Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/96

 "He's the best looking fellow in Cotton," Blake put in, "but he's fast as hell."

"What's wrong with that?" she murmured. "That's just my type."

Gaylord felt the girl's eyes on him. He knew their expression, queerly penetrating and insistent, as cold as ice from an icebox and as cunning as a cat creeping toward a bird. Gaylord remembered that look. That night when he had found himself against Thelma she had looked at him that way. He didn't like it.

She continued, "If you want anything else … just blink." And with a wink at Blake she left.

"She's sure on the make," Blake grinned. He took a bite of food after handing one of the hamburgers to Gaylord. "Good, huh Gay?"

"Sure is." Almost simultaneously he noticed Blake's hands, or perhaps it was the dark hair on them. For a moment, as Blake lifted his hands, they stood out in front of two dark eyes. The fingers were wide and long … the hands of a fighter or an artist. But on feeling his gaze returned, Gaylord took another bite of his hamburger.

"I'm glad you insisted on my having one. Didn't know I was hungry."

"I was starved," Blake returned. His tone was expressive, gay. It made Gaylord happy.

For a while they ate in silence; then Blake said, "How'd you like to have that gal under ya? Bet she'd give you a race. Ain't pretty, but in a pinch she'd do, wouldn't she?"

"Not for me."

Blake's eyes narrowed as he looked up from the hamburger quickly. "Huh?" he grinned. "Not even in a pinch?"

"Not even then … I don't believe."

Why lie, he thought. His desire was not for the girl, but for the one at his side. Strangely, this desire was not new or unpleasant. It had some mysterious joy in it or else why did it repeat itself so often? But now this also seemed hopeless. Blake was for girls to love. He felt Blake liked him but was afraid that was as far as it went. His thoughts went to the girl and the things she had to offer. He had nothing. After all, boys didn't love each other the way they did girls. And with this thought, he saw the hopelessness of his love. It hung over him, all tangled with something confusing, remorseful, yet lovely.