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The doorknob jiggled, and a woman’s voice came from behind the door. “João!”
My eyes widened, and I shot up from the ground, wiping any sign of drool or cum off my face and pulling down my skirt. João cursed under his breath, redoing his jeans and pushing me behind him with concern on his face—an emotion that I never thought I would see.
“João!” a smaller voice said. “Mommy lost her key again!”
Oh God, this was bad.
I didn’t want to be caught dead in João’s house with him.
“Should I hide?” I whispered, gaze darting around the room like a madwoman. I looked at the couch, wondering if I could squeeze my body under it if I needed to or slip into one of the rooms off the hallway—if that even was a hallway.
João hadn’t even turned the lights on yet.
“Não,” João said, reaching for the doorknob. Then, a few moments later, he corrected himself, “No.”
So, I stood awkwardly behind him and crossed my arms, knowing that this was about to get hella awkward. Who knew I’d be meeting João’s family tonight out of all the fucking nights, right after he bent me over and took me like that? My cheeks were still flushed from it, I could tell.
When João opened the door, a girl—who seemed to be his sister—ran into the room and threw her hands around his neck. “João!” She started speaking quickly in Portuguese, a language that I wished I had taken instead of Spanish, like Mom had forced me to.
A young woman walked in after her, dark circles under her eyes and heels high enough to be stripper heels dangling from her fingers. She went in to give him a hug and a kiss on his cheek, but she looked over and saw me standing behind him instead.
“João, who is this?” she started, voice smooth but her accent even heavier than his.
With his sister in his arms, João turned around and looked at me, no emotion on his face whatsoever. It was as if what had happened moments ago hadn’t happened at all—or at least, he hadn’t felt anything from it. And while I knew that was probably the case, it still pissed me off a little.
“She’s a friend.”
She said something to João in Portuguese.
“It’s for school.”
The woman walked farther into the room and placed her shoes on a kitchen chair, raising her brows as if she didn’t believe João. “I’m Luana,” she said to me, giving me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I, uh …” She glanced over at João.
João placed the girl down to her feet and ruffled her hair. “My mom doesn’t speak much English,” he started.
His mother said something to him again, brows drawn together, to which João responded with, “Não.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him, and he sighed and turned back to me.
“She wants to know if you want anything to eat. She made feijoada earlier.”
Cheeks flushing slightly, I smiled at her, then glanced at João. “What’s that?”
João turned to his mother and spoke quickly, shaking his head and nodding to the door.
The little girl placed her hands on her hips and stared up at João, brown eyes pointed. “No, she didn’t say that. She said that she doesn’t know what that is.”
His mother smacked João on the shoulder, grabbed my arm, and led me to the kitchen, pulling out a pot of black bean stew. “Feijoada.” She pulled out a bowl and a ladle, pouring some stew into the bowl and handing it to me. “Eat. Você é muito pequena.”
After rubbing his hand over his face, João followed us into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from his mom.
I dipped my spoon into the stew, leaned closer to João, and said, “Did she just call me small?”
João’s sister grabbed a bowl and sat down at the table. “Yeah, she did.”
My lips curled into a smile, and I stifled a laugh with how blunt she was. She looked so cute and so innocent. She grabbed a spoonful of stew while her mom disappeared into the back room.
