Read Online The Season of Shay and Dane by Lucy Lacefield - Free Book Online Page A

and
keep tearing my bread, swiping it in the oil. She probably did say it right.
She’ll never admit it though if she didn’t, which completely amuses me. I think
the one thing that bonds us more than anything else is our stubbornness.
    At any moment I expect
her to delve into an inquiry about. . . Dane. Even thinking his name heightens
something in me. I’d prefer getting through most of our meal though before she
does begin asking questions. I decide to direct conversation for a while, as
long as I can anyway.
    “Did you get through
your classes unscathed?”
    “ Me? It’s the
little shits you should be worried about. I’ll say it a thousand times—why
would anyone want to be a teacher?” She rolls her eyes and gestures to the
waiter to get our water glasses refilled.
    I spend half of my time
entertained by her. “They’re not that bad,” I jibe.
    “Not that bad! Who
sedated you?”
    I pass my glass to be
filled. My smile is stuck. I could have the worst day and get near her energy
and forget even why I was feeling that way to begin with.
    “Okay, your Pollyanna
optimism is your strongest trait—I’ve come to accept that,” she allows jokingly,
seeming all but put-out forking her spaghetti to spin against her spoon. “But
today you’re almost skipping—and we can’t have that. So spill, fess up about
the runner with legs up to my neck. What’s his name? Mundane?”
    So she did notice.
     
     
    dane
    I don’t even want to
study. I just want to lay here looking up at the ceiling thinking about her.
I’ll give myself thirty minutes to rest and get composed—then I’ll have to hit
the books. . . no matter what.
    She grips me. And
for some reason I don’t mind. It’s not worth it to mention it to anyone; I
don’t know even enough about her yet. All that I do know is I feel alive inside
and out near her, like aman— protector , not like anything I’ve
ever felt before. And yet, there’s a resistance to her—I can’t understand it—at
the same time, a want in her eyes. I know it. I saw it. She’s just so damned
vulnerable —it consumes me. God —I’ve not thought about it the last
couple of days—maybe she has a boyfriend . But I don’t see it .
There’s no way someone that timid. . . she’s just too shy. I close my eyelids
picturing her. . . the gentleness in her movements, the sweet way she says
things. . . and how when I looked for that brief moment into her amber eyes. .
. what I  saw, transfixed me.
    I’ve got to get out of
here and go for a run .
    I grab my keys to the
apartment off my dresser and lock up, making my way down the street to the
stadium. It’s sure to be open and people still around, at least until the sun
starts to really set. I’ll run until I tire myself. What studying I don’t get
done tonight, I’ll do around classes tomorrow.

13
     
     
    shay
    I’m a stupid girl.
    He ran into me—he
showed up to apologize—and I’m standing here again. . . waiting for what?
    It’s 7:02, there’s a
person sitting on the bench, buses are filtering past, people are moving about
getting to their offices early; I’m sure to meet with students before classes
start. And I’m lingering before I go in, here way earlier than I need to be,
and there’s no sign of him.
    My insides are quaking
with every anxiety of wanting to see his face again. It could be just that
though—he was a decent guy. I look down at my watch, 7:05. I stay looking
at the glass faceplate, feeling too embarrassed and ashamed of my thoughts to
look up and move in haste getting inside, in case someone detects me. My eyes
are filling with tears and the numbers on my watch become cloudy. No one
near me out here could know my private thoughts, but I know, and I feel foolish.
    I slowly lower my wrist
to my side, trying to accept my misunderstanding of things, and lift my head to
walk up and indoors. As I do, I see someone a little taller, much further down
the sidewalk at the crest of the hill.
    It’s him