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Jordan had his shorts back on and was scrabbling around on the floor, collecting my scattered belongings.

“I like to see a man on his hands and knees,” I laughed.

Jordan looked up and smiled, then pulled me forward by my hips and yanked up my shirt to plant a soft kiss on my belly.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been at your feet since the first day I met you.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, ruffling his already unruly hair. “But I’ve got to run or I’ll be out of a job before I start. I think it’s too early in my barista career to use the hot-guy-in-my-bed defense. There’s a key in the flowerpot by the front door. Lock up after yourself.”

I kissed the top of his head and left him kneeling on the floor in my room, a huge smile plastered across his face.

 

 

 

Jordan

 

It took me nearly 10 minutes to gather up everything I’d dropped on the floor, fix the pieces of bedside drawer and hammer them together with my bare hands.

I didn’t know what the hell had just happened. When she touched me, I completely lost my mind. The way I’d behaved was unforgivable. But the real mind fuck was that Torrey had said she’d liked it. I’d had her bent over on all fours, fucking her like a damn dog, and she liked it. Well, good—because I fucking loved it.

I didn’t understand her, not for one freakin’ second. I’d thought that I was just a mercy fuck. At least I’d talked myself into believing that afterward; it’s not what I’d felt at the time. But when I was with her, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel judged. I couldn’t figure out why, but she seemed to accept me for who I was. Not that I knew what that meant anymore, but she made me feel alive.

 

 

Jordan

 

Working in the Reverend’s backyard for the rest of the day was almost relaxing. Clearing the shed tested my muscles and patience, but it gave me time to think about Torrey, too. And not just her. For the first time, I allowed myself to think about what would happen in four months and two weeks, when my parole was up. I needed a plan of some description: a job, somewhere to live … how I was going to just be.

My parole officer had told me repeatedly that I needed to work on having some achievable goals. I was finally beginning to understand what she meant.

I drove home stinking and dirty, and got straight into the shower. I swear I tried not to think about Torrey’s tight little body pulsing around me, but the moment I had that thought, I was hard as a damn rock. It was like my libido had taken license to go crazy. I was jacking off three and four times a day like I’d just hit puberty.

In prison, there was rarely any privacy—that didn’t stop everyone from beating the meat occasionally. Most guys would keep it under the covers at night. I wouldn’t say it was tolerated by the guards, but I guess they understood. The only time I saw them come down heavy on anyone was when it was used to disrespect a woman corrections officer. That used to happen sometimes. One of the cons would get talking to the woman officer and keep her talking, while a guy sitting in his cell across the corridor or across the room would get himself off, staring at her ass.

It creeped me out, but a lot about prison life creeped me out. And if it didn’t, you were one of the nut jobs.

But now, my damn cock wouldn’t stay down. Jeez, I hoped I hadn’t scared Torrey off with the way I’d behaved—all the shit I’d put her through already.

Suddenly, after the stress of the last few days, I needed to see her. I needed to be sure that I hadn’t scared her off completely. She’d said she was okay but I needed to see her. I needed to know.

I finished my shower and changed into the jeans Momma had gotten from Goodwill. They fit pretty well, which was a nice change, and then I snuck into Mikey’s room to get another t-shirt. I still felt guilty about being in there and using his stuff, but somehow it was getting easier. We’d always borrowed each other’s shit. Half the time we never knew whose was what anyway, except for pants. I was taller and he was bigger, but everything else we’d shared. I saw his favorite Maroon 5 shirt in the drawer.

“Thanks, buddy,” I whispered, as I pulled it on.

I managed to leave just as Momma was coming home. Her face was sour with disapproval as usual, glaring at me through the windshield. I wondered if I’d have to appear before the inquisition when I got back, or whether she hated me too much to care where I’d been.

The usual feelings of anxiety chased me through town and all the way to the mall. I pushed them back and reminded myself that I was doing nothing wrong by being here. I wasn’t a free man, but I wanted to make the most of the liberty I had.

