[2016] Bad Judgment

by Meghan March

  Is this how all those girls felt when I bailed before morning? Is this poetic justice at work?

  But all my introspection evaporates when I see Justine reaching up into the cabinet beside the stove, wearing nothing but my Captain America T-shirt from last night. It rides up, exposing the curve of her ass as she reaches to the top shelf to grab something.

  I’m dumbstruck. Silently, I drink in the vision of her in my kitchen.

  She hums to herself as she pulls down the nonstick spray and uses it on the frying pan. I still can’t find any words as she sets the pan on the burner, tests the heat, and spoons in white batter in three spots.

  Pancakes?

  Justine Porter is in my kitchen, naked except for my shirt, making pancakes.

  I must have done something very, very right in another life to be rewarded this way.

  She turns and reaches for a drawer, I’m assuming to look for a spatula, but sees me and screeches.

  “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” She slaps her hand over her heaving chest in the vicinity of her heart. But let’s be honest—all I see is braless tits bouncing in my shirt.

  Striding toward her, I back Justine into the corner of my kitchen, trapping her in the circle of my arms, my hands pressing against the countertop on either side of her hips.

  “I thought you left.” The words come out harsher than I intended from the residual anger. I hadn’t planned to say them at all. Hadn’t planned for her to know I was freaking the fuck out, but they came out anyway. “I thought I was going to have to drive over to campus and bang down your door to find out why you bailed on me.”

  Both of her dark eyebrows arch up. “Really? I have a feeling that would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, if you know what I mean.”

  “I wanted you in my bed when I woke up.”

  “And I wanted pancakes.” She twists to look at the stove and the batter in the frying pan. “Which need to be flipped.”

  I don’t give a shit about the fucking pancakes. Not when I’ve got her in my arms, all sleep-tousled hair, no makeup, and looking sexy as hell. But Justine is intent and more awake than I am. She ducks out from under my arm and yanks open a drawer to remove the spatula.

  “They can burn for all I—”

  Justine turns, and with lightning-fast reflexes, smacks me on the ass with it.

  “What the—” I start, rubbing the stinging spot on my ass.

  “They are not going to burn. I may not be good at much in the kitchen, but I make kick-ass pancakes.”

  She turns her back on me to flip them, but not after shooting me a smirk as I rub my ass again.

  A couple of minutes later, Justine slides three perfect silver-dollar pancakes onto a plate and sets it on the bar. “You can have the first round. They’re a little bit darker than I was going for on the one side, but that’s your fault.”

  I might be a guy, but I’m not completely stupid. There’s a sexy-as-hell woman in my kitchen, mostly naked, and she’s feeding me. I’m going to eat the fucking pancakes.

  “They look better than anything I can make.”

  “Then eat.” Her smile is bright and cheery and proud.

  I head for the cupboard to find the syrup as Justine pulls the butter out of the fridge. As I sit down and doctor up the pancakes, she starts another batch. I’m more interested in watching her than I am in eating, but I’m not about to let them get cold and have her hard work go to waste.

  But that doesn’t mean my brain is running down this road of how fucking good it feels to have her here.

  One night. We had one night together, and all of a sudden I’m putting her in my kitchen every morning in my head.

  What is it about this woman that gets me so tangled up? She’s different. She’s a challenge. I should be content now that I’ve gotten her in my bed, but I’m not. I take in every detail about her, but I still want to know more.

  She flips another batch and joins me a few minutes later at the bar. We eat in companionable silence until she freezes with her fork in midair, pancakes headed toward her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” I follow her gaze to the bowl of crap on my counter. It’s supposed to be a fruit bowl, according to my mother, but I’ve only ever tossed mail, keys, change, and other random shit in it.

  Justine’s gaze is locked on the Pez dispenser I bought the night before I was supposed to be at her apartment to help her move. I was headed home from the bar and had to stop to get gas. When I went inside the gas station to get a soda and some chips, I spied a Pez display and couldn’t resist. It was my attempt at being charming, and we all know how that worked out.

  “What’s that?” Justine asks, lowering her fork to her plate, uneaten pancakes still speared on the tines.

  “Exactly what it looks like.”

  She pulls the cardboard and plastic package from beneath a pile of mail and stares.

  Yoda.

  Because who the hell doesn’t like Yoda?

  “You bought me Pez?” Her eyes find mine, and disbelief colors her tone.

  “Yeah, I saw it and thought of you, so I bought it.”

  She’s holding the package like it contains solid gold and not plastic in the shape of one of the most recognizable Star Wars characters ever.

  “When?” The question is quiet, and as soon as it falls between us, I don’t want to answer.

  But I’m not going to lie.

  “The night before I was supposed to be at your house to help you move. I didn’t blow you off, Justine. Something came up and there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have your number, so I couldn’t call or text. I still feel like shit over it, and I’m sorry.”

  My apology is the sincerest I’ve ever delivered, and yet I still can’t tell her the truth.

  She drops her eyes from mine to Yoda and back to me again. “You didn’t intend to blow me off.”

