Page 55 of Show Off

Good.

“Sorry to bother you, folks.” I gesture at Terce, who gives a feeble wave. “This man is experiencing a dangerous reaction to undercooked seafood. As I’m sure you know, hemochromatosis can be fatal when combined with shellfish poisoning.” I’m not sure that’s precisely right, but everyone’s watching like I’m a medical expert. Say it with confidence, and folks will believe you. MaybeIshould teach workshops. “We’ve notified OSHA and the Oregon Health Authority about the dangerous preparation methods used in crafting the chowder at Float.”

Dal drags out his phone and I have no doubt he’s texting inspectors he knows.Good.Also, I’m pretty sure that’s respect in his eyes.

“Wait.” Terce stands and starts waving his arms. “This bitch is crazy. Just some old chick who came in here running her mouth like?—”

“Misogynist!” a woman beside the one filming starts to shout. “Float is run by a sexist jerk!”

They’re zeroing in on Terce, and I step out of the frame so folks firing off pictures can get a clear shot.

“Wait—” he sputters. “She’s just some dumb woman off the street.”

A lady in green and pink shorts snickers next to us. “Does he seriously not know who she is?”

Another woman with two kids and an oversized purse stops to glare at Terce. “Shame on you.” She pulls each of her toddlers close. “I won’t be bringing my family here again.”

At the table beside us, two teens on a date stand up. “You’re cancelled, buddy,” says the taller guy. “Count on it.”

The shorter guy puts an arm around his sweetheart, guiding them both to the door. “We don’t patronize businesses with discriminatory practices,” he says. “Good luck getting any traction in this town.”

I turn to face Dal, folding my arms as he gapes.

“Holy shit.”

Damn right. “That went well.” I push in my chair, cool as can be, smiling for real this time. “Shall we go somewhere else for lunch?”

* * *

“I won’t lie.”Dal slings an arm around me in his passenger seat as a symphony of crickets sings approval. “That was hot.”

“The Bulgogi we had for the second course?” I’m distracted by Dal kissing my neck, so I barely recall what we ordered at Yoli.

“No,” he murmurs, kissing his way to the sensitive spot behind my ear. “You telling off Terce Horseman.”

“Oh, that.”

We’re parked on the side of his cabin, right under a willow that’s lush with bright leaves tickling the roof of the car. The oversized parking space for Ji-Hoon’s wheelchair leaves plenty of room for Dal’s Honda. We’re tucked deep in the shadows, a perfect setting for a car hookup.

That’s the plan, anyway.

“Wait.” I slide my hands to his chest so he draws back. “Are we supposed to be in the backseat?”

Dal blinks in the darkness. “You’re asking the rules?”

“Not rules, exactly.” I’m making this harder than it should be, but I want to get this right. “I never got the teenage car hookup. I’m not sure how it’s supposed to go.”

He lifts one hand to brush hair off my face. “I hope you’re not looking to me for instruction.” Dipping his head, he goes back to kissing the hollow of my throat. “I grew up in a city of nearly ten million before moving to one with nine million.”

Seoul and New York, he means. It’s weirdly sexy he can rattle off stats without pause. “Your point?” I moan as he kisses his way to my clavicle.

“If you’re wanting someone with experience parking his Chevy in theol’ holler down by the cornfields, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

His attempt at a southern drawl shoots a sputter of laughter up my windpipe. Pretty sure I just spit in his hair.

“Look!” I lean over his lap, dragging a fingertip through condensation. “We’re steaming up the windows. We must be doing it right.”

Dal quirks an eyebrow. “Condensation is part of the experience?”

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