I studied the coffee shop carefully through the plate glass window. There were maybe a dozen people scattered around the room inside, and four or five sitting on the patio, although I got the sense it was getting busier as commuters passed by on their way home from work.

I still wasn’t used to the idea of there being a mall in this piss-ant little town.

I didn’t recognize anyone, which was a good start, but it was only when I saw Torrey standing behind the enormous, stainless steel coffee maker that I got up the nerve to push open the door and walk in.

I lined up behind two other guys who were buying take-out coffee, hoping that Torrey would look up and notice me. She appeared to be concentrating on the monster machine, and I couldn’t help smiling as a billow of steam made her jump slightly.

I started to give my order to the cashier, but as soon as Torrey heard my voice, she looked up and grinned.

“Hey, babe!” she said, walking toward me. “Whatcha doing here? Stalker, much?”

“I missed you,” I said, honestly. “So I thought I’d come see where you work.”

The cashier smiled, her eyes flicking between us. “Is this your boyfriend, Torrey?”

I was painfully curious to see how she’d answer that question. It wasn’t something we’d discussed. I guess technically we were still waiting for our first date.

“I don’t know, Bev,” she smirked. “I’m thinking about keeping this one around a while—see how he works out. He’ll get his fitness report after the weekend.” And she winked at me.

“Well, let me know how that goes,” said the woman named Bev, “because I’ll take him off your hands if you’re not certain.”

“Sure!” laughed Torrey. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if he’s available.”

“Hey!” I huffed out. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No!” they both said in unison, and laughed.

I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll just do as I’m told. Let me know how I do, sweetheart.”

“Waal,” said Torrey. “I’ll keep you around for now—see how you shape up.”

Bev giggled. “Oh, I’d say he’s in fine shape, honey. Very fine shape.”

Her lascivious look was starting to make me sweat, and I glanced around, looking for a retreat.

“Take the table in the corner,” Torrey said, sensing my sudden discomfort. “I’ll bring you your coffee.”

I smiled my thanks and turned to go, but not before I heard Bev ask, “Is he as hot in bed as he looks?”

I didn’t hear Torrey’s answer, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

The place got pretty hectic after that, mostly take-out orders, so Torrey was busy. But about 10 PM she sauntered over to my table and plopped what looked like a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich in front of me, except it was made from some fancy Italian bread.

“I thought if you’re going sit here all night, I’d better feed you,” she smiled.

“Thanks! I am pretty hungry.”

Which was an understatement. I was half starving but I couldn’t afford to buy anything on the menu besides coffee.

She watched me eat for a moment, a small smile on her face.

“Are you waiting till I finish, cowboy, because I’ve got another two hours to go yet. God, my feet are killing me. I’d forgotten how tiring these gigs are.”

I frowned slightly. “Um, actually I’m gonna have to get gone in a few minutes.”

She looked disappointed. “Oh, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Torrey, no! I wish I could stay. I want to spend every goddamn minute of the day with you, but I…” my voice dropped to a whisper, “I have curfew.”

Her mouth popped open in a small O, and a look of understanding crossed her face.

“Shit! Sorry, Jordan. I completely forgot.”

“It’s cool. I know it’s kind of pathetic that a man my age has a fuckin’ curfew.”

I dragged my hands through my hair, frustrated by the invisible chains that held me back, stopping me from behaving like a normal guy.

“Hey,” she said softly, grabbing my wrists. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Go home, get some rest. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

I blew out a long breath. “Sunday, yeah. Should I pick you up after church?”

Her eyebrows shot upward.

“Um, no! I don’t go to church, so you can pick me up any time you want.”

“Oh … I just thought, what with your momma and all…”

She grinned a little. “No, we have an understanding about that. I don’t do church.”

“Well, I could pick you up about nine?”

“Make it ten. It’s my one chance to sleep in, and I want to make the most of it.”

God, I want to sleep in with her, but I don’t think I can tell her that. Not yet.

