Page 82 of Brittle Heart

“Why does this feel so awkward?” I ask with a smile, hoping to break the ice.

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m trying too hard to be nice and behave nicely so you’ll like me.” She shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

“Fuck that,” I say, reaching over to grab the side of her chair and pulling it close to my side. At first, her eyes widen in surprise, but then she smiles, looking up at me with her golden eyes. I can even see dark brown speckles in them. “I don’t want nice. I want you,” I state.

Her laughter fills the air, and my stomach flutters with delight at the sound. “Gee, thanks,” she replies with a playful tone.

“You’re welcome,” I say, grinning back.

“So, how does this fondue thing work?” she asks, pointing at the chocolate pot.

“You skewer a piece of fruit or whatever you want on this little fork and then just dip it into the chocolate,” I explain while showing her.

She picks up a strawberry, mimicking my actions. But instead of putting it in her mouth with the fork, she takes the strawberry with her fingers before she slides it between her full lips, letting out a soft moan of delight. I have to move my hips to rearrange my instant hard-on.

“Delicious,” she says, opening her eyes and catching me staring at her.

“I bet you are,” I murmur.

“So, you said you wanted to get to know each other better. Tell me about yourself,” she says while dunking a marshmallow, apparently missing my comment.

“Well, uhhh…” I stammer, trying to think of something interesting to say.

“Here,” she says, holding a half-covered marshmallow between her fingers and bringing it to my lips.

I open my mouth, taking the whole marshmallow and her fingers in. She freezes, looking at my mouth still around her fingers, and her gaze shoots up to meet my eyes. A blush creeps up her cheeks as she pulls her hand away.

“Thank you,” I say, preparing a marshmallow to dunk myself. “Well, there’s not much to say. I have a sister, as you know.” I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes. “We grew up in the Bronx. Our parents came to America when Sophia was a baby, and I wasn’t even a dirty thought yet.” She chokes on air for a moment before huffing a laugh. “We lived in a neighborhood with Clay and Xander, and we became best friends pretty quickly.”

I take the marshmallow I just dipped between my fingers, just as she did, and hold it to her lips. “Open,” I say softly, and she does.

I feed her the marshmallow, but some chocolate sticks to her lip, so I gently swipe it away with my thumb before bringing it to my mouth to lick it off. I notice Carolina’s eyes follow the movement, and they become hooded.

She clears her throat before asking, “I didn’t see your parents on Sunday. Did I miss them?”

“No, they went back to Korea when I turned eighteen,” I share. “They worked hard to come to America, but my mother missed her home and culture too much. Sophia and I have only known this place as our home, so we decided to stay. They bought us the house and returned to Korea.” She scrunches up her face. “What?” I ask, reaching for her hand and placing it on my knee.

“I don’t want to overstep,” she says.

I chuckle. “You love to overstep.”

“Not when I could hurt your feelings,” she admits.

“Tell me,” I encourage, gently stroking the back of her hand.

“You were eighteen, and Sophia was what? Twenty-one? Leaving you here was pretty selfish, even if they bought you that house,” she says.

I smile. “You’re the first one to see it that way. Everyone else always told me how lucky we were to have that house and no one to complain about house parties and stuff,” I reply. She huffs in response. “It did hurt my feelings a lot when they just up and left. It felt like their culture was more important to them than their kids.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it. “I didn’t visit them for a few years because of that. But I’m over it now. We fly over to see them once a year. The beginning was tough, but now I’m glad they live over there. They used to be very strict, and I meanvery. They controlled nearly everything, from our clothes to what we ate. In Korea, parents have a lot of say. I think I’d still be a virgin if they hadn’t left,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

She freezes for a second, but then she takes another marshmallow with her free hand and brings it to my lips. This time, I bite half of it. “Is that why you’re so into sweets?” She grins at me.

“Huh…” I furrow my brows. “I never thought about it like that, but it’s possible.”

She finishes the marshmallow and teases, “You mean probable.”

Lifting her chin with my finger, I make her look up at me, moving closer and into her personal space. “Smart-ass,” I accuse, locking eyes with her. Her breath hitches, and she licks her lips. I’m tempted to kiss her right here and now, to feel those soft lips, but I chicken out and settle for a kiss on the tip of her nose. Then I lean back, letting go of her.

“Tell me something about you?” I direct, changing the direction of the conversation.

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