Page 42 of Pour Decisions
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.”
“Wereyoubothered 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.
