Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Challenge accepted.” Fire ignites in the depths of his eyes, and it’s almost a crime how bright they are.
“You guys seem so close,” Mom says with the same knowing look from earlier.
“He’s just a student,” I say.
“We’re not,” Carson says at the same time, then smiles at Mom. “He’s kind of a dictator, actually. It’s hard to imagine how he never got your guys’ cool temper.”
“That’s because we didn’t really raise him.” Mom’s fingers tremble around her spoon. “Well, not all the time, anyway. He was brought up by his dad.”
Her expression sours, and Mom Jina strokes her hand gently.
“I’m sorry for bringing up something that upsets you,” Carson says. “He’s still lucky to have you.”
“We’re lucky to have him.” Mom side-hugs me. “Don’t worry us again. I know accidents happen, but be careful.”
“I will.”
“It was an accident?” Carson narrows his eyes. “I thought you were sick.”
“Oh, it was this bad accident. Thank God the car took the hit and he only suffered from bruises and stuff, but it was scary as hell and we rushed here immediately.” Mom, the resident oversharer, ladies and gentlemen. And this is after I practically begged her not to say anything.
“That must’ve been a shock.” He shows my mom his most sympathetic look, but then he glares at me for a fraction of a second. “We were also so worried.”
If I went by his tone alone, I would believe him, but then again, why would I want to believe him?
“I didn’t know Professor Lockwood drives,” he veers the conversation again. “He usually walks to campus.”
“Just because you don’t see me drive doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes,” I say before my moms share any unnecessary details.
Like I’ve been in the States, not in Switzerland like I told him. Partly to be Julian’s lab rat and to take care of the Grant problem, even temporarily.
Carson gives me a mysterious look, but then he tactfully changes the subject. He talks about his family and his mom and how close he is to his dad and grandfather. He puts all his qualities at the forefront, shamelessly using his golden boy persona to charm his audience.
I’m immune to that, but I can’t help listening to him talk. His cool voice and delivery are top notch, and he’d make an excellent attorney—but he won’t hear that from me.
Mom is definitely under his spell while Mom Jina tries and fails not to like him. She even starts putting food in his bowl, which is a clear indicator of her feelings.
If she feeds you, she cares about you.
Once Carson senses they’ve warmed up to him, he switches tactics and starts asking about me.
“I’ve been curious, actually.” He takes a sip of water. “When did Professor Lockwood’s love for law start?”
“College years, wasn’t it?” Mom says.
Carson tops off her glass of wine. “I can picture him being the best in his class.”
“Of course he was,” Mom Jina says proudly. “No one could beat my boy.”
“That’s impressive. Maybe the reason he chose teaching law instead of practicing it is because he wants to help others achieve that,” he says with a smile.
“Practicing?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, Mom. I don’t do that much anymore, remember?” I keep my cool, because I should’ve seen the little prick’s tricks from a mile away. He’s been asking seemingly harmless questions but digging deeper every time.
I really underestimated his ability to charm people.
So I expertly change the subject, but he somehow returns to his line of questioning. It’s a seemingly endless tug-of-war until the end of dinner.
He jumps to help Mom, making her smile wide when he compliments her red scarf.
“That boy of yours better watch it and stop flirting with my wife,” Mom Jina mutters under her breath in Korean as she takes a sip of wine.
“He’s not a boy of mine, Mom,” I say in the same language, which makes Carson gawk at me before he focuses back on something Mom says.
“You want me to think he’s just a student?” She gives me a look that says, I was in the room when you were born, boy, don’t be trying to be a smart-ass.
“What else could he be?”
“A little boyfriend.”
“I’m not gay. You know that.”
“Gay or straight or bi, who cares? Feelings have no sexuality.”
I drop my glass on the table and try not to appear pissed off. “I absolutely have no feelings for him. The fuck, Mom? Aside from being a guy, he’s a kid. Like, over-eleven-years-younger-than-me kid.”
“He’s old enough, and feelings have no age limit.”
“I said. There are no feelings.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t seen you this carefree in a long time, and you look at him differently. Even more fondly than you used to look at—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Mom. Just don’t.”
“Are you scared of the sentence itself or what it means?” When I say nothing, she sighs, stands up, and hugs my head to her chest. “I don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re hoping to achieve, but maybe it’s time to let go, my boy.”