Layne reached up to find his face, her thumbs tracing the stubble along his jaw. She took a chance and bit at his lip, feeling raw and animalistic and shy, all at once. But he made a small sound, a good sound, and she did it again, more sure.
Then he did it back, and her body lit like a live wire. She wished he didn’t have a T-shirt. She wished she didn’t have a turtleneck. When his hands slid along her waist and found an inch of bare skin, she didn’t flinch. And her indrawn breath meant nothing bad.
Until she heard the roar of a diesel engine, the crunch of truck tires on the gravel road leading to the barn.
Gabriel snapped back. He looked almost panicked.
“The barn manager,” Layne said. “She checks the lower barn first. We have a minute.”
“Hmm.” He looked rueful. “And she probably shouldn’t know I’m here.”
Her cheeks flamed. “No. She’d tell—”
“I get it.” But he smiled and gave her another quick kiss, before dropping to fish his sweatshirt off the ground. “I’ll see you in school.”
Her entire body felt flushed. Her lips felt raw, swollen. Anyone would know she’d been making out.
Right?
She didn’t want him to leave, but her body felt like gelatin.
Gabriel kissed her again, and she caught his face in her hands, holding him there.
He laughed, softly, gently, a sound just for her. “I don’t want you to get banned from the farm,” he whispered.
Layne nodded. He drew back.
But then he stopped. “I forgot. I actually came to thank you.”
“You mean there’s more?”
Now he laughed for real, and she loved how it stole the tension from his eyes. “Later. No, seriously. For this.” He dug a piece of folded notebook paper from his sweatshirt pocket, and she took it.
Then he was sprinting out of the barn, yanking his hoodie over his head as he went.
Layne touched a finger to her lips. She unfolded the notebook paper, wondering what he’d written. Her heart fluttered again. A note?
No, better. His math homework. He’d done the last two questions. Struggled, clearly, based on the eraser marks.
But he’d done them.
And he’d gotten them both right.
Gabriel shoveled cafeteria macaroni and cheese into his mouth, but he didn’t really taste it.
Hunter was watching him with a disgusted expression. They were the only two people at the table. “I don’t know how you can eat that crap.”
“I’m hungry.”
Hunter sliced into the piece of grilled chicken in front of him. He was the only guy Gabriel had ever seen use a plastic knife in the cafeteria. “And you can slow down. I promise I’m not going to steal it from you.”
“Are you going to bitch at me for talking with my mouth full next?”
“I just don’t get what the big rush is.” Hunter speared a piece of broccoli. Gabriel hadn’t even known the cafeteria sold broccoli.
“I promised Layne I’d meet her after this period.” Theoretically, so they could go to the library and work on today’s math assignment. Really, so she could walk through the halls without getting hassled. Gabriel had found her hiding in the back corner of the library this morning, her face pale. Even then, he hadn’t realized how bad it was, until trig, when Taylor started in on her.
Gabriel had put a stop to it, real quick.
“That Ryan Stacey guy is in my first period chem class,” said Hunter. “I didn’t know who he was until he showed up looking like he’d gotten hit in the face by a pickup truck.”
Gabriel stabbed at the congealed mass of noodles. “If he lays a hand on her again, that might happen.”
Hunter was quiet for a moment. “Does she know?” he asked quietly. “About you?”
“No.” Gabriel watched Hunter push at the chicken on his tray and wondered if he was really that transparent. “Did you ever tell anyone?”
“Just Becca, but she already knew.” A shrug. “Someone said Layne was caught in a fire when she was young, that she’s got scars—”
“She does.” Gabriel glared at him. “So what?”
“You don’t think there’s something . . . interesting about a girl with burn scars getting involved with a guy who can control—”
“Control.” What a joke. Gabriel snorted and shoveled more food into his mouth. “I’m not sure we can call it control yet.”
“We’re getting better.” Hunter paused. “Do you feel it?”
“Not good enough.” They’d almost gotten caught Saturday night. Four homes in a row, fully engulfed. Gabriel was in and out of fire so many times that he’d started to lose track of which house he was in, of how many people were left to save.
By the time he got to the last woman, they’d been there for hours. He’d been exhausted, disoriented from inhaling so much smoke. She’d been unconscious, and he’d nearly dropped her in the middle of her flaming living room.
Michael had shown him her picture in the paper the next morning, bandaged and sedated in some generic hospital. Michael’s brown eyes had been rock hard as he demanded answers Gabriel couldn’t give.
“I can’t believe they’re no closer to catching this guy,” said Hunter. “We’re losing time, waiting for the fires to turn up on the police scanner.”
“Mike’s been going out with the fire marshal’s daughter.” Gabriel still thought it was a dick move. “She says they have no conclusive leads.”
“Except you.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. We both know I’m not the one starting fires.”
“Who’s starting fires?” Calla Dean dropped onto the bench beside Hunter. Actually, she straddled it. The blue streaks in her hair were gone, replaced with fluorescent pink ones. She’d braided a small section and tied off the end with a yellow feather.
“We’re talking about the ones on the news,” Hunter said smoothly.
Calla picked up a piece of Hunter’s broccoli and popped it into her mouth. Hunter watched this with a bemused expression on his face, but didn’t stop her.
“The arson stuff?” she said. “Someone’s got a fire fetish, huh?”
Gabriel reached out and turned her wrist over, exposing the flame tattoos. “Go figure.”
She snorted. “I got those to piss off my aunt. Did you know the first fire was right next door to my house?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another piece of broccoli and made a face. “What, you couldn’t add some butter?”
“I didn’t realize I’d be sharing.”
“Mind if I eat with you?” She took a third piece.
“Looks like you’re already doing that,” said Gabriel.
“I don’t mind,” said Hunter. He pushed the tray her way.
“Ugh. No way. I need salt. I’ll be back.”
Then she unfolded from the bench to weave through the tables toward the lunch line.
Hunter pulled his tray back and sliced another piece of chicken.
Gabriel watched him for a moment. “What the hell was that? You two have a thing now?”
“No.” Hunter paused. “Maybe. I can’t get a read.”
“A girl doesn’t steal your food if she’s not into you.”
“She’s unusual.”
“Dude, no offense, but you’re unusual.”
Hunter smiled briefly—but then sobered. “We talked for a long time Friday night. Her father is serving in Afghanistan, so she lives with her aunt and uncle. I think she’s lonely.”
Gabriel looked for Calla in the lunch line. Punk hair notwithstanding, she had a good six inches on most of the girls around her, and she helped the effect by wearing a shirt that revealed a long stretch of tan midriff. “Calla Dean is the captain of the girls’ volleyball team. She could probably snap her fingers and have guys bringing her lunch on their knees. She is not lonely.”