Page 21 of Pour Decisions (Stryker Family #3)

JD

I have to psych myself up for going to this business dinner with the owners of the liquor store chain all damn day.

To make matters more annoying, the sales rep chose Mable’s, which is one of the fanciest restaurants in Jepsen.

“Upscale Southern” would work if the food was as good as the Southern place selling the same foods for a fraction of the cost out of the back of some old building.

But as much as I disagree with Dad’s feelings on the direction the company should go, they’re still important clients. I have to suck it up.

I get dressed in a nice button-down and slacks, brushing my hair out of my face. Bubba is stretched out on the cool tile next to me, sighing. He can always sense when I’ll be leaving without him. He’ll be fine once he remembers he can sprawl across the whole couch without being forced to move.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, bud,” I say. Bubba yawns. “Hopefully this’ll be a short night.”

I leave the bathroom and realize I’ve forgotten my dress socks in my bedroom. Kat is playing some music inside, but the door is shut.

“Kat?” I knock on the door. “Can I come in? I forgot to grab some dress socks from my dresser,” I say.

“Just a sec!” I hear her struggling behind the door before she finally opens it.

Her hair is pinned up and she’s holding onto a partially unzipped dress. My eyes rake over her before I can stop myself. She’s put something shimmery on her skin, making me yearn to touch it. She looks pretty with or without makeup, but whatever she’s in the middle of doing already looks good.

“You look beautiful,” I say, even though that doesn’t even cover it.

“Oh, god, I’m not even fully dressed.” She steps back and waves me off, heading back into the bedroom.

I follow her. Usually I just have one or two things out on top of my dresser, like my beard stuff or my watch, but she’s put her makeup on top of it. I’ve only used the mirror there to take a glance at myself, so I’m glad she’s getting good use out of it.

“Can you zip me up?” she asks, turning her back to me.

I do as she says, trying my best to ignore the tiny strip of her panties I can spot underneath her dress. She’s not wearing a bra. I tug up the zipper and put a little distance between us, even though I stay in the bathroom. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“A date.” She shrugs and grabs a small jewelry box, popping it open to reveal some earrings.

“A date.”

It’s fine. This is fine. She’s allowed to go on dates. Didn’t we say we were friends? Just friends?

Everything felt so logical after that night. We fooled around, realized we were making the same mistakes of the past, and decided on a rational path forward. I fucked up our first chance together, and she doesn’t want to risk a second one. But any shred of rationality has flown out the window.

I don’t want her to go on this date. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find that she’s stayed the night somewhere else. I don’t want another man to peel off this pretty peach-pink dress and touch and taste her the way I’m fucking dying to.

My face doesn’t say it’s fine at all, and she locks eyes with me in the mirror. She blinks, then looks down at the sink.

“We decided we were friends, JD” she says softly, arranging some stuff on the counter in front of her but not picking anything up.

“I know.” I swallow.

“So what’s with the look on your face?” She raises an eyebrow. “I can go on a date with someone.”

“Doesn’t mean I like the idea,” I say before I can reconsider.

“That’s too bad.” Her jaw tightens a little bit and she presses her plush lips together like she’s trying to stop herself from saying something.

“I need to go anyway.” I check my phone and avoid the look she’s giving me. “See you later.”

I leave off the tonight and make my way to my car before we can bicker about it further.

The drive into town is too short for me to fully get my head on right, so I sit in the parking lot for a second.

I have to park far. There must be some event going on in town because every single spot I’d normally go to on a busy night is full.

I review the short bio of Judd Wright, one of the men we’re meeting with, that my assistant sent me. He’s basically my dad—the son of a founder of a chain of liquor stores, close to retirement, with a son who’s a bit older than me. His son, Wilson, is following in his footsteps.

I blow a breath out through my nose. I’m not sure what we’ll discuss, but I know I have a long night ahead.

I go into the restaurant, which is bustling with activity even this early.

It’s odd seeing the people of Jepsen dressed in their finer clothes in a dark, more formal setting.

Every other spot in town is pretty casual.

A host points me to where Dad, Judd, and Wilson are.

They already have drinks, and Wilson is laughing at something.

He looks like a douchebag, honestly, but I can work with that.

“John David. Finally here,” Dad says. I discreetly check the time. I’m not late, but apparently that’s not good enough. “Meet Judd and Wilson Wright.”

I shake their hands and take a seat, which faces the rest of the room.

“We were just talking about how good it is to have such local presence.” Dad holds up his glass. “They serve our bourbon.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” I glance over the menu.

Wilson is chatty and starts talking, so I just nod along and listen. He’s exhausting, and the idea of working with him any more than I absolutely have to makes me want to drown myself in this bourbon cocktail. It isn’t particularly good either, so I sip at it slowly.

My eyes start to drift across the restaurant. Couples, their age range skewing a bit older, are most of the crowd, with a few groups of friends and maybe families.

And Katrina, standing near the door with a man I don’t recognize.

I tense and look away for a moment before I look back against my better judgment.

I hardly take in a single detail about the guy she’s with besides the fact that I don’t want him there, and that he’s touching her.

His hand is just low enough on her back to be flirty, but not so low that it’s impolite. At least to most people.

The surge of ugly possessiveness that comes over me nearly doubles me over. I’m well aware that she’s dated other men—married another man—but knowing and seeing are two different things. And the latter is going to fucking kill me.

It just feels wrong to see, period.

The feelings are so ugly and illogical and instinctual. We just had a conversation about this, and she was annoyed that I was possessive.

I take a long sip of my terrible cocktail and force myself to focus on the conversation at hand.

My focus lasts for all of fifteen seconds.

Does she like this guy? She’s smiling, but she always smiles. Is it a genuine one?

