Page 103 of Shadowman

Or you snoop around and find out.

I’m sure Trevel will tell me his story eventually. He’s been blathering to me nonstop, odd since he’s barely said a word to anyone else. But I think I like talking to him too.

How is it that two quiet loners have been gabbing away all night, like a couple of chatty Kathys? It’s bizarre.

And yet…

Maybe I could do it…

Tell him… why I’m here.

The thought takes me by surprise. Even my best friends don’t know therealreason. I’ve given them a version of the story, watered-down and embellished. A PG, cookie-cutter,Lifetimemovie adaptation of what really happened.

No substance. No marrow.

No Michelangelo.

The truth is still mine. Mysecretsare only mine.

I couldn’t just hand them over to the captivating stranger with the purple eyes… Could I?

“I like the feeling.” I speak softly, offering him a raspy confession, though I still can’t be surewhy. “That’s my motivation. It’s like a high, I think.”

Something shifts on his face, almost like a realization dawning.

He nods subtly. “Oh, well…ThatI can certainly understand.”

This conversation, just like the one we had the other day about fucking Skittles, is twisting me up in a very puzzling way. Once again, it seems like we’re talking about something deeper than the actualwordswe’re using.

Roars and shouts snap us both out of it, and we glance back at the circle. Fuller and Redman are in there. And as it tends to, the fights are getting dirtier, the crowd growing rowdier as the night wears on.

“This is the type of shit O’Malley liked,” I tell Trevel, cringing when Fuller jams his thumb into Redman’s eye.

“Your friend?” he asks. “The one who was killed by…”

“The Carver… yea. He was a real scrappy motherfucker. No fucking mercy.”

“But that’s not how you fight…” I think it was supposed to be a question, but it comes out more like a statement.

“I couldn’t.” I shake my head. “Not with my background. I respect the art of it too much.”

“I like that.” Trevel grins, looking me up and down. His eyes gloss over my exposed torso, and it feels constricting. Easing in closer, his tone grows rumbly, like a tiger’s purr. “You’re quite the deep fellow… Aren’t you, Byron?”

I swallow over a sudden lump in my throat, peering at him. “Um… maybe?”

His smirk widens, and he bites his lip. “I’d like to find out just howdeepyou go…” His breath melts into humming interest that slips into my ear from how close I hadn’t even noticed we were standing.

There’s palpable heat coming off of his tall frame. Or maybe it’s coming from me? We’re both shirtless, flesh sort of close… Either way, it’s unnerving me to my core. I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me, or if this is just the way he is.

Seems a lot like flirting… But then I have an overly sexual friend who flirts like it’s breathing.

Maybe Trevel is… like Ren.

That thought just confuses me more.

Would it be a bad thing? If he were flirting with me…?

Blinking up at him, I consider my recentpredicament. Sexuality hangups aside, I have needs. And I’m stuck in here, meaning my options are limited.