Page 53 of The Fed Sex Man

Following his fruitless search for a non-existent fly, my father looked up. “Nasty little bastard got away.”

My mother shrugged. “They’re sneaky.” She looked at me and smiled. “How was the tuna, Josephine?”

“You know how picky I am,” I said apologetically. “It was really good, I just don’t care much for fish.”

“It was your father’s idea,” she explained. “He’s trying to lose weight. We won’t have it again. At least not when you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

She gestured beneath the table. “Do you remember when I bought this rug?”

I swallowed heavily. “I do.”

She glanced toward my foot and then met my gaze with raised brows. “Remember the problems we had when it came time to import it? After we returned from vacation?”

The process took months after she’d purchased it and was nothing short of an expensive disaster. I attempted to swallow the rising lump in my throat, but only partially succeeded.

“I uhhm.” I nodded. “I do.”

“I love that rug.” She smiled. “You’ll bring Tyson for dinner soon, won’t you?”

Coercing Tyson to come to dinner was the least I could do to escape the botched fish dinner unscathed.

I pressed my toes against the meat and swallowed heavily. “Yes, Ma’am.”