Chapter 3
They were on the bus to the sports shop again, two of only five people standing up, and this time there was no awkwardness as Reese grabbed on; Shaw looked like he expected it, and put a steadying hand on Reese's shoulder, the motion casual—natural.
Reese had walked to a part of the bus without low handrails on purpose.
The scenery ambled by, brown and sharp with late November chill.
There were more layers between him and Shaw this time, but it didn't blunt his awareness of their proximity; they were closer this time than they had been the last time they took this bus together, and just as close as they had been on the crowded train.
Somehow, Reese found himself keeping stock.
A tiny part of his mind was always turned to how often they touched; the places where they touched; the places where they didn't; what Shaw's body was doing under loose clothing—all the tiny adjustments he made as he stood.
Ware's question plagued Reese:
nice like standing next to a pretty girl?
It wasn't like standing next to a pretty girl.
It was like standing next to a live volcano, if anything.
Shaw could explode—but he didn't.
It felt risky and comforting at the same time, and Reese wished there were more reasons to stand toe-to-toe and let Shaw put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Shaw," he said at last, and Shaw made a listening sound.
The two ladies next to them were talking in loud voices about winter-proofing their gardens, masking Reese's words.
"What do you think of me?"
He hoped Shaw didn't think standing next to him was like standing next to a pretty girl; that'd be embarrassing.
"You're getting better all the time," Shaw said without any prompting.
At Reese's continued stare, he added, "I won't lose to you."
Reese sighed.
He didn't think his volleyball skills were what Ware had meant when he asked about
like
and pretty girls.
"What else?"
"I think you grew a little?"
Reese tried not to grin.
He
had
, and he'd been waiting for people to notice.
He was one hundred and sixty-three-point-five centimeters—more than half a centimeter taller than he'd been on entering high school.
"Fine," Reese said, because he didn't think he'd get any more answers out of Shaw, and Shaw noticing him growing was a good note to end on.
Shaw raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for an explanation.
"Ware asked if I liked you," Reese said in answer, shrugging.
He knew his cheeks were reddening, but he couldn't help it.
It was an awkward topic.
"Oh," Shaw said, and there was color in his cheeks too.
"I like playing volleyball with you," Reese said, just in case it wasn't obvious.
Shaw nodded slowly.
"You're still my rival though," Reese added.
"I know that," Shaw said, and he sounded almost annoyed.
Reese didn't ask why; they were silent for the rest of the journey.
Whatever annoyance he'd unwittingly caused Shaw had disappeared by the time they entered the sports shop, and Shaw didn't even scold Reese when he insisted on doing practice jumps each time he tried on a different pair of shoes.
The shop owner did.
"His jumping is important," Shaw said to her when she told Reese to stop, as if that would convince her.
He turned to Reese.
"I think you jumped highest with the last."
The shop owner, slightly mollified by the idea that they were probably going to buy something and not just make a ruckus, returned to the counter, though she kept on glancing over suspiciously.
All Shaw bought were knee pads to replace his old ones, so the trip didn't last much longer; soon the bell of the store tinkled behind them and they were in the cold November air again, the sun low in the sky.
"I don't want to go home yet," Reese announced, and Shaw looked at him inquiringly.
"Want to get food?"
Shaw nodded, and they headed for the nearest fast-food joint, sitting upstairs by the window.
Reese watched the sky go from gold to red to dark blue while he stuffed fries in his mouth, salty and delicious and hot enough to burn his fingers.
He kicked his legs as he ate, getting a few inattentive kicks back whenever he got Shaw's shin.
"If you couldn't play volleyball what would you play?" Reese asked when he was almost done with his fries.
"Basketball," Shaw said, with no hesitation.
"Why?"
"It's the most similar."
"Hm."
"What?"
"Just—waterpolo balls look like volleyballs."
"Yeah, but that's in water." Shaw's expression said clearly what he thought of that.
"You don't like swimming?"
"Only as exercise," Shaw said, which was a typical Shaw answer; the one thing he was good at was exercise regimens and dietary plans.
Reese contented himself with the fact that the chocolate milkshake Shaw was drinking probably wasn't part of any of those plans, and swiped it for good measure.
"Hey!" Shaw said, but it was too late; Reese had already put his mouth around the straw and sucked chocolatey deliciousness into his mouth.
Shaw grabbed his face, and Reese was laughing too hard to swallow.