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    Dans La Nuit
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Boy with No Name - 8. Chapter 8

I sat at the end of one of the beds and he sat on the other.
“Shit, Walker…” he said. “These are really good.”
“You told me that already.” I said.
He stopped and blankly looked at the page again. I knew that face. I knew he was looking at his portrait.
“Is this me?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry. I could deny it. I could swear up and down that it was just some cowboy, but once again, I can’t lie to those green eyes.
“Yes,” I said. I could feel my cheeks turn red.
“It’s good. I’m flattered.” That’s all he said. He closed the book. Was he mad again and just not showing it?
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. I like it.”
“Well, you can have it if you want.” I said.
“Really?” he asked
“Yeah” I said.
“Thanks” He smiled and it made me feel good. I could breathe again. He closed the book. “I’ll keep it in here until we get back to the ranch.”
I wanted to celebrate. He didn’t freak out again. But… the problem was…Where do we go from here?
“So, now what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. This is kind of awkward isn’t it?” asked Jesse.
I giggled. “Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe what this is.”
He laughed with me. The awkwardness left the room. He started to look through my book again.
“What’s this one of?” he asked.
I walked over slowly and sat next to him. I sat close enough to see my sketch. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I could feel my pulse in my neck. I had a lump in my throat the size of Guatemala. I swallowed it and then looked at my sketch.
“Oh, that one is of an old church that I discovered out in California. It was just so beautiful that I had to stop and sketch it.”
“It really is beautiful.”
He turned his head to look at me. I could feel his stare on me, so I finally looked back.
“Very, very beautiful.” he repeated but in a very low and husky voice.
“Jesse…” My heart was beating ten million times a minute. His green eyes stared into my brown eyes.
He turned his head away quickly and cleared his throat. He closed the book and got up from the bed.
“I’m going to go get a soda.” he said and before I knew it, he left the room.
I was still in the same spot on the bed. My heart was still racing and my entire body was shaking. Did that really just happen or was it my imagination?
I started to pace the room back and forth. My thoughts were racing through my head just as fast as my heart was beating. My pace began to quicken.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit…Shit!” I started to panic. What did that mean? No, it meant nothing. Nothing. It meant nothing. “Fuck!!!”
Timmy walked in. “What’s up with you? You and Jesse get in another fight?”
“No, I’m fine.” I said, sitting down on the bed.
“Is that why you’re screaming fuck while pacing the hotel room?” asked Timmy. He looked around. “Where’s Jesse?”
“He went to go get a soda.” I said.
“How long ago?” he asked.
“I don’t know; a while ago.”
“Well, there’s a soda machine just down the hall. He should be back by now.”
“Ugh! Just shut the fuck up, Timmy!”
“Shit, take some Midol or something.” said Timmy in defense.

* * *

Jesse stayed out for a while. When he was out for more than an hour, I figured out that he wasn’t really getting a soda. He came back with Stacy in his arms.
“So, are you guys ready to go?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Timmy.
“Sure” I droned.
We all prowled the night streets of Billings and found a bar full of younger people. It was called The Jar.
The IDs that Stacy got us worked like a charm. We got in and the fun was about to begin.

Copyright © 2011 Dans La Nuit; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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