  It doesn’t come out as a question, but I know it is.

  “No. Never.”

  “So, what the hell happened?” Her expression pleads for an explanation, but I can’t give her one.

  “I can’t tell you. Just know . . . if there was anything I could’ve done to change that morning, I would have.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Justine

  I want to shake a real explanation out of him, but I can’t. The proof that Ryker didn’t intend to stand me up is in my hands.

  What would Yoda do? I stare at the Pez dispenser and already know it’s going to be my favorite addition to my collection. Ever. Because it’s proof that I mattered to him even before I should have. Maybe that shouldn’t carry so much weight with me, but it does.

  Heavy silence blankets the room, and Ryker is waiting for a response. I don’t really know what to say, but I have to let it go. Move on. I can’t keep holding on to those feelings because I’ve got so many better—and scarier—ones floating inside me when it comes to him.

  “Thank you.” A smile sneaks onto my face. “I love it.”

  His expression relaxes and he leans toward me. “I’m glad.” His lips brush across my cheek, and my body heats.

  I turn to meet Ryker’s seeking mouth, not caring that my lips are sticky with syrup. He devours me as though he can’t get enough of my taste.

  I want him. Pulling away, I drop my attention to the bulge in the shorts he’s wearing. Last night we both got carried away, and I didn’t fulfill my end of the bargain. My lips on his cock.

  That’s going to change right now.

  I reach over to cup the thick length, and he flexes into my hand.

  “Fuck, baby. I want that mouth.”

  My smile is as wicked as his voice is deep. “Then you should probably go sit on the couch and lose the shorts so you can have it.”

  The pancakes are forgotten as we both stand. Ryker grips my hand and pulls me with him toward the couch.

  I’m not waiting. I’m taking. This is my turn, and I’m going to give him something he’ll never forget. Tucking my thu
mbs into his waistband, I shove the shorts to the floor and give him a push.

  “Sit.”

  Ryker follows my directions and drops onto the couch, his eyes never leaving mine.

  If that’s how he wants to play this, I can do it. Slowly, I sink to my knees with my hands on his thighs. I waste no time, gripping his shaft and lowering my mouth to the head, my tongue darting out to circle it. And still, my eyes never leave his.

  Ryker’s gaze heats with intensity and both hands move—one to bury in my hair and the other to cup my cheek.

  “You’re going to wreck me. You’ve barely started, but I know you’re going to wreck me.”

  His words spur me on, as if challenging me to make them a reality. I close my mouth over the head, sucking and laving before going deeper and taking more. I slip one hand beneath to cup his balls as I work my mouth over his cock, sucking, licking, and reveling in the swell of power that fills me as pleasure steals over his features.

  I made him look like that. Me.

  And I want to see what he’s going to look like when I wreck him. Breaking the stare, I throw myself into the blow job, spurred by his words and groans.

  “So fucking perfect. You’re gonna swallow me whole and take everything I give you.”

  I squeeze my thighs together to stem the ache growing there. I’ve never been more turned on by giving head.

  His fingers grip my hair tighter, and I work him over faster and faster until he groans. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

  The words unleash a wave of satisfaction in me. Hell yes, he’s going to come, and he’s never going to forget this moment. I keep going, taking him deeper, letting his cock bump the back of my throat. He stills my movements, holding my head in place as he fucks into my mouth with short strokes.

  Ryker’s yell fills the room as his orgasm slides down my throat.

  He drops forward, his head bowed over me. I slip my lips from his shaft as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

  When I rise from my knees, he pulls me down onto the couch beside him.

  “Five minutes, and then it’s your turn.”

  And he’s a man of his word. Pancakes and orgasms for breakfast? Don’t mind if I do.

  Chapter Forty

  Justine

  I never expected to be one of those girls. The ones who can juggle school and work and a relationship. But somehow, here I am.

  I stare up at the supreme court building and then glance down at my watch. The bus dropped me off five minutes ago, but I’ve been using the time to gather my nerves.

  I have to tell Justice Grant that I’m going to pay him back. He responded to my e-mail with this time to meet and discuss, so now I have to explain to him why I can’t keep letting him pay my tuition without making it a loan. I didn’t walk into this situation looking for a handout, but his offer was too good to turn down.

  That was before everything changed. I can have everything I want, the guy and my degree, but I’m going to have to work for them both.

  Good thing I’m no stranger to hard work.

  Squaring my shoulders, I give myself one final pep talk before I head inside with my newly drafted contract in my bag.

  He will understand, and he’ll respect me for being so honest and forthright.

  I need Justice Grant’s respect. It’s hard to explain, but it’s the truth. He’s the most upstanding man I’ve ever met, always leading by example.

  I stride toward security and make my way through the hallways and up the stairs to his chambers. The door is open, so I enter without knocking.

  “Justice Grant?”

  The interior door opens, and he steps out. “Justine. Thank you for being so prompt. I have to say I’m confused by the message. Care to explain what’s going on?”

  Sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I spill everything, starting with the most important fact.

  “I think I’m falling in love with your son.”

