8 Chapter 8

Then I saw the young man from a couple of weeks ago. The one Bill had told me was new and very shy—if howhe reacted to the men trying to talk to him was any indication. That idea intrigued me, especially afterseeing him act the same way just now—shaking his head when someone approached him. He was cute, with fairly short blond hair and a nice smile, when he used it. He looked as if he couldn’t be more than twenty-one. I knew for a fact he had to be that old, or he couldn’t be a member of the club.

“Bill’s right,” I murmured to myself. “Why come here if you don’t want to make a connection? Are you looking for someone specific, or do you get off on watching and imagining, without acting on it?”