Chapter One

 

I pulled up in front of Mia's place and put the car in park, then pulled out my cell phone and texted her, "Here!"

I turned to skim the latest entertainment news as I waited for her to come out, but then the text signal sounded, and her text said that I should come in. I sighed and turned off the ignition, glad I had made sure I wasn't wearing anything that her parents might take issue with, at least, that they could see.

Her parents lived in a two-bedroom apartment with Mia, her sister Shan, and her brother Joey. Joey was fourteen while Mia was five years older, and Shan was in the middle. Nevertheless, the way they worked the sleeping arrangements was that Joey got the bedroom while her father had placed curtains around part of what had been the dining room for the two girls.

The cordoned-off part was barely big enough for a bunkbed, and a pair of dressers, less than half the space Joey had. This didn't make any sense to me, but it made perfect sense to her family, because boys were valuable, and girls were not.

She had long ago warned me not to question anything her parents said or did. Girls were not supposed to question. They were supposed to be modest and meek and do what they were told and show respect to any male around, and especially their elders.

Mia's parents had been born and raised in China. Mia was born there too, but the family came to America when she was just two years old. Needless to say, she was not happy with her parents' cultural views.

She was constantly bitching to me about the way they treated her, seething about the difference between how they treated her brother as opposed to her and her sister. She'd given up arguing with them, though. She just meekly nodded her head in agreement at whatever they told her, then fumed about it later with me.

Her one act of open rebellion had been when she had cut her waist-length hair to about collar length in a cute, layered shag style. It really looked nice on her, and a lot more modern. Unfortunately, her parents were not much into modern, and she had done it without asking permission because she never would've gotten it.

She had been grounded ever since. She had to bitch about that by text and emails because there was nowhere in the apartment she could talk without someone overhearing her. Her parents pretty much figured they owned her, especially since her father was putting her through university.

That, to them, was such an enormous compromise to their sense of traditions that they figured she should be down on her knees thanking them every time they met. After all, it wasn't really necessary for females to be educated. No matter how smart they were or how good their marks were at school.

The only job for a female was to marry well, keep the house pristine, and have lots of children.

As I rode up in the elevator I reached up and back to gather my hair in, then slipped an elastic around it so it hung behind me in a loose ponytail. Then I reached into the side pocket of my jacket for a pair of clear plastic glasses.

These were my applying-for-a-job glasses. They made me look more intellectual, especially with my hair pulled back. Needless to say, if I was applying for a job as a server at a pub or something like that I didn't wear them or pull my hair back.

The thing is, I have learned that when people see me, they see blonde. Don't get me wrong, I love my hair. It's a nice, golden, buttery color; thick and soft, and hangs halfway down my back. It's usually pretty tame but is more than willing to be styled in all kinds of different ways. Although I rarely do.

But it's still blonde. And there is a cultural thing about blondes, as we all know. Just like there is about girls with glasses. Both of them are stupid, but they seem to appeal to people's subconsciousness, so they can't be simply dismissed. Because of that, I use one to counter the other.

When I apply for a job, it's always important to find out if the interviewer is a guy or a woman. If it's a guy, I'll dress and do my hair one way. If it's a girl, another. Guys tend to be happy to see me, and girls not so much. A lot of women, I have found, resent girls that look like me.

I don't mean to sound arrogant or boastful, but most people find me fairly attractive, more attractive than most people, so to speak. It's really nothing but DNA. I don't do anything especially to look hot or attractive, at least no more than most girls, and less than many.

I work out, of course. But I think I benefit from a higher-than-normal metabolism, which allows me to eat junk food and still stay thin. I try not to do it too much around friends, girlfriends, that is. Nobody is very happy when they're daintily picking away at a salad and sipping water and I'm wolfing down a cheeseburger and Coke.

It wasn't a problem when I was fourteen, but I've noticed more and more girls being obsessed with their weight as I get older. When I do eat freely around other girls, I just say well, I'll exercise for the next couple of hours or something like that. Which is a lie, but it sort of makes it seem to them as if I'm paying for my pleasure, so they're not so peeved.

I mean, it's not my fault so many people are overweight. And it's not like I can call them out on it, either. They usually say things like "I don't understand how I gained another four pounds!" And I shrug sympathetically while biting my tongue on suggesting they exercise a little.

I knocked politely on the door and waited. The way it worked in Mia's house was that her father got the door if he was home, and after him her brother, and after him her mother. It seemed weird to me, but I wasn't the one who had to live there.

Her father opened the door and I smiled politely.

"Hi, Mr. Quan. Is Mei-lien ready?"

"You go to your house to work on computer," he said almost as if it was a question, his English heavily accented even after over seventeen years here.

"Yes, sir."

He scowled uncertainly, not necessarily believing me but not finding any evidence to call me out on it. We weren't going to be working at all. But her family didn't believe in letting Mia simply go out to socialize. And dating was right out of the question. Even though she was nineteen now.

Until she had completed her studies, marrying anyone would simply distract her. And there was no point at all in socializing with men except to find the right one to marry you, as far as they were concerned. Even then they would have to approve of the man before any date. And there would have to be severe restrictions on where and when.

Mia appeared at the door, looking very fashionable in her black and white outfit. She was wearing white sneakers, a white hoodie, black trousers, and a black jacket. Her parents didn't believe in girls dressing to please modern fashions, but of course, the parameters of modern fashion eluded them.

I was dressed in black leather walking shoes, black trousers, a gray turtleneck, and a brown jacket with military-style epaulets. Obviously, not on my way to party, or do anything else wild and crazy, like 'those Western girls'.

