Dirk, what do you do for a living?

I don't quite get what's going on between Dad and this Dirk guy. He never mentioned his friend before. Still, they're joking around like they've been doing it forever.

Dirk keeps putting his arm around me. Or his hand on my thigh. Or he strokes my arm.

Too much touchiness.

I move away from him, but he keeps sliding closer. Not immediately and not quickly. More like he's just adjusting his sitting position and accidentally reduces the space between us. I'm tempted to get up and leave the room, but I don't want to be rude to a guest. Not when we've only just met.

Maybe my first impression of him is wrong and I'll soon get to know him as a really nice person.

I try several times to make eye contact with Dad. He must notice what's going on. Why doesn't he intervene?

When he notices that boys my age are getting close to me, he always takes immediate action. He drove away my first two boyfriends this way before anything interesting could happen. Oh, how I hated him for that. Back then.

Now I'm at college and he doesn't need to know everything I do there.

Sure. Studying, of course.

But he doesn't know which parties I go to or who I hang out with. Where or with whom I sleep. I smile softly to myself. Let's put it this way: I've had my experiences.

I know what I like. And what I don't like.

In any case, not old farts who grope me.

To take his mind elsewhere, I start asking him questions.

“Tell me, what do you do? For a living, I mean.”

He leans back, spreads his arms across the back of the sofa, taking up the whole space. His white teeth flash. A predatory smile.

“You know, I launched a start-up right after school and sold it last month. Made a lot of cash from it and now I’m mainly busy spending the money.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to get rid of it all before I'm done."

He looks at me, his eyes widening as if he's had a sudden inspiration. Then he winks at me and leans forward.

For a terrifying moment, I fear he's going to kiss me. But he just whispers. Spearmint and the smell of the beer Dad brought him waft over.

“Would you like to help me with that?”

I'm almost tempted to say yes. We're not rich, and the idea of being able to spend money without worrying about how to pay the rent, food, or tuition is appealing.

But I steel myself. There must be a catch. No one is that generous, offering their fortune to a complete stranger. Or that stupid.

Instead, I take a stab at finding out what he actually came here for.

“But if you're so rich, why don't you live in a luxury hotel or a penthouse or something?”

“Thomas invited me. And what kind of friend would I be if I turned him down?”

He gazes dreamily toward the hallway, where the sound of rushing water can be heard in the distance.

“And besides,” his grin broadens, “there are certain benefits to living so close together. You get to know each other much better. And discover new aspects of each other.

Don't you think so, Thomas? We could do something together sometime. Jessica, you, me, and Sina."

In an instant, my father's good mood evaporates. He grimaces as if he has a toothache and slides nervously forward in his chair.

“Um, basically, yes. But don’t you think that’s a little too... too early?

“Oh, come on, Thomas. You’ve taken me in as if I were part of the family. So I should behave accordingly and give something back to you in return. Jessica will be happy to join in, I’m sure.

And I think Sina will love it too. At least as much as you do.”