“Okay, 10 AM. I’ll be there.”

I moved to stand up but she hung onto my arm.

“What am I supposed to wear?”

“Excuse me?” I said, my mind immediately going straight to the gutter and imagining her in a range of lingerie that was probably illegal.

“For our date, Mr. Smooth Talker—and don’t think I don’t know what you were just imagining. Am I supposed to dress up or what?”

Shit! I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Oh, I’ll text you,” I said, with a confidence I most definitely wasn’t feeling.

“Cool!” she said, and slid out of her seat.

As she passed my chair, she leaned down and pressed her soft lips against mine.

“Sunday,” she said.

 

 

 

But I still had 24 hours to go, and Saturday dragged endlessly. I missed Torrey. Christ, I hoped I wasn’t making her my new crutch.

I thought about driving out to the mall just to catch a few minutes with her, but I didn’t want to come over like a crazy obsessive stalker. I’d already pissed her off so many times. I didn’t want to risk it again.

Instead, I lifted some weights in the garage, and then went for a long run. I also had to think about where I was going to take her on our date. I’d been so caught up in the sheer fucking joy of having a date to look forward to, that I’d completely forgotten to plan where we were going to go and what we were going to do.

I was as nervous as all get out. I hadn’t been on a date since 2006. I assumed things were still done the same but who the hell knew? Plus, there were two fucking big hurdles: I couldn’t go more than ten miles from town, and I didn’t have any money.

Feeling slightly crazed, I drove to the only other place where people hadn’t thrown rocks at me.

Hulk’s junkyard had been a home from home when Mikey and me were growing up. The guy might look like the kind of person who’d eat your lungs with a spoon, but he was actually pretty cool. He’d taught us both about cars, although Mikey had never been as into it as I was. Still, Hulk had tolerated us hanging out there, and we’d gotten to know him pretty well.

I was disappointed to see that there were several other cars in the parking lot when I drove up. I waited a few minutes until the office had emptied out, then tapped on the door and poked my head around the frame.

“Hey, man.”

Hulk was sitting behind the desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him, with a pair of what looked like kid’s glasses squashed onto the end of his nose.

He looked up and grinned, waving me into the only uncluttered chair in the room. I sat down, coughing slightly when a cloud of dust billowed up around me.

“Hey yourself, kid. How’d those tires work out for you?”

“They’re great. I just wanted to stop by and say thanks. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

He waved my gratitude away.

“Just a bunch of old rubber. No skin off of my nose, kid. So, what do you need today?”

“Uh, nothin’. Just thought I’d come hang out, if that’s okay.”

He gave me an appraising look. He might come over as big and slow-witted, but quite a few guys had lost their front teeth making that assumption. “Your folks giving you a bad time?”

I looked away. “I’ve had worse.”

“Uh huh. And what about that lil’ firecracker you brought by last time—she kicked your ass yet?”

“Oh, man! She kicks my ass every time she sees me.”

“Heh heh! Them feisty ones are worth keepin’ around. So where is she?” he said, looking over my shoulder as if Torrey might suddenly appear. I wish.

“Workin’. But we’ve got a date tomorrow.”

“She’s purty as a junebug, full of sass, and she has a job? Man, how did you get so lucky?”

I frowned. “I know I don’t deserve her, Hulk…”

“You jest quit sayin’ that, boy!” he growled. “I’ve said it over and over and even done tole your folks—what happened was an accident. A dumb luck, shitty accident. That’s all. Beatin’ yourself up about it ain’t gonna bring Mikey back. You know that. You gotta work on findin’ a way to live with yourself.”

I sighed.

“That’s the hard bit, Hulk. I just don’t know how to.”

He leaned back, making his worn out chair creak ominously.

“That purty lil’ gal seems like a right good start. You tole her everythin’ about you?”

“Pretty much. She hasn’t run away screamin’ yet.”

“Knew she was a keeper. So where you takin’ her on this famous date?”

