Page 8 of Bad Reputation

Her scowl says she’s dead serious.

“Right. Yeah, of course,” I say, hedging. “You’re right. I have to work tomorrow, though. How about the day after?”

“I’m busy all day Wednesday,” she says in a flat voice. “When’s your next day off?”

“I have Thursday morning free,” I say with a shrug.

“Fine. Let’s meet at ten?” She glances around restlessly, clearly ready to go.

“Ten is perfect.” Ten is terrible for me, actually. I planned on surfing all morning, but I don’t tell Emma that. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just bring your books. I’ll text you the location.”

On the tip of my tongue is a question about why the fuck she hasn’t answered any of my ‘just checking in’ texts. I bite back my questions, though.

“Okay. Great—”

She’s already turning back to her shopping cart, ready to leave.

“Emma, wait…” I say.

Her dark head turns, and she looks at me, disinterest in her green gaze. “Yes?”

Nothing has ever cut me so deep, so fast. I suck in a breath, exhaling my response. “Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing her cart and heading to the front of the store. I watch her walk away, the hem of her sundress sliding against the back of her thighs.

Fuck! Stupid!I silently curse myself.

I caused this. I did it for the sake of Asher’s friendship, but it still hurts like hell.

I amble back to my own shopping cart, feeling like I just got ran over by a fucking Mack truck. I glance back, but Emma is gone.

Leaning my elbows on the cart, I putter around, not wanting to crowd her by going up to the register while she’s still waiting in line to check out. I stop for a second, and scrub a hand over my facial hair.

I know that it’s better this way. I had to break up with her. Asher would have found out, sooner or later… and his friendship means everything to me.

So I’m willing to suffer in silence. But I still want Emma in my life… even if it’s just as a friend.

We can do that, I think. We can be friends.

Right?

4

Emma

Why didn’t I just tell Jameson no?

I keep turning that question over and over in my mind as I make the drive from my house to the little coffee shop on the beach where I like to study.

Why am I such a sucker?

I know the answer, though. As soon as Jameson started toward me, in the aisle of the grocery store, I was pinned in place. Frozen, because I thought for the briefest second that he was about to ask me to take him back.

I swallow at the painful memory of feeling so weak around him, so easily destructible… if Jameson had only breathed a word about wanting me back, I don’t know how I would have said no. He burned me, and treated me badly, and yet I would’ve jumped at the chance to do it all again.

How pathetic am I?

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