He’s so arrogant.
She’s so self-righteous.
I can’t stand him.
I want her.
He’s a distraction I don’t need.
She’ll say yes eventually because I’m not giving up.
Justine Porter is stuck between a rock and a stripper pole. She lost her law school scholarship, which means she has two choices to keep her life on track: strip for her tuition or tutor the most distractingly sexy guy in her class—the one she’s been turning down for two years straight. It should be an easy choice, but tutoring Ryker Grant could derail her plans to graduate with honors faster than two-for-one night at the Déjà Vu. Then again, topless has never really been her color.
She could take the easy road, just this once . . . but the deal has enough loopholes to trip anyone up.
Who knew they taught bad judgment in law school?
“I’ve got some things I need to say to you, and you’re going
to let me.”
Her brown eyes snap up to mine, surprise clear in them. “Why
should I?”
“Because you’re nothing if not curious, and you want to know
what I have to say.”
She steps backward, and I let my fingertips trail across her
skin before they drop away. Justine adjusts the straps of her backpack on her
shoulders and tucks Chewbacca into a side pocket.
“You know you want to hear the rare sound of me apologizing,
don’t you?”
Justine purses her lips, and all I can think about is the
dreams I had all weekend of her staring down at me from a stage while she
danced and stripped. My own private show. I’m not going to admit how many times
I jacked off to the mental picture. I need the real thing, and I won’t have
another shot if she won’t even give me a chance to talk to her.
I don’t know what changes her mind, but she relaxes her
posture and relents. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes. This better be good.”
It’s not much, but I’ll take it. I lead the way out of the
classroom, slipping out the side door I used to make my unobtrusive entrance.
Or at least, it was unobtrusive until I decided to share my strike-out history
with the entire class at Professor Turner’s invitation.
Glancing behind me, I’m marginally surprised to see Justine
actually following. I head for the third-floor doors to the library, where the
private rooms are. This conversation isn’t for public consumption.
The first private room on the right is empty, so I push the
door open. Justine trails me inside, and I shrug off my backpack and drop it on
one of the four chairs.
She closes the door behind her and leans against it, her arms
crossed over her chest. I’m guessing she wouldn’t stand that way if she
realized how it draws attention to her chest. I force my eyes back to her face.
I’m not about to fuck this up.
“Wow, you must really plan on groveling if you need privacy,”
she says, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Maybe I just wanted
to get you alone.”
She rolls her eyes. “And I’m already getting bored.”
“You love to bust my balls, don’t you?”
“I don’t really like to think about your balls, if you want
to know the truth.”
I try on my charming smile, the one that has dropped panties
for years. “I’m calling bullshit on that. You’ve thought about me at least
once.”
She pushes off the door and turns halfway to reach for the
handle. “And if that’s all you wanted to say, then I think we’re done here.”
“Wait.”
I’m shocked when she listens.
Justine rubs her hands over her face, her every move revealing
her frustration. “You ask me out for two years, practically blackmail me into a
kiss, then you blow me off completely, and now you’re all up in my business
again. What the hell do you want from me?”
Her confusion punches me in the gut, making me wish I could
tell her why I wasn’t there the morning I promised to help her move. It wasn’t
for any reason she thinks.
I stride toward her, pressing one palm against the door
beside her head. “I’m not blowing you off, and I haven’t stopped thinking about
that night.”
“Then why—”
I can’t give her the explanation she wants, so I try
something different.
Lowering my head, I catch the next words out of her mouth on
my lips. They’re just as soft as I remember, and I drop my other hand to her
hip, drawing her against me. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my T-shirt,
almost reluctantly, but she’s not pushing me away.
I take her mouth, my tongue diving between her lips to taste
her again—finally, but the pulsing of my dick against the zipper of my jeans
forces me to back off. If I don’t, I’ll be laying her out on the table behind
us, and that’s not what this is about. At least, not all of what this is about.
With her face flushed and her hair messy from my fingers,
Justine shutters her expression. She’s rebuilding her walls brick by brick.
That’s not going to work for me.
“What’s it going to take, Justine?” I remember asking her
the same question at the bar.
Her dark eyes fill with confusion. “What’s what going to
take?” The words come out defensively.
“With you. To get a second chance. I fucked up once, but
doesn’t everyone deserve another shot?”
*Arc provided for an honest review*
I wanna preface this by saying I love Ms March and her ability to suck me into a book and whisk me away into her story lines. She definitely didn't disappoint with this one. She delivered us another great book boyfriend in Bad Judgement. And it isn't just the main characters you fall in love with. You fall in love with Merica, her dad,all of them.
With that being said ...
I think this was the first Meghan March book I wasn't over the moon in love with. I felt like I had some unanswered questions by the time it was over, and that was a first for me when it comes for Ms March and her stories. What happened with Chad? What happened with Kristy or whatever her name was? I've never felt like topics went unanswered or unfinished..and with this one, I needed those issues resolved. While I did love the book, it wasn't my favorite MM novel.
I gave this 4 stars
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Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She's also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she's ever had. She loves hearing from her readers at meghanmarchbooks@gmail.com.
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