Of Poseidon

Uh, my mom called your mom and told her what happened. I guess your mom called your doctor, and he said it’s pretty common, but that you should rest a few more days. My mom insisted you stay the night since no one needs to be driving in this weather.”
    “And my mother agreed to that?”
    Even in the dark, I don’t miss his little grin. “My mom can be pretty persuasive,” he says. “By the end of the conversation, your mom even suggested we both stay home from school tomorrow and hang out here so you can relax—since my mom will be home supervising, of course. Your mom said you wouldn’t stay home if I went to school.”
    A flash from the storm illuminates my blush. “Because we both told her we’re dating.”
    He nods. “She said you should have stayed home today, but you threw a fit to go anyway. Honestly, I didn’t realize you were so obsessed—ouch!”
    I try to pinch him again, but he catches my wrist and pulls me over his lap like a child getting a spanking. “I was going to say, ‘with history.’” He laughs.
    “No you weren’t. Let me up.”
    “I will.” He doesn’t.
    “Galen, you let me up right now—”
    “Sorry, not ready yet.”
    I gasp. “Oh, no! The room is spinning again.” I hold still, tense up.
    Then the room does spin when he snatches me up and grabs my chin again. The look of concern etched on his face makes me feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough to keep my mouth shut. “Works every time,” I tell him, giving my best ha-ha-you’re-a-sucker smirk.
    A snicker from the entryway cuts off what I can tell is about to be a good scolding. I’ve never heard Galen curse, but his glower just looks like a four-letter word waiting to come out. We both turn to see Toraf watching us with crossed arms. He is also wearing a ha-ha-you’re-a-sucker smirk. “Dinner’s ready, children,” he says.
    Yep, I definitely like Toraf . Galen rolls his eyes and extracts me from his lap. He hops up and leaves me there, and in the reflection, I see him ram his fist into Toraf’s gut as he passes. Toraf grunts, but the smirk never leaves his face. He nods his head for me to follow them.
    As we pass through the rooms, I try to admire the rich, sophisticated atmosphere, the marble floors, the hideous paintings, but my stomach makes sounds better suited to a dog kennel at feeding time.
    “I think your stomach is making mating calls,” Toraf whispers to me as we enter the kitchen. My blush debuts the same time we enter the kitchen, and it’s enough to make Toraf laugh out loud.
    Rayna is at the counter, sitting Indian-style on a bar stool while trying to paint her toenails with the six different colors lined up in front of her. If she’s trying to make them look like something other than M&M’S, she’s got a long way to go. Mmm … M&M’S …
    “Emma, I’d like you to meet my mother,” Galen says. He puts his hand on his mother’s back and launches her forward from the stove, where she’s stirring a pot bigger than a tire. She extends an oven-mitted hand for me to shake. She giggles when I grasp it. Galen’s mother is the most Italian person I’ve ever met. Big brown eyes, black curly hair piled like laundry on her head, and shocking red lipstick that matches the four-inch heels she’s got to wear to reach the top of that pot.
    “I’m so excited to meet you, Emma,” she says. “Now I know why Galen won’t shut up about you.” Her smile seems to contradict the decades’ worth of frown lines rippling from her mouth. In fact, it’s so genuine and warm that I almost believe she is excited to meet me. But isn’t that what all moms say when introduced to their son’s girlfriend? You’re not his girlfriend, stupid. Or does she think we’re dating, too?
    “Thanks, I think,” I say generically. “I’m sure he’s told you a million times how clumsy I am.” Because how else am I supposed to take that?
    “A million and one, actually. Wish you’d do something different for a change,” Rayna drawls without looking up.
    Rayna has outstayed her welcome on my nerves. “I could teach you how to color in the lines,” I shoot back. The look she gives me could sour milk.
    Toraf puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “I think you’re doing a great job, my princess.”
    She wiggles out of his grasp and shoves the polish brush back into its bottle. “If you’re so good at it, why don’t you paint your toes? They probably stay injured all the