Page 15 of The Locker Room

---

but he was never sure if Chris heard that part.

“But… your face, Xander! Dammit, your face, man! Have you

even seen it?”

Xander shrugged, trying to ignore the tears pooling in his glasses.

“Wasn"t that pretty anyway,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” Chris snapped, and his complexion grew even blotchier.

Xander watched in wonder as, in the midst of everything else they were

doing in this stranger"s side yard, Christian Edwards blushed.

There was an awkward, flustered, and blushing silence between the

two of them, and Xander looked away. He was surprised when Chris

reached out with two fingers and pulled his chin back, forcing Xander to

look at him.

“Now take off your glasses,” Chris commanded, and Xander sighed

and did it, because he really would follow Chris into hell. Chris"s thumb

came up, gently grazing Xander"s ravaged cheek, and Xander, about to

snap “Get off me!” or something equally macho, brought up his hand to

yank Chris away.

That"s not what happened, though. What happened was that he

trapped Chris there, and then his hand started trembling, and then…

then… his eyes locked with Chris and they were frozen, Chris"s hand

against his bruised face, his own hand keeping it there.

“I"m not pretty,” Xander whispered, unable to let go. He knew he

wasn"t. He had high, Slavic cheekbones, an overly long jaw, and a broad

14

Amy Lane

forehead. At fifteen, he had to shave every morning, or he"d be

shadowed by the afternoon, and his chest already had a patch of hair in

the middle, between his nipples and running from his belly button down

under his jeans. He often thought he would look good as one of those

cavemen in a comic strip; all he had to do was bend his back and carry a

---