“Are you lost?"I turned around. "Excuse me?"Two guys were sprawled on a bench close to the sidewalk. The one who had spoken wore tattered shorts and a colonial three-cornered hat-nothing else. He had wide shoulders and long, muscular legs. He stretched dramatically, then lay his tanned arm along the back of the bench. "You look lost," he said. "Can I help you find something?""Uh, no, thanks. I was just looking."He grinned. "Me too.""Oh?" I glanced around, thinking I'd missed something. "At what?"He and his friend burst out laughing. Way to go, Lauren, I thought. He had been looking at me!”

“You said you'd kiss me if I lost Tank."---"You want me to kiss you?"Oh boy. "You were happy I'd lost your puppy?"He was looking like he was still thinking about smiling as he glanced down at Tank, tucked under his arm. "No. That would make me an asshole."Right...”

“Are you mad?" I ask."I was." He glances at the ceiling then back at me. "Or confused, anyway. The whole thing threw me through for a loop. I thought I'd finally met a guy at Underwood I could relate to, and it turns out he wasn't a guy at all."I swallow. "I can see how that would be weird." "In a way though, I was relieved.""Relieved?" I echo. "Why?"He looks around embarrased. "Let's just say you had me questioning my sexual orientation.”

“She went back to Shane and settles in on his lap again, arm around his neck. His circled her waist. "I thought you had to go," he said. "And don't think i didn't see you kissing on my best friend.""He deserved it.""Yeah. Maybe i ought to kiss him, too."Michael, on his way out, didn't bother to turn around for that one. "Oh sure, you always promise.”

“He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the small of my back, tugging me to his chest. I threw my arms around his shoulders, sliding my nails up and down his neck gently. “Stay with me. And with Nathaniel and Lauren. All day. Be happy today.”“That’s it?”He bent down and kissed me richly. “Each time I look at you, I want to see a smile on your beautiful face.”“Will you be looking at me a lot?”“I’m always stealing glances,” he confessed. “You rarely notice.”

“He was looking at me, jsut as I'd thought he would be, but like Bert's, his light was not what I expected. No pity, no sadness: nothing had changed. I realized all the times I'd felt people stare at me, their faces had been pictures, abstracts. None of them were mirrors, able to reflect back the expression I thought one I wore, the feelings only I felt.”