I pause, cue in hand. “What, babysitting my best friend’s little brother in my parent's basement?”
He shrugs. “I guess… Your mom's a ball breaker, but at least she looks you in the eye when she's talking.” He says it lightly, but I know there's pain there.
“Sorry your parents suck,” I offer, because it’s all I’ve got. It's not like I've had the happiest of home lives either.
Carey grins and jumps down from the bar. "It's nice to hear you apologize." He picks up a wayward empty bottle of soju and stacks it with the others. "We should play for stakes. Make it interesting."
"I'm not playing strip pool."
"You scared?"
"Hardly," I mutter, but the idea lingers. And I hate myself for not hating it more.
We play a few more rounds. I get drunker. He gets closer.
At some point he leans in to line up a tricky shot and his shirt lifts, exposing a slash of golden skin over his hip bone. I catch it out of the corner of my eye and like a moth to a flame I'm locked in on it with no hope of escape.
My insides stutter.
I try to look away but I can't.
Then he really leans in, stretching over the table, and this time his shirt rides up so high I see his entire stomach; lean and cut. And just above his navel there's a glint of metal.
At first my brain doesn't compute, then—
He's got a fucking belly bar.
Carey makes the shot, straightens out, and notices me looking. He dips his head to the side, his mouth slack as he studies me.
Then, like he reached inside of my head and fingered my brain, he takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it back up. Higher. Exposing even more skin than before.
"Are you staring at this?" he asks, brushing his fingers over the silver bar.
I can't answer. My mouth is dry and all the words are gone. All I can do is nod like a fucking idiot.
He smirks. "Bull's-eye, old man."
I grip the pool cue so tight my knuckles turn white.
I don't know what to say, what to do, or what I want.
The piercing is stupid, but also, it's not.
It's hot.
It's so fucking hot and it really shouldn't be.
His stomach.
The jewelry.
It's like every woman I've ever wanted to fuck, but it's him.
It's Carey. One of the few people in the world I'm not meant to look at this way.
I try to muster up some snarky remark, but all that comes out is a half-strangled; "Since when?"
"Got it in Bali. But I can't say I ever thought you'd notice it."