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. “I have no fuckin’ clue! I’m broke; I cain’t go more than ten miles from town; and I’ve got a fuckin’ 11 PM curfew!”

“Hmm,” said Hulk. “That’s a tricky one, sho nuff.” He scratched his balls lazily then smiled from behind his beard. “You still got them fishin’ poles of Mikey’s?”

“I guess. I’m fairly sure Dad wouldn’t have gotten rid of them. I think I saw them in the garage.”

“Well, there you go. Find a nice, quiet, private fishin’ hole,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively to make his point, “catch a couple of big ole sea trout and there’s supper.”

I stared at him skeptically. “You think I should take Torrey fishin’ on our date?”

“Unless you can come up with a better idea,” he challenged me.

Nope. I was fresh out of ideas.

Hulk smiled proudly. “Thought not.”

Just then a shadow fell across the doorway.

“What the fuck is he doin’ here?” came a harsh voice.

I twisted around in my chair. Staring down at me, bristling with anger and hatred, stood a guy about my dad’s age.

I stood up right quick. “I was just leavin’.”

“I don’t think so, boy,” said the man. “I asked you a question: what are you doin’ here?”

“I don’t want any trouble, mister.”

“You should have thought about that before you showed your face in public, you piece of shit!”

He took a step toward me, and as he stepped from the brightness into the gloom of Hulk’s office, I finally recognized him: Dallas Dupont. His son, Ryan, had been on the football team with Mikey, and was one of his best friends. The three of us had hung out a lot.

I didn’t know Ryan’s dad that well, but there was no mistaking the hatred in his voice. I was an expert at categorizing degrees of loathing.

I tried to step past him but he blocked the doorway, pushing my shoulder roughly so that I staggered back.

Rage flooded through me and without thinking, I slipped into a defensive crouch, ready to fight back.

Hulk slammed one huge fist onto the table.

“This is my place of business,” he roared, “and I’ll be the one to say who is and who ain’t welcome!”

“He’s a freakin’ murderer, Hulk!” Dallas shouted.

“You ignorant piece of crap. Get the hell outta here afore I have your damn car crushed!”

Dallas looked stunned.

“You takin’ his side over mine?”

“There’s no side to take,” said Hulk, in a more even tone. “Jordan did his time.”

“You think eight years is punishment enough for what he done? He took a life! He killed his own brother!”

Hulk stared Dallas down. “I think livin’ with the knowledge of what he done is the worst punishment he could have. Now simmer down, Dallas.”

“I ain’t stayin’ to listen to this horse shit, Hulk! You get your damn priorities straight. And you…” he stabbed a finger at me, “stay the fuck out of town if you know what’s good for your worthless hide.”

Then he stomped out and his truck disappeared in a cloud of dust.

“You can relax now, kid.”

I stood up and blew out a breath. “Sorry, Hulk.”

“You get that a lot?”

I laughed mirthlessly. “All the freakin’ time.”

He nodded slowly. “Cain’t be easy.”

I didn’t answer, instead shaking out the tension in my hands.

“You gettin’ into fights?”

“Nah, cain’t risk it. One punch and they’d throw my ass back in jail.” I knew he was referring to my reaction to Dallas’ baiting. “But just ‘cause he hates me, don’t mean I’d let him rearrange my face.”

Hulk didn’t respond. Maybe I’d pissed him off, too. If word got around that I’d been here—and Dallas Dupont would probably make sure that it was well known—then Hulk’s business could suffer. I was a fucking Jonah.

“I should probably get gone.”

Hulk shook his head slowly.

“Don’t let ignorant bastards like that chase you out, kid.”

I forced a smile.

“Nah, I gotta head out. Got a hot date with a hot woman to plan.”

Hulk rumbled out a laugh and heaved himself out of the chair.

“You walkin’ me to my car, Hulk? ’Cause I just got through tellin’ you I have a date with Torrey. You’re not my type.”

“I’m still fast enough to whup yo’ ass, Jordan Kane!” he growled.

