Kissing the Shark (Maritime Monsters #1)

Chapter 19- Karlo

CHAPTER 19- KARLO

WE PULL UP to my childhood home in my tiny compact car. It’s a typical, two-story suburban house, with a cream-colored facade and green front lawn. A white picket fence blocks out the back where the pool and grill are.

“You ready to go?” I grin and tap Razorjaw’s knee.

“I suppose so,” he says with a nervous tremor. At my suggestion, he’s wearing a white short-sleeved button-down with navy-colored shorts. He doesn’t need to know in this outfit I think he looks divine, like a giant sexy mannequin. “I am not used to…fear.”

I squeeze his hand. The two-hour drive up here was comfortable. We drove along the coast and I got to introduce him to all my favorite songs on the radio. We laughed as he tried to sing along, and my affection for him grows every time he makes me smile. I even stopped by a shoreline to let him briefly swim and catch fish for a few minutes —my man might not be able to eat much at the barbeque.

But it means so much that, despite the nerves, he came. So, I lean in and gently kiss him. He tastes like salt water and promises of a future together. “Thank you for being so invested in us that you’re willing to meet my parents.”

He smiles and pecks my lips. “I have been invested in us since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I chuckle and we both make our way out of the car. Razorjaw holds the bags containing boxes of soda and beer as I gently guide him through the gate to the backyard. The smell of grilled meats signals that the barbeque is well underway, and my stomach growls. My parents know how to cook, and, in that regard, I’m happy to be home.

“ Anak , you finally made it,” Mom says with a cordial smile. She walks up to me, drink in hand, commanding the party like the hostess she is. She’s a tiny woman but dressed in her magenta blouse and dark trousers, she’s as regal as ever.

“It was a bit of a drive,” I say as I hug Mom. Her drink sloshes behind me, and I gaze at the scene: Dad is by the grill, and my cousins and sister are all chatting by the pool. Some folks I don’t recognize gravitate toward Dad. None of my parents’ friends look like shifters, but I can rarely tell.

Mom pulls away and taps my shoulders. “Look at you. Did you lose weight? Are you eating enough?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I force out a laugh, then turn to my date. “Mom, this is…the guy I told you about. My boyfriend, Mr. Shaughnessy.”

“You’re the shark,” Mom says with a spark of interest in her eyes. “My, aren’t you a tall, handsome fellow.” Her words sound approving, but with Mom, it could all be a front.

“Mrs. Castillo.” Razorjaw touches my mom’s elbow and sternly looks at her. “It is an honor and privilege to be courting your son. As my boyfriend, he is safe with me, an apex predator of the water.”

I wince, but Mom seems confused. She looks him up and down, then chuckles awkwardly. “Um…delighted to have you.” Mom sips her fruity cocktail and downs the rest of it. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Yes, please,” I mutter. This meet-the-parents is already off to an uncomfortable start.

An hour later, we’ve all eaten, and the sounds of my nieces and nephews splashing around the pool surround us in the backyard. I’ve finished introducing Razorjaw to Dad, my sister Myra, and some cousins. While everyone’s been polite to my boyfriend, they haven’t exactly been warm. Razorjaw, to his credit, doesn’t talk about courting or anything weird like that. But I want him to fit in, and I know it’s a struggle. My cousins talk about university, and I give passionate descriptions of my favorite subjects. Razorjaw quietly stands next to me nursing a can of Diet Ghosta Cola.

Not wanting him to feel unwelcome, I occasionally pull him in by his hip, quietly letting him know I’m here. He rubs my back as I chat, and I know our relationship is rock solid.

My cousin, Roger, waves his drink around and talks about his current career. “And the zombies support us, but there have been rumblings in the community about them taking jobs.” Roger sips and looks at RJ, then nearly spits up. “Um, not that there’s anything wrong with monsters!”

I grunt; my family acts like they’ve never met shifters before. To my right, my boyfriend seems as unaware as ever.

Myra snickers. “Hey, there are some pretty cool monsters at my job. They’re people who work, like everyone else. They are good in my book.” She raises her glass, and I lift up my beer can.

