Had he really thought of Darian while they were doing it?
Tugging off his cap, Stacy stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. What did his teacher see when he looked at him? In the bright light of the bathroom, Stacy’s tanned face looked pale and washed out. The shadows of his lashes fell on the skin beneath his eyes, giving him a beaten, bruised appearance. His hair was getting long, and it lay across his forehead like tamped down grass that needed to be mowed, the edges flicked up around his neck where the hair peeked out beneath his cap. Even when he ran a hand through it, tried to muss it up, the hair slowly settled back into the same hat-head shape. Was there anything special about him, anything at all, that someone like Darian would desire? Anything he had to offer a man like that, whose eyes danced with laughter that eclipsed the world?
Stacy didn’t think so.