She slipped out past them, and I nodded to her father and then went back towards the elevator with her. Neither one of us spoke as her father kept the door open until we reached the elevator bank, and then until we got inside and the doors closed.

She blew out a puff of air and rolled her eyes as she put her back against the wall.

"They drive me crazy!" she said. "He insisted that you come up in case I was on the elevator and some bad man, especially a 'Negro', got on the elevator and I was all alone and helpless with them."

"That sounds like one of your sexual fantasies, doesn't it?"

She slapped me lightly on the arm.

"Okay, maybe it's one of my sexual fantasies."

"Did you tell your boyfriend that?"

"He's happier not knowing."

She snorted and sighed heavily. "If we had a decent place for the computer I could be working on, he wouldn't let me out of the house. As it is my little brother is on the computer playing video games, and of course he's more important."

"Of course!" I said in agreement.

"What's with the glasses?"

"I wear them when I want people to think I'm more intellectual, like a respectable librarian or something."

I took them off and put them back in my pocket.

"Yeah, right. More like the kind of respectable librarian in the movies that everybody is supposed to take as being ugly until she takes off her glasses and then undoes her hair and shakes it loose. Then suddenly everybody realizes how beautiful she is."

I took the elastic off my hair and shook it out and she acted all amazed and excited.

"Oh my God, you're so hot! I think I'm a lesbian now!" she exclaimed.

"I have that effect on women," I said, airily.

We laughed as we exited the elevator and walked to the doors.

"Maybe you should tell them you're a lesbian," I said, "Then you can tell them you changed your mind and they'd be happy to have you going out with guys."

"It doesn't work that way," she sighed, "They don't care if I like men or not. Just so long as I marry one and have babies."

"So even if you're a lesbian you're supposed to marry a guy?"

"Yes. But you're not supposed to tell anyone that you're a lesbian. You're supposed to ignore it."

"Your culture is weird."

"Yup. And if they did think I was gay, they wouldn't let me go anywhere with you. You're one of those fornicating western women with loose morals."

"You're damn right I am."

"Wanna loan me your boyfriend?"

"No, though I'm sure that would make him happy. Because of porn videos, every single boy has this idea that the sexiest thing there can be is two girls together. So they all want to see their girlfriend with another girl. And of course, they want to join in."

"Of course."

"And take videos."

"Of course."

I put my arm across her shoulders. "So, interested in a threesome?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

We separated and I got in the driver's door then hit the lock release, and she opened the passenger door and slipped inside.

"I hate my life," she said.

"No, you don't. You hate being a virgin."

I started the car and pulled the seatbelt across my chest to fasten next to me.

"I could lose my virginity anytime I wanted to," she said.

"Of course, you could. You could've done it at school last year. Why didn't you?"

"Well, it's not like I had a lot of time to date! If I don't get straight A's my parents will pull me back home and try and marry me off to someone."

"A nice Chinese boy," I said in amusement.

"I should find a big black guy and bring them home and tell them he's my boyfriend."

"Yeah, I don't think that would go over well," I said.

"It wouldn't even go over well if I brought home an Asian guy. He has to be Chinese, and he has to be Han Chinese. And he has to be educated and come from a good family."

"Are Chinese guys good in bed? I don't believe I've ever heard anyone say that."

"I wouldn't know. It's certainly not something my parents would ever talk about. When you find one and have sex with them then report back to me."

"I'll ask Evan if I'm allowed to do that."

"I thought you were a free and independent Western woman. You still have to ask your boyfriend's permission to do things?" she said mockingly.

"To cheat on him? I'm afraid so. Of course, if it was a Han Chinese girl, and he got to watch, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Men are all sex maniacs," she said.

"They were born that way. It's instinctive for them."

"You mean nobody cares that they're like that. Unlike girls."

"Three more years and you're done University and can get a job and support yourself."

"I don't want to wait three years to find out what sex is like!"

"So, when you get back to school in the fall find some hot-looking guy and jump his bones."

She rolled her eyes at me impatiently.

"What?"

"There's no way I could possibly bring myself to approach some guy I don't even know and suggest something like that."

"You mean sex? Why not? I guarantee you it'll work."

"Because I can't! I need... I need some guy to hit on me and seduce me."

"Seduce you?" I grinned at her.

"I mean, persuade me."

"You mean you have to play hard to get otherwise you'd feel too guilty."

"I'd feel guilty anyway. But at least I could do it. What I really need is like in some of those romance novels where the guy just grabs you and kisses you passionately and then tears your clothes off."

"I don't think that's legal in the real world."

"You know what I mean," she said in annoyance.

"You want to be snatched up by some hot, sexy barbarian guy who throws you down beside his fire, ties you up, and then ravages you senselessly while you scream in pleasure," I said in amusement.

"That would be cool. As long as he was sexy."

"Some guys like to tie girls up," I said with a grin.

"Like I said, guys are sex maniacs."

"Evan likes to tie girls up sometimes," I said.

She widened her eyes. "You're kidding! He ties you up!?"

"If I let him."

"What's that like?" she asked eagerly.

"I don't know. It's hard to describe," I said. "It's a little strange. Because if I'm tied up, he has to do all the work. Which I don't mind really. The thing with guys is their ego demands that you really get off on the sex. So he'll put more effort into certain things since I obviously can't do anything. It's fun, anyway."

"Fun? Don't tell me fun! Tell me it's incredibly hot and full of passion and excitement and pleasure and wild orgasms."

I laughed in amusement. "On a good day," I said with a grin and a wink. "I've been training him, after all. A guy who isn't properly trained can't be very good at sex. And if I'm going to sleep with him, he's damn well going to be good at sex or else."