Page 55 of Snow in Texas

He linked his hands together in his lap and stared at them.

Jenny bit her lip and tried not to smile. “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? For thinking I’m an asshole? Or for suggesting I’m not masculine?”

“I didn’t do either of those things.”

“Might as well have.”

She stifled a laugh and schooled her composure. “Colin, look at me.”

He did so, but with obvious reluctance.

“Everybody feels like you do right now during their prospect year. It’s normal. Maybe not fun, no. But normal. I wasn’t trying to suggest anything about you because there’s nothing to suggest. To be honest, I’d worry about you if you weren’t asking these kinds of questions.”And having an identity crisis, she added in her head. “The guys who think it’s fun are either wacko, or not seeing the bigger picture.”

He studied her a moment, eyes somber, but one corner of his mouth flicked upward in an uncertain smile. “Wacko?”

“Wacko. It’s a good thing you hated what happened tonight. I can promise you that Candy hated it too.”

He snorted, unconvinced.

“My brother might be a monster,” she said, “but he’s the right kind of monster. I’m grateful for that.”

Your brother is too, she thought. The question remained:what kind of monster are you?

Twenty-Three

Colin

“He quit?”

The kitchen manager was a sun-damaged, sour-faced woman with wisps of greasy dark hair coming loose of the net she wore on her head. One eye on the cooks ladling up pinto beans, one eye on Colin, she took her cigarette between gloved fingers and exhaled with a grunt of distaste. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

Charming lady.

“Did he quit that day?” Colin pressed, undeterred.

“Which day?”

“The day that fucking creep tried to haul Jen off for questioning.”

The manager’s brows jumped up beneath her hair net as she took another drag. “You’ve got a foul mouth, boy.”

“Sorry.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Okay….eeeewwww.

He cleared his throat and leaned away from her a fraction. “Look, I just need to know where I can find him. Do you have an address?”

She tapped ash off the end of her cig down onto the kitchen floor, making him regret all the meals he’d eaten here. Her gaze flicked to the Prospect patch sewn to the front of his cut. “You Lean Dogs,” she said, lip curling. “Y’all think you’re the damn cops or something.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure none of us think that.”

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