Graham (Scandalous Boys Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

there is no point in going backwards to try and get it back.”
    She shrugs. “If you say so. But here’s the thing I’ve learned: if something comes back to you, it’s for a reason. You need to look at it before you toss it aside.”
    I groan. Of course she’d say this to me. And maybe she’s right. But I can’t. There’s something else going on here. I’m on track with school and might actually be able to sign up for nursing classes I’ve been looking into by next fall. That’s the goal. Getting involved with anyone will just take me away from my goal or I won’t have time for them. So I just get back to work and focus on that for the next six hours.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    I’m sitting on my floor looking over my study sheet and groan as I stare at this one question that’s kicking my ass. I don’t want to use my book, because I know it’s going to be on my test. Besides, I should know this stuff.
    After five minutes, with no answer, I decide to set it aside and take a breather. I head to the kitchen and start snacking on bread, hunks and hunks of it. This is so not helping my figure, but I don’t care. I need carbs.
    Auntie Heather walks into the kitchen and smiles at me. “Hey, hon. How was your day?”
    “Good,” I mumble around a wad of bread in my mouth.
    “Great. Hey, listen. I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. What are your thoughts on that?”
    I nod. “That sounds fine to me.” I just added probably ten pounds to my butt eating all this delicious French bread she made.
    She beams. “Okay. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll meet down here in thirty minutes.”
    I smile and head upstairs.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    Dinners with my auntie and uncle are kind of weird. With Madison at Carnegie Mellon and Kyle at University of Tennessee, it’s really awkward. Besides discussing school and work, there really isn’t much conversation going on. And we never bring up my parents. Because I would honestly rather not talk about them again for as long as I live.
    As the waiter seats us at our table, I casually glance around the place, and right in the far corner is Graham and his family. I plop down in a seat and throw up my menu to shield my face. Jesus, does the boy have to be everywhere I am?
    I peer around the stitched edge of the menu. His table is too close to ours. He’s practically in direct view of it. I study his movements, from the lean in his posture to the roll of his eyes, until someone clears their throat.
    “Do you know what you want to drink, Sarah?” my auntie asks.
    “Oh, um, water is fine.”
    The lean waiter with a thick mustache asks, “Lemon?”
    “Yes, that will be great. Thanks.”
    “I’ll be right back with those,” he says with a wink at me. Gross.
    I look about the room again, and my attention falls right back on Graham. He runs his hand through his brown hair, which appears disheveled. But Graham himself looks calm and a little frightening. I’m so caught up in staring at him, I forget to drop my gaze or hide behind my menu when his eyes travel the room.
    When his gaze locks with mine, a warm swell of feelings bubbles through me. My face heats as his eyes narrow slightly. I need to break contact. A blond waitress stops at his table, and I watch as he flirts with the girl. Laughing and touching her hand.
    I think I’m going to be sick. He hates me. He really hates me. This is just a game to get back at me for what I did. I know, because I’ve played this same game with all sorts of people who did me wrong. Let me correct myself: the old me did.
    “Sarah, do you have an idea of what you might like?” my uncle asks, causing me to blink and exhale loudly.
    I glance down at the menu and then back at my uncle Paul. He’s smiling as if he knows I want something that isn’t on the menu. Of course, this only makes my face heat more. “I … um …”
    “Excuse me,” a deep voice breaks into our conversation. “Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Issac, may I have a word