We stopped at my truck and he peered at the fresh paintwork.

“Very nice! You do this all yourself?”

“Yep. Made use of that paint you gave Torrey.”

He looked impressed. “You want any more work like that?”

I cocked my head to one side. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout, Hulk?”

“Kid, this is good shit. I’ve got ten guys who’d bite your arm off tomorrow to get a chance at you paintin’ up their trucks.”

“Yeah, and all ten of them want their trucks painted by me?”

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Seven or eight wouldn’t mind. You want the work?”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Hell, yes!”

“Okay, you got a deal. You can use my yard—I’ll take myself a finder’s fee of thirty bucks a job and supply the paint. You keep the rest. Deal?”

“Deal!”

We shook hands and I drove out of there feeling … hell, words couldn’t describe how I felt. Was I happy? I’d felt something like this with Torrey but I’d assumed it was because of how I felt in the pants department whenever she was around. This was different, but the same, too. Maybe this was what happiness felt like.

But as soon as I had that thought, my mood plummeted. What kind of twisted fucker was I to feel happy when my own brother was cold in his grave because of me?

 

 

 

Torrey

 

Bev had questioned me mercilessly after Jordan left. How long had I known him? Was it serious? How far did his tattoos extend? Where had he been all her life? That kind of thing. She practically begged me on bended knee to tell her what he was like in bed.

I thought of the way he’d taken me hard and fast before I’d left for work that morning.

“Wild!” I said with a wink, leaving the rest to her imagination.

She groaned and started fanning herself.

I was hoping that Jordan might drop in again on Saturday, but I didn’t see him. A couple of hours before closing and long after my feet had started killing me, he sent a text.

 

Dress comfy. See you soon. J.

 

 

Short and sweet. Hmm, he needed to work on his texting skills—maybe I’d have to teach him some sexting skills, too. I wondered where he was taking me. I knew his options were limited, so I was intrigued to see what he’d come up with.

I honestly didn’t care what we did. I just enjoyed spending time with him, getting to know him. Of course, I hoped that sex would be somewhere in his plan … I sort of assumed it would.

He’d said to wear comfortable clothes so I guessed it must be something outdoorsy. I wasn’t big on the outdoors, so I hoped we weren’t going to be hiking or riding horses or any cowboy crap like that. I’d nicknamed him ‘cowboy’ just to tease him about his strong, Texas accent, but he’d never mentioned anything about horses. I reminded myself I didn’t know him very well. Who knew what he’d come up with?

So when Sunday morning came around, I dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and stuffed a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans into a backpack. I wondered about bringing some food and drink, but thought I might hurt his feelings if it looked like I couldn’t trust him to do the planning for all of that.

Mom was going to a fundraiser meeting after church today. She’d left early as usual, saying she’d be home sometime in the evening. I didn’t mention that I had a date with her handyman. I couldn’t face another morning of Jordan-related breakfast drama. But if it became a regular thing with him, I’d have to tell her something. Maybe she’d be okay with it. After all, she’d stuck up for him with his parents.

I wasn’t going to put money on it though.

I’d just finished my second mug of coffee for breakfast when I heard his truck crunch into the driveway. I felt as giddy as a 13-year-old on her first date, but without the glitter eye shadow.

I was clambering into his truck before he’d even had a chance to turn off the engine.

“Hi,” I said, leaning in for a kiss.

A huge grin stretched across his face.

“Hi,” he said, cupping my neck with his hand and kissing me back.

His lips pressed against mine, softly at first, then more firmly.

I was very tempted to sit there making out for the rest of the morning, but he pulled back, his eyes glowing.

“Hi,” he said, again.

“We already did that bit,” I snickered.

“Reckon we did. I kinda lose track around you.”

He linked his fingers through mine and placed my hand on his knee, before winking at me and putting his truck in drive.

“So, where are we going on this magical mystery tour?”

“Hush now,” he said. “I’m thinkin’.”

“About what?”

“Where to take you.”