“Here, here.”

Before I can sip, someone pushes through our little circle by the pool. “I need to introduce someone,” Mom says, wedging herself between Razorjaw and my sister. “Kids, meet Declan. He’s my co-worker’s son.”

“Is this where all the kids in their twenties are?” Declan says with a toothy grin, and we all laugh.

“Declan is already very successful,” Mom says, patting his arm.

The man shrugs modestly and pulls back his blond locks of hair from his face. “I’m just…here because my parents asked.”

“But you’re a young CFO already,” Mom states. Razorjaw looks at me confused and I quietly let him know I’ll explain later.

“I’ll let you chat with my kids.” Mom disappears, and Declan awkwardly looks left and right at me and my sister.

We all greet him and he smiles, nodding politely. This traditionally handsome man in a blue suit bounces on his toes. “So does your mom always do that?”

“Do what?” I ask.

“Like…not-so-subtly try to set you guys up with any person she finds. ”

“Oh yeah,” my sister and I reply in unison. The group laughs in an uproar, breaking any tension.

Looking up at Razorjaw, I notice his smile waning. I quietly hope Declan and my cousins aren’t making him feel too uneasy. Before I can say more, Declan picks at his sleeve. “Now I feel overdressed.”

“No such thing as that as far as our Mom is concerned,” Myra says into her cup.

I snigger. “Yeah. She’s all about image.”

“But my folks didn’t tell me this was a casual party. Now I’m over here wearing this suit.”

“Is it designer?” Myra asks.

“Yeah.” Declan nods at her.

“Tapered too,” I remark. “I wish I could afford a suit tailored to my body. Must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

“A bit yeah, but it’s a job requirement,” Declan says, smoothing out his jacket.

“I have a penny on the table at my apartment. I can buy you one of those suits,” Razorjaw says, firmly.

Declan and Myra seem utterly confused, and I shake my head. “Um…that’s an expression,” I say quietly.

Razorjaw’s cheeks turn pink and he nods slowly. “Ah.”

“I could refer you to my tailor,” Declan says. “Fair warning, he takes more than just one penny.”

I laugh. “No thanks.”

“How much does it cost?” Razorjaw asks.

“Well, it depends on what you want,” Declan replies, looking at his sleeves. “But I could um…maybe see if he’ll give you a discount?”

“No, thanks,” I say with a smile. “I don’t live here. Plus I couldn’t afford that guy’s time. ”

Declan and I chuckle, but Razorjaw touches my elbow. “Let us find him. I shall make him spend time with you,” Razorjaw says sternly. The others laugh, but they have no clue the lengths my shark is willing to go to.

“No no,” I whisper, touching his hand. “None of that.”

“But you said you wanted —”

His words are cut off by my cousin’s kids running by, chasing after each other, giggling. In their childish haste, they smash a chocolate ice cream bar right into Razorjaw’s torso. His white shirt now carries a massive brown mess.

“Oh jeez!” I remark.

“Hey,” Roger says, wrangling his kids. “That wasn’t polite! Say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” the little ones say.

“Here, let me help you,” I say, rushing him forward. “We can get that stain off of you.”

“No need,” Razorjaw says. He quickly morphs into his hybrid form, and his clothes vanish, just as he was taught.

The energy in the party shifts. Everyone quiets down and turns in our direction. Looking around, it’s clear that Razorjaw sticks out like…well…like a fish-man out of water. He’s a massive shark dude among humans. I can almost feel them gazing at his tail and fins. Turning to my cousin, Roger is clinging to his kids a little tighter than usual. My parents at the grill stare at us and look even more disappointed in me than usual.

My skin burns with shame; I’m made to feel like an outsider in my own family’s home, all because I dare to date a shark shifter. Razorjaw, as usual, seems utterly unperturbed. His tail wags along as he studies me.

“There is no more stain,” he says.

I clear my throat. “We should still go inside and wash it off,” I mutter. I drag Razorjaw inside and pray they don’t talk about us while we’re gone.