  Justice Grant’s eyes go wide. “Is that so?”

  I nod. “More than likely. I’ve . . . I’ve never felt like this before, and I know it’s crazy and complicated and I have no idea what else to call it. So yes, sir, I think that’s what’s happening.”

  I’ll never win an award for the most elegant declaration, but it’s sincere.

  “I see.”

  “So that changes things, as I’m sure you understand. I can’t take the money for tuition unless it’s a loan. What you’ve already paid and whatever you pay from here on out.” I freeze, not having considered another possible option. “That is, if you keep paying. I guess this could change everything.”

  He smiles at me, his expression as kind as always. “Ryker got an A on his Professional Responsibility midterm when I know damn well Babcock wanted to knock him down a peg after that stunt he pulled the first week of class. If you think I don’t know how he found the motivation to study hard enough to earn that grade, you must not think I’m very smart.” He nods to the two chairs in a conversational arrangement in his chambers. “Let’s sit down.”

  I settle into a chair and Justice Grant takes the one angled toward it.

  “I think I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m here to tell you that I consider whatever is happening between you and my son to be completely separate from our arrangement.”

  I exhale, glad he’s not whipping out a scarlet letter to pin to my shirt. “I’m glad you feel that way, but I think you understand why I feel differently.”

  He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and for the hundredth time I wish that I’d had a father like him growing up. How different would my life have been? But then again, I wouldn’t be me. I don’t know if I would appreciate everything I’ve achieved and feel as proud as I do.

  Especially right now, as I pull a new contract from my bag and lay it on the Battle of Iwo Jima book on the small table between the chairs.

  “What’s this?” Grant sits up and picks up the contract.

  One thing they don’t teach you in law school is how to do actual legal work, like draft contracts. So I taught myself using the contract he’d drafted . . . and Google.

  Grant’s gaze moves across the words, and I’m holding my breath, hoping I didn’t screw this up.

  He flips over to the second page and then the third. I included all the boilerplate contract stuff he did, including the confidentiality clause I already technically violated by telling Merica. Does that mean I’m going to be a terrible lawyer?

  His blue eyes, a few shades darker than his son’s, rise to meet mine. “You put some serious thought into this, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. But, I’ll be perfectly honest, I have no idea how to draft a loan agreement. I just gave it my best shot. If there are things that need to be fixed, I’m happy to make the changes if you just tell me what to write.”

  He’s digesting my explanation, but a small smile pulls at his lips. “You’re going to be one hell of a lawyer, but the first thing you have to learn is never tell the opposing party you don’t know what you’re doing. Act like you’ve done this a hundred times. Confidence will take you further than any other skill you learn in law school.”

  I nod, soaking up his wisdom just like I did when I clerked in these chambers during my externship. “Duly noted. If you have any suggested revisions, I’m willing to take them into consideration.”

  His smile widens. “Better.”

  Justice Grant stands and walks to his desk, retrieving a gold pen. He crosses something out, and it takes all the willpower I have not to get up and stare over his shoulder to see what he’s changing. A few moments later, he comes back and hands it to me.

  I read his familiar handwriting, interpreting the semi-illegible scrawl that I’ve missed seeing.

  He crossed out the interest rate and payment terms and replaced them with something much more favorable to me.

  I glance up. “Are you sure? This isn’t a very good investment for you, sir.”

  “Can you live wit
h the terms?”

  When I nod, he hands me the pen. “Then your signature is all that’s missing.”

  I flip to the signature page, and sure enough, his is already there.

  I lift my gaze to his once more, the gold pen weighing heavily in my hand. “Are you sure?”

  “The best investment I can make is in the minds of the next generation. You’re a smart girl, Justine, and more than that, you’re genuine, honest, and kind. You could’ve just taken the tuition and not paid it back, and I wouldn’t have been disappointed. But this shows me even more about your character, and I hope my son is smart enough to keep you happy and never let you go.”

  His words of approval warm me from the inside out. I scrawl my signature on the line.

  He settles himself back in the chair and says, “Now, let’s talk about getting you a job that will pay you enough so you can meet your obligations. Where are you working now?”

  “The business school library.”

  “How would you feel about taking a clerk position at a firm? You’d be doing research, reading cases, and writing memos, similar to what you did here, but they’ll pay you at least double what you’re getting paid by the university. The work will be interesting.”

  “Which firm?”

  “Grant Bentham Beckett.”

  Where Ryker’s mom works.

  “Oh, wow. I never considered that as an option. Is your wife back home from working on her project?” I can’t imagine a more awkward way to meet Ryker’s mom than in her place of work with no warning.

  “No, she won’t be back for a couple more weeks. You’d be working for a small group of appellate litigation attorneys who desperately need the help right now. I had actually planned to ask you if you were interested in the job after your externship, but I knew you were going to Legal Aid for the summer. Is that still your plan after graduation?”

  “Yes, if I can find an opening somewhere.”

  “Then working at the firm for the rest of the year will help you pay off a good bit of this loan before graduation. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you’re not going to make much at Legal Aid.”