“You haven’t freakin’ worked out where you’re taking me, you ass!” I snapped, snatching my hand back.

He smiled, apparently pleased with himself.

“Throttle back, firecracker, I’m just joshin’ wit ya.”

He reached for my hand again, and rather reluctantly I let him take it.

“I have got somethin’ planned, but I’m kinda worried you’ll think it’s lame.”

“That’s entirely possible,” I said, waspishly.

His bright smile fell a little, and I felt like a complete bitch.

“Jordan, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

He was silent for a moment.

“If I could, I’d take you somewhere real upscale. There’d be a starched white cloth on the table, napkins folded into fancy shapes, and candles all around us. I’d order champagne and the best food on the menu. We’d eat and laugh and talk, and I’d take you dancin’ till dawn. Then I’d lay you down on soft sheets and love you till the sun was high in the sky.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Jordan … that’s … that’s…”

“But I cain’t,” he said, flatly. “I’m an ex-con on parole who hasn’t got two nickels to rub together, a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I cain’t even take you somewhere you can have a beer, or leave the fuckin’ town without gettin’ arrested and my ass thrown back in prison.”

His expression was bitter.

“Jordan, don’t,” I said quietly but insistently, kicking myself that I’d started this downward spiral. “I couldn’t care less where we go. Just sitting on my mom’s back porch drinking coffee with you has been the highlight of each day since I landed in this town.”

He threw me a skeptical look.

“It’s true. And besides, I’m not the kind of girl who needs swanky restaurants and fancy food. I like you. ”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because you’ve got a fuck-hot body and a dick that touches parts no dick has ever touched. Give me a break on the pity party!”

A reluctant smile crossed his face and he chuckled quietly.

“You got a dirty mouth, Miss Delaney.”

“Why, yes I do, Mr. Kane. You got a problem with that?”

He grinned and squeezed my fingers. “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

I turned on the radio and we drove along listening to Linkin Park’s ‘Breaking the Habit’ which seemed oddly apt.

“Mikey always liked this song,” he said, his voice aching, lost in the past again.

“Tell me something else about him—something nobody else knows.”

Jordan looked thoughtful, and then he suddenly smiled.

“He got his cherry popped when he was 13—on a church picnic.”

I laughed out loud. “You’re kidding me!”

“I swear it’s true! Miss Morgan the Sunday School teacher thought he’d been drinkin’ spiked punch because he couldn’t stop his grin. But when we got home he told me what had happened. A mother of one of the other kids from another church. She was like thirty!”

“Are you sure he wasn’t playing you?”

“Nope. He had lipstick on the inside of his t-shirt and hickeys all over him.”

“That’s awesome! What a great story! And nobody ever found out?”

Jordan shook his head, still grinning.

“And there was this one time he got so high, he swore he could fly. I was pretty wasted, too, so I told him to prove it. Mikey, he climbed to the top of this ole oak tree just outside the school yard, fell out of it and broke his arm. He was so stoned, it didn’t even hurt ‘til the next day. We told everyone that I’d tossed a Frisbee up there and he was just gettin’ it down.”

I laughed as he told me story after story of the scrapes he and Mikey had gotten into. But after a while, I started to feel uneasy as a distinctive pattern emerged. I paid close attention—this didn’t sound like the Saint Michael that Mom had told me about, or the guy that everyone seemed to have looked up to.

“What about his girlfriend?”

Jordan laughed. “Which one? He was a bigger player than I was! Hell, he taught me all the moves. Um, okay that sounded weird. I just meant he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to get tied down any time soon.”

That was really odd. I definitely remembered Mom telling me that Mikey had a steady girlfriend that he was planning on marrying. Someone had fed my mom a load of bull.

Listening to Jordan’s stories, it became clear that each time it was Mikey that led them into some sort of trouble, but Jordan who’d taken the blame, while his big brother came out of it smelling of roses.

I was still pondering what it meant when Jordan announced that we’d arrived.

For the last five minutes, we’d been bumping