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He had heart bypass surgery a few weeks ago. It was a success, by all accounts, but the heart-healthy diet is here to stay. The pot roast is passed around the table and then placed in the middle, beyond Grandpa’s reach.
Ana laughs, the sound tinkling over clanging utensils. Abruptly, with widened eyes and clasped hands, she bursts, “I’ve got one! Where do bad rays of light go?”
All seven dinner companions stare at her like she had spoken in another language.
“Well?” she asks.
Ana bobs up and down in her seat like a kid. It is unbearably cute. Except for the part where her breasts bounce perkily.
Not cute. Not cute at all.
“I have no idea. You’ve stumped me.” Sergei chuckles fondly.
Aunt Maeve shrugs, her eyes glowing with delight. Everyone is beaming at Ana, like she is the most charming thing that ever graced this weekly ritual. She is, but still.
“Well?” she turns to Grandpa whose smile is irrepressible, having found a kindred spirit as delighted by silly jokes as he is.
They’re both giggle-snorting when she repeats the question, “Where do naughty—”
“Prisms.” My curt answer shuts down the laughter. Everyone turns my way. Expressions range from displeasure to disbelief because, although I am occasionally thoughtless, I’m never rude.
To hide my growing shame, I stuff my mouth with tasteless meat and pretend to enjoy chewing it into mush.
“Good one!” Aunt Maeve pipes, attempting to lessen the tension.
“Thank you, Maeve.” Ana sends me a sharp glare, her nostrils flaring slightly. “If only your nephew was as quick to answer my other questions.”
“Ana, please stop.” Sergei doles out a stern warning.
“What? I’m just asking about the range of variation for the angle of the tail. It really helps for terrain traversal and—”
“What do you know about terrain traversal?” I don’t recognize my own gruffness.
“Bryce!” Dad snaps. “She asked you a question. Answer it respectfully. Now.”
Heat from my belly rises to redden my cheeks. I drop my utensils and lean back, hoping to seem detached instead of out of control.
Who is the rude jerk taking over my vocal cords right now?
What idiot did I transform into, barely able to suppress the weird-as-fuck impulse to touch this girl’s hair?
What alien possessed my body, responding to every one of Ana’s minuscule movements across the table?
Without knowing it, Anastasia Petrov wields a remote control full of buttons to fuck me up.
“We use a framework that leverages mechanics via tail-ground interactions to mitigate failure and improve legged system performance.” I finish with smug satisfaction, finally sounding like a twenty-two-year-old college student enrolled in the top engineering program in the state of Ohio.
Unfortunately, my smugness is muffled by an “Ow!” when Mom kicks me under the table. Uncle Matt snorts.
“What he means,” Grandpa sends me a look of disappointment while addressing Ana, “is—”
“I know what he means,” she hisses, dark eyes sending daggers my way. “You can move blocks to get around them. So what? I’ve been doing that since eighth grade.”
“Sure you have,” I manage past the feel of glass shards in my throat.
What is worse than making this deplorable impression on the prettiest girl I’ve ever sat across from?
Feeling like an ass because I assumed she wouldn’t be smart enough to see through my bullshit. Regret mixes with the mush I’m shoving down my throat.