I nod along and mirror what Dad does, my mind completely elsewhere.

I watch everything Katrina eats and drinks.

Every reaction and micro expression that could confirm or deny that she’s having a decent time with some other guy.

No matter how many times I tell myself she’s doing what’s probably best for us both.

Katrina stands up, tugging her dress back into place, and starts toward the bathroom. She spots me, her brows shooting up as she stumbles. Her eyes dart away from mine and she keeps walking.

I make myself stay in place, but when she returns to her seat, she’s shifted enough for me to see her face.

Her smile isn’t natural, which her date doesn’t notice.

He’s too busy talking. His hand extends across the table and touches hers.

She flinches, but keeps it there and looks straight at me.

Like she’s trying to make me jealous on purpose.

The fire that’s been slowly burning inside me ignites into something even more intense. Any cap to my emotions is starting to melt under the pressure. I want to keep it locked down, but it’s like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

We start to wrap up our meal, and so does Katrina and her date. There’s no way she had a good time. I know her when she’s having fun—she’s dynamic and animated. Not stilted with a smile.

Her expression warps into one of mild disgust, but when she notices me looking, she schools it back into something neutral. What the fuck did this guy say to her?

On our way out, I half focus on saying goodbye to our guests, and half on what she’s saying to this guy.

“We should do this again sometime,” he says, standing way too fucking close to her, his hand on her upper arm.

I can tell that she senses me eavesdropping.

“I’ll text you,” she says. Relief washes over me, just a tiny bit. Not a yes or a no.

I manage to choke through my goodbyes with the guests.

“What’s your problem?” Dad asks when we’re out of earshot of our guests. “You need to focus, JD.”

“I know. Sorry. Just a long day.” I clear my throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Thankfully Dad is a man of few words, so he heads in the opposite direction to his car. Katrina is walking the opposite way from him, in the same direction as my car, so I jog after her.

“Kat,” I say.

“What the fuck is your problem, JD?” she asks, all hints of her typical warmth gone. “Why were you staring me down my whole date?”

“Because it looked like you were having a bad time.”

“Maybe because you were creeping on us.” She looks back down at her phone, picking up her pace. She’s not short by any means, but she’s shorter than me, so I catch up with a few long strides and lightly touch her shoulder.

“Or because he was touching you?” I ask. “Your hand. Your lower back.”

She stops, glaring up at me. “I think you’re bothered by that too.”

“Were you bothered by it?”

Her eyes narrow and she huffs. “JD.”

“I’m just worried about creeps, Katrina,” I say. We turn a corner toward the far lot, which has cleared out in the time since we both got to the restaurant. “When I see you having a bad night, I fucking care.”

“I think you just care because you’re not the one with me,” she says.

It’s the first time she’s openly acknowledged my feelings for her. Having it out in the open is a relief, like we’ve literally accepted the elephant in the room with our words and not just our bodies.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I finally say. “I hate seeing it. I really fucking hate seeing it.”

She stops, leaning against the side of my car, and closes her eyes.

“JD,” she says, her voice quiet. “Please.”

“Please, what?” I put one hand next to her head, then the other on the opposite side so she’s boxed in. “Because if you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume you’re asking me to give in to what I’ve been needing to do since the last time we touched.”

She looks up at me, then at my lips, and doesn’t say anything.

We’ve already turned on the ignition, and I hit the gas.

I cup the back of her neck and kiss her, not bothering to start slow or gentle. We’ve had our slow and gentle times, but right now I’m so hungry for her that I can’t wait. I need to make up for lost time before both of us realize that this might not be the best idea.

She melts into the side of my car, pulling me closer with one hand so I’m pressing against her. Her hips lightly swirl. Just that light touch makes me hard for her, right out here where someone could possibly see us. I don’t even care right now.

“This fucking dress. Your perfume,” I say, kissing my way down the side of her neck. “God, kitten, you’re going to kill me.”

“If I kill you, you won’t be able to get on your knees for me,” she says, her hand running over the bulge in my pants. “And that wouldn’t be fun.”

I nearly drop to my knees for her right on the gravel. If cars weren’t going by, I’d do it. I’d bury my face between her thighs and finally quench the thirst that’s been eating away at me for ages.

But instead, I drag her around to the other side of the car, shielding us from view. She gives me a wild-eyed, confused look that I smother with a kiss. I forgot how perfect we fit together, her curves soft.

“JD…?” Kat’s voice holds a question as I press her to the other side of my car, nipping her neck.

“What?” I slide my hand up her leg, under the short hem of her dress. “I can’t get on my knees in this parking lot, but I can get a lot done with my fingers.”

She sucks in a breath and parts her legs just enough for me to slip a hand between them.

Her panties are plain cotton, not even a little bow on them from what I can feel.

I slip a finger underneath and find her soaked already.

As natural as taking a walk, I slide two inside her and move them just the way she likes.

I have to clap my other hand over her mouth before she cries out—being quiet was never either of our strong suits. We’re playing with fire, and I’m way too hazy with lust to give a shit.

She arches her back as I fuck her harder with my fingers the way she likes. The first time she told me how she liked it, I worried that I’d hurt her, but no. She might be soft and sweet in other ways, but she likes everything behind closed doors rough and heavy.

“Gonna…” she mumbles behind my hand, her fingers digging deep into my shirt and her legs shaking.

“Do it,” I say into her ear.

She falls apart hard, gasping against my hand. Tears stream down her face as she clenches around me, feverishly hot and wet. She manages not to make much noise, and the effort of holding back has her nearly crumpling on the ground once she comes down from her high.

Seeing her pleasure is just the beginning. I need to be deep inside her, skin to skin. And I don’t plan to let her out of my bed.

“Drive us home,” she says, breathless and trying to get her footing like a foal.

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.