Page 112 of The Black Table
The heat is back, pulsing in my cheeks, in my throat, in my…everywhere.
“That’s not…I mean…” My knuckles are pure white on the steering wheel, my hands and abs and biceps clenched tight. “I meanI like having a body. Myself. That’s all. Not that your body isn’t?—”
Jesus. I snap my mouth shut. What am I saying?
“Mm,” is all Gwenna says. From the passenger seat, she shoots me a look. “Careful, now.”
Her voice drops low as she says it, and I freeze, the single command enough to still something deep in me. Like she’d pressed a hand to my chest and saidstay.
I would. God, how I would.
“Hey, I’m kidding,” she says, after a moment. “You’re…probably the least at risk for that of the whole team. No offense.”
“None taken.”
You have no idea.
Mercifully, we’re approaching the gates. I swing us through into the side road that leads to the student parking lot, pull us into the reserved spots for Camlann House that are just faintly slick with ice, and kill the engine.
For a second, we just sit there.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” Gwenna says, reaching for the door. “Really, you didn’t have to?—”
Before she can get out, I shoot up out of my seat and jog around the Volvo’s boxy snout to the passenger side, grab the door.
“You’re welcome.” I hold out my free hand. “It’s slippery.”
She looks up at me, frowning briefly, then takes my hand.
As she does, her fingertips brush my rings.
Doesn’t let go.
Stares at them.
“I think it’s nice,” she murmurs. “For what it’s worth. That you wear them.” She looks up at me. “Keep doing that.”
Her tone is light, but something about it pins me still.
Like I’ve beentold.
She’s gone before I can respond.
THIRTY
KINGSTON
On Monday morning,Gwenna and I stand before Dr. Emrys’s desk expectantly.
Class has ended. Another fascinating lecture about the development of punctuation throughout medieval monastic traditions. And I’m ready to turn this in so that we can get to the next thing.
Hopefully something actually meaningful this time.
Emrys is settled in his chair, looking over various printouts of articles, and only seems to notice we’re standing there when Gwenna gives a slight cough.
“Dr. Emrys,” she says.
He looks up. “Ah, yes. How can I help you?”
