Page 34 of Them Bones

“Who isthat?” one of them asked loudly, trying to catch his eye. Shane ignored her.

He’d filled out in the ten weeks he’d had a roof and constant access to food. The jagged edges of malnourishment had given way to the lean, toned body of someone who ate well and worked with his hands all day. He’d gone clothes shopping recently, with the leftovers from his paycheck after filling Laney’s fridge for her and for Dusty and – unfortunately – for Cary. It had surprised him in the store when he’d gone up a pant size. He’d been living on scraps so long he couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’tthin.The shopgirl at the work warehouse had helped him pick out some heavy-duty jeans and thick long sleeved plaid shirts that he layered under the coat he’d borrowed from Laney’s closet, keeping him warm in the yard all day.

The girl had written her MSN on the receipt. He didn’t know what that meant, but she’d said it like she was giving him her number.

He’d thrown it in the trash on the sidewalk outside the store.

He felt increasingly self-conscious as a few more girls joined their friends, openly watching him. One of them elbowed a brunette, who seemed to steel herself before getting up and walking over to him.

“Hi,” she said. She had a small stud in her nose that glinted in the fluorescent light. “I’m Holly. What’s–”

“Do you know Laney Hawton?” he interrupted.

She frowned, then smiled coyly at him.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me your name.”

“Fuck off.” Shane dismissed her with indifference, and walked farther into the crowd.

“That was unnecessary,” came a dry voice from behind him. “You catch more flies with honey, you know.”

Shane closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the sound of her voice, speaking to him,directly to him,out loud.

“Laney,” he breathed, whirling around.

She raised her eyebrows and faltered back a step at the look on his face. Maybe it was what Jerry had said,she’s not a kid anymore,making him feel less like a piece of shit. But after six weeks of avoiding looking at her, six weeks of clamping an emotional damper down on himself so hard he thought his spine might snap, there she was, standing in front of him, and he couldn’t hold his feelings back. They came blasting out of him like a nuclear bomb.

So much for taking down the intensity a notch.

A few people around them had paused their conversations and were openly gaping at him, but he didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed, nostrils flared like she could smell the need rolling off him in waves.

“I… need to talk to you…”

He was struggling to form words. Struggling to form thoughts, even. He’d been relegated to watching her out of his peripheral vision for almost two months and being able to stare right at her was a gift. Her hair was longer, a little shaggy and hanging over one eye. Her face was bare, no makeup. Her lips were slightly chapped, and she had a smudge of pen on her cheek. And she was the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen.

“You need to talk to me… here?” she asked incredulously.

He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to stare at her until he died.

Not yet, not yet, not yet…

“Can’t talk at home,” he bit out.

She nodded, looking pleased, her face flushed. But she also looked… worried. Confused. She reached out and touched his hand, the charge he always felt around her amplifying. A solid twenty people were looking at him, now. Looking at both of them.

Shit, this isn’t private enough…

He intertwined their fingers and pulled her to a small alcove by the office, where she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

His arms snapped around her and he pulled her tight, dipping his head low, his lips on her ear.

“I missed you,” he breathed.

See? Just friends. This is normal, right? Friends hug.

Talk to her. Talk to her now, before you do something even more supremely stupid than this… Not yet not yet not yet…

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