I glance at my father. His head is down like he’s racing to fill himself so he can leave while Omma carries on like I’m not even here. “Has he taken you out yet?”
“Mmhmm.” Carey nods sweetly with noodles in his mouth. “My time outside of work is definitely… filled.”
My mother perks up. “That sounds like you’ve met someone.”
Carey takes his napkin and presses it to his lips, as if to buy time before answering. But below the table, his foot crawls higher, his toes flexing as he searches for me. Then he’s there, the pad of his foot pressing against my dick.
My thighs tense around him.
I grip my chopsticks again like a weapon.
He pushes harder and I grow beneath the pressure.
Carey puts down the napkin. “I have met someone.”
“Is it serious?”
“I hope so.”
My mother scoots her chair further to the corner of the table and even closer to Carey. “You hope?”
“I can’t force them to want me as much as I want them.”
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
But you were fine with trying to force him to call his parents.
Carey shrugs like nothing could possibly hurt him. “It’s beyond that, Eomeonim. They know how I feel, but I guess it’s just harder for them to admit.”
What's to admit? He's been living in my house since the surf trip.
I want to tell him to shut his sexy mouth, but I’m using all my wits to keep from humping his foot.
“What’s not to love about you, my sweet Carey?”
“I know, right?” That damn grin is infectious sunshine. “But there’s bound to be a good reason why they’re holding back.”
“Maybe it’s too soon?”
“Maybe it’s their parents?”
I almost choke on my tongue.
“Then you make sure to tell her that she's always welcome here.’
“Oh, it’s not a girl.”
My fathers chair screeches across the floor boards and my heart jumps into my throat.
Has he figured it out?
Did he see us beneath the table?
Is he showing his disapproval of what Carey said?
I feel the pressure wane and Carey's foot start to slip away, but I grab onto it.
I need his touch and the calm only he can bring.
