear while her hand skims my crotch. “I can be your good luck charm, handsome.”

  I turn to her mouth and capture it with mine. Then I pull back. “Damn right you can.” I smack her ass with my free hand and toss the ball. It drops, swoosh like, right into my opponent’s cup.

  And this is how my night went. At least that’s how I remember it.

  ***

  Two weeks later …

  In my mom’s kitchen, I sit at the breakfast table trying to avoid her scowl. Her left eye twitches; it only does this when she’s really pissed off—we’re talking level-ten-on-the-Richter-scale ticked off. Yeah, she’s there.

  “Do you have any idea the kind of trouble you’re in?” Her arms fling up. By the way, my mom loves using her hands and arms to emphasize whatever the hell she’s ranting about. I think she truly believes it makes her points come across better. Really, it just makes taking anything she says serious.

  She slams her palms on the table. “Damn it, Graham! I thought I raised you better than this!”

  I have to rein in the eye-roll. What the hell did she want me to do? Go to college and lock myself in a dorm room twenty-four seven. For fuck’s sake, I partied on the weekends in high school, and it was no big deal. Now, she’s giving me the whole “I thought I raised you better than this” speech. What the hell!

  “Mom,” I try.

  She points a finger at me. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me. I’ve gotten rid of all the liquor in the house. Bob and I have no clue what in the hell you were thinking. We’re extremely disappointed in you.” I roll my eyes. Bob and her? Really? Who the hell cares what Bob thinks? Certainly not me. This is the first time I’ve even met him. She continues to glower. “What the hell am I going to tell everyone? Mrs. Mayberry probably told the whole town you’re here!”

  Mrs. Mayberry is one nosy bitch—and my next-door neighbor. She’s the town’s biggest gossip. When we first moved in, everyone here seemed to know our entire history. My dad and mom got a nasty divorce. He was a prick and abused her verbally and physically. He did the same to me. But I still had to visit him because he was friends with the judge. He got two weeks each summer. Of course Mrs. Mayberry ran her mouth and told anyone who would listen what she would have done in our situation.

  “Maybe … maybe I should send you to your father’s for a couple of weeks.”

  I stare at her. “That’s not happening. The only way I’ll see that piece of shit is in a body bag.”

  “Graham! That’s not any way to speak about your father!”

  I rub my temples. If there were ever a time I needed a drink or some weed this would be it. I can’t take this shit anymore. “Don’t bring him up then.”

  Bob snorts. And I glare at him. I didn’t even realize the dipshit was in the room with us. He lowers the Sunday comics and gives us a sheepish smile. “Sorry. These were funny.”

  I almost tell him to keep it to himself. God, I hate being here! This town already sucks the big one. It’s really going to blow with all my friends off on their adventures. Mom and her dumbass boyfriend Bob gave me a lecture last night—well, Mom did. Bob sat there not saying a word, which is good because I would have let him have it.

  I tried to tell Mom over and over that I blacked out and don’t remember that night. But the school didn’t care. A video surfaced. Someone had caught it all on camera. Weird thing is, I don’t remember doing any of it.

  Now, my own mother looks at me with shame. She rambles on and on about how she can’t trust me, how she’s going to be watching me and driving me places. “Mom, I can drive!”

  “You can, but I don’t trust you to keep your appointments. Do you know if you miss one they’ll send you to jail? This is very serious, Graham, and you seem to be handling it as if it’s a joke!”

  I scoot away from the table. “Mom, I said I was sorry a million times. I don’t remember that night.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We just have to build from here. Go get dressed in some decent clothes. We’re going into town for some groceries, and I’ve got to drop you off at your meeting. Bob will pick you up once it’s finished, and he’ll drop you off at home. You’re not to leave the house. Do you understand?”

  I feel like a fifteen-year-old kid trapped in this house of hell. I nod at my m
om and head right to my room.

  Chapter Two

  Sarah

  Beep-swipe-beep-swipe. This is a big part of my day seven days a week. Working at a twenty-four-hour grocery store? Yeah, this shouldn’t be my life at all. What I should be doing is sitting poolside with a drink in hand and staring at hot men showing off their sexy washboard abs and glistening tans. “Ma’am? Ma’am?” A fat hand waves in front of my face, popping my daydream bubble and bringing me crashing headfirst into reality.

  I blink and smile at the woman. “Yes?”

  “These were two for five. They rang up $3.99.”

