Michael was too strong. I could not remove his hand from my breast, so I held it still. “Michael, no. We can’t do that now. It’s crazy. Mom and Dad are downstairs.” “Kelsey, they are asleep. They never come up here. When was the last time either of them came up here at night?” Michael had a point. Neither of our parents liked climbing those stairs. The staircase probably could not be any more of a deterrent to Mom and Dad if were a moat with alligators. When they wanted us, rather than climb the stairs my mom would use the intercom and my stepdad would simply yell up the staircase. They almost never ascended the stairs. In fact, if there was something that needed to be carried up the stairs, they would just leave it on the bottom step for Michael or me to carry up. But that was not the point. “Michael, we can’t be ‘together’ when they are here. We just can’t. We probably shouldn’t be doing this any more regardless of whether or not they are home; but when they are here, we have to. "I'm--" "Yeah, I know you," I replied. How does he know me again? "What do you like to read?" he asked as we went down the hall, as though he were actually curious to know. "What kind of a question is that?" I challenged. "Oh, just a friendly question. Didn't you ask me if--?" "I made a very specific enquiry. Your question is like some fishing expedition. I don't like people who try to pick my head." "Well, maybe I like your head. Maybe it'd be fun and enlightening to pick at it," he added gamely. I was on. "Well, you can come look at my bookshelf if you want. That'd give you a more honest answer than I'm prepared to make." ** I doubted he'd find that much to say about the contents of my shelves-- not that he wouldn't think something, but I doubted he'd share it. Actually, I kinda wanted to throw a curtain over it or something. He just kept looking over them, surprisingly at ease with himself but not being all overbearing and actually pulling the books out and looking at.
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