Lost

Chapter 11 Isamu

"Isamu, quit looking at the paper. What's done is done," Jackie called from the bathroom.

The front page had made its way here faster than I thought possible—a picture of us kissing plastered across it. The headline read something ridiculous like "Long-lost son returns, smooches on foreigner."

"What a joke," I muttered, grumpy.

"Isamu."

"I can be angry."

"I never said you couldn't. But dwelling on it isn't helping," she replied, stepping out of the bathroom. A bath towel was draped around her, still damp from her shower.

"For now, just focus on the positive," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like what... why you," she started, pointing at me—then froze. She realized she had let go of the towel and quickly grabbed it, but it was already slipping.

I could see her embarrassment written all over her. She bolted back into the bathroom.

"Don't," I said.

"No!" she shouted from inside.

I let out a sigh, letting my mind trace her curves, imprinting her image permanently. The more I thought about her, the more I wanted her. I couldn't stop myself. This was too fast—but I knew this might be my only chance.

"Hey," I called, standing by the bathroom door.

"What?"

"Come out."

"No."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"You didn't want me to see you naked. Big deal."

"You're not a girl. You wouldn't get it."

"What do I have to get?"

"You look perfect. That's it. You wouldn't understand."

I sighed again. She was being ridiculous.

"Stop acting like a baby," I said.

I knew that comment would get under her skin. She flung the door open.

"Isamu, you—"

I pressed my lips to hers before she could finish.

"Isamu..."

I pulled away slowly.

"Sorry," I said, turning back.

Then her arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Pressed against me, still shy, still hiding her face.

"I just never—"

"I know. But why hide from me?"

"I'm not hiding... I'm just... really shy."

I moved my hands over hers, tracing along her arms, down her sides, over her curves. I could feel every contour she allowed me to touch.

"Come see me in Texas when you get the chance," I said softly.

I paused. Usually, I'm honest—maybe bend the truth here and there—but this was different. I couldn't risk upsetting her. Feelings were already tangled up with desire.

"And then what?" I asked.

"I'd make you food. Show you how Texans get down."

I chuckled.

"I don't know if I'd fit in. I'm Japanese, remember."

"Isamu, you're the most un-Japanese, Japanese person I've ever met. You'd fit right into a family cookout."