  I skim through my screen and find the item she’s complaining about. I also notice she didn’t scan her discount store card. It’s people like this that make me detest coming here in the first place. Seriously? Swipe the card, get the store discounts. It’s not rocket science.

  Instead of rolling my eyes and telling her off like I want to do so badly, I say in the sweetest voice I can muster, “It’s on sale, but you have to use your Wineminster card to get the discount. Do you have yours?”

  The woman folds her arms and says through gritted teeth, “Of course I have my card. But I don’t use it until the end of my order.”

  Resisting the urge to scream at this woman, I bite back my retort and simply smile. “When you scan the card at the end of your order, you’ll see a price difference.”

  “No need to get rude, missy. I was simply stating it was ringing up for full price.”

  I continue scanning the woman’s order. My shift ends soon, and I can’t wait to cash my paycheck and get the hell out of here. Thirty minutes left. I can go home, take a nice long, hot bath, and soak my hair in this new conditioning cream I got from the salon.

  “Hey, Sarah, how about you, me, and some butter popcorn in a dark theater tonight?” Henry says in what he probably thinks is a sultry tone, but it comes off as nails on a chalkboard to me.

  I shoot him a glare. “No.” Henry is gross. I’m not saying this to be a snot, he really is the most disgusting form of man I’ve ever seen. First, he’s like, uck, twenty-five, has acne scars, greasy copper hair, and lives in his momma’s house. She still washes all his clothes and packs his lunch for work. Can we say man-child?

  “Sarah?”

  Did Henry’s voice all of a sudden turn deep and sexy? No. That’s the voice from my dreams. Did I dose off during this order? I blink. Nope. Still awake and the old woman’s order I’m finishing up on is giving me the evil eye. As I snatch up her corn from my right, I notice a tan, muscular arm dropping three boxes of cereal onto the moving belt.

  My eyes widen as I lock stares with the same boy who has haunted my dreams for over a year now. The one guy whose heart I crushed and who will probably never forgive me. “Sarah Morris?”

  I tuck some of my hair behind my ear. At the start of the school year I dyed it from blond to a deep burgundy. I’d give anything to tell him he’s got the wrong girl, but the damn name tag on my shirt kind of makes it impossible to lie. This is the last place I wanted him or anyone from high school to see me. But here it is. The inevitable is happening. My luck really sucks. “Hi, Graham.” I smile. He fishes some things out of the cart his mom is standing behind. I drop my gaze to the register’s screen.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks in a harsh tone.

  And there it is, the dreaded question that was sure to follow. I shrug. “Working.”

  What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be in Knoxville. I know damn well they’re not on break right now. Otherwise, my kind-of brother, Kyle, would be home with a huge basket of clothes needing to be washed. Why do I call Kyle that? Well, that’s sort of complicated. See, my mom couldn’t have kids because her eggs were bad. My auntie Heather, who is Kyle’s mom, donated some of her own eggs to my mom in order for her to have me. They’re sisters. So, see, Kyle is kind of my brother in a weird way, but usually I call him my cousin.

  The woman whose order I’m totaling up scowls. “Excuse me! I’d like to leave this store sometime in the next century, missy. Less chitchatting and more pushing those buttons.”

  I hold back my snark. Part of me is ready to burst out, “Yeah, in a hurry to die or something? Calm down, there’s no need to get your granny panties in a twist.” But that would be bad employee conduct, and as much as it pains me to say this, I need this job. So instead I nod. “I’m sorry. Do you have your discount card?”

  She rummages through her purse, and it turns out she doesn’t have her stupid card. I politely ask for her phone number, and she rattles it off in a huff. Once I hand her the receipt, she marches off, pushing her cart over to customer service.

  I watch her as she points her stubby finger in my direction, and all of a sudden Brandon, my manager, comes toward my lane. Henry whistles. “Ohhh, you’re going to get it.”

  “Shut up!” I snap. Okay, I never said I had to be nice to everyone I work with. Just customers. And Henry is a horny asshat.

  I busy myself with my next order and notice Ms. Nichols’s sour expression. She probably hates me for breaking Graham’s heart last year. I don’t blame her; I hate myself too. Have for months. But there was a lot going on, there still is. It’s no excuse, I know this, but between my mom calling for money and reporters wanting an exclusive story on my life from riches to rags … I wanted no part of it. Still don’t. But what terrified me the most of everything was falling in love with Graham. So I hurt him by making out with some guy named Ryan. The kiss meant nothing. I did it to see if my feelings were real or if maybe it was me just clinging to something. Balance. Something I never had. Doesn’t matter. Someone captured a photo of it and sent the picture to Graham. I can’t change it. But if there were a way, I would.

  I scan Ms. Nichols’s discount card right as Brandon comes up behind me. He whispers in my ear, “I need to speak with you after you finish with this customer.”

  I nod as my cheeks blaze. Crap! I need this job. I drop my gaze to contain the flood of tears I feel threatening to spill over. Snatching one of the many items waiting to be scanned and bagged, I hear the familiar beep and continue my routine. Beep-swipe-beep-swipe. A deep, throaty growl stirs my attention as I pass the barcode on a can of corn over the scanner. My eyes find Graham near the end of the lane, his lips drawn into a grim line. I notice him white-knuckling the cart, his heated glare seemingly set on Henry.

  “So why won’t you go see a movie with me, Sarah?” Henry asks.

  This causes me to snort. He’s relentless. I don’t bother responding again, because I was wasting my breath. Ladies, this one here will just keep on asking. That’s why my only reply is a snort.

  I grab a pack of Powerade drinks and swipe it along. “Sarah, how is Madison doing at Carnegie?” Ms. Nichols asks. Of course she’d ask about my sort-of-sister, Madison. A year ago, this would have ticked me off and I would’ve replied with something nasty. But now, I’m actually happy to talk about her. We talk every day, and we’ve come to know each other a lot better. Almost like sisters. But there are still some things I keep hidden.

  “She’s doing good. She’s counting down the days until break though.” I’m secretly counting down the days too. I need someone other than the people I work with and my auntie Heather and Uncle Paul to talk to.

  Graham mutters something I can’t quite make out. I dare myself to glance over at him and ask, “So, are you on some sort of break?” Again, I know he isn’t, but I want to know why he’s here on a Tuesday.

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead he’s shooting daggers at Henry. Fine. Whatever. I guess Graham is going to hate me forever. I work on finishing up the order—no need to prolong this any longer than necessary. Ms. Nichols clears her throat. “Graham, aren’t you going to answer Sarah?”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I was just trying to make conversation.” I refuse to make eye contact with her son ever again. Ringing up the last item, I press total and say, “That’ll be $89.20, please.”

  She slides her card
through the card reader, and I press the appropriate buttons then off they go. Hopefully, it’s the last time I see Graham Nichols, because I’m pretty sure my heart can’t take encountering his coldness again.

  ***

  Brandon didn’t yell at me. He did, however, give me a pamphlet on customer service and told me to look it over. With my trusty pamphlet of bullshit in hand, I make my way to my fugly, powder-blue car.

  As I ease my way into the seat, my phone begins to ring. I pull it from the glove compartment and answer, “Hi, Maddy.”

  “Hey, I was calling to … Quit that. Sorry. I was calling to see how you did on your test?”

  I hear my cousin smack something and then giggle and smack something again. “Um. It went okay. I can talk to you later.”

  “No, it’s fine. Bryce is being his usual attention-whore self. So you think you did okay then?”

  She knows I was nervous about my math test, and I’m glad she’s checking in on me, but math is the furthest thing from my mind. What I want to discuss is my WTF moment at work with her best friend, Graham-freaking-Nichols. I indulge her for a bit though. “Yeah. I think it went okay.”

  “You sound … erm … odd,” she says. “Are you all right?”

  Hell-effing-no, I’m not all right! I saw Graham today. The guy I’m still in love with. The guy who will own my heart forever. The guy I purposely started dating to piss off Maddy and wound up head over heels for. Because Maddy and I had to work at being friends and not enemies with each other. I did everything in my power to piss her off. I saw the way her eyes lit up at the first mention of Graham and how she ran down the stairs to greet him. Yeah, I was a world-class bitch. There, I said it. But why was I so mean to Madison? For a long time I thought Madison knew that were kind-of-sisters and hid it from me. And I was extremely jealous of her—who wouldn’t be? Maddy is smart, pretty, talented, and she’s got a hot guy who adores her. Also, her parents are really cool people and a close-knit bunch. Whereas my parents and I are … not. The Issacs’ idea of family time is movies, family vacations, game nights—that kind of stuff. My parents’ idea of family time was throwing money at me while they did whatever they wanted without me. Until one day the FBI came and took them both to jail. Because my parents are crooks.