Page 24 of Bad Behavior

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.

But of course it’s actually a nice place, with white tablecloths and a scattering of people eating, though it’s only early afternoon. There’s even an impressive-looking blonde at the hostess stand.

“Hi! Do you guys have reservations?” the hostess chirps.

“We’re friends of David Gage’s,” Jameson says.

The hostess widens her eyes a little. “Of course! Right this way…”

I look at Jameson questioningly as she leads us right to a table by the tiny front window. He just lifts his brows in response. The hostess seats us at a rounded table, puts a couple menus in front of us, and promises that someone will be right with us. Then she scoots off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Who is David Gage?” I whisper.

“He’s the chef.” Jameson picks up the wine menu, squinting at it.

“The hostess seemed to think that was weird.”

“What?” he says, discarding the bar menu in favor of the food menu.

“That you were a friend of the chef.” I pick up my menu, studying the salads.

“Oh… David’s sort of…” He thinks for a second. “He’s never had a thought that he kept to himself. He just says everything he thinks, some kind of radical honesty bullshit. And he’s pretty critical. I’m guessing that most of his staff are afraid of him.”

I peer at Jameson over my menu. “But you’re friends with him?”

“Yeah. The guy’s a genius, and a riot too.”

A waiter arrives to take our drink orders and tell us the specials. Jameson looks at me.

“Is there anything you don’t like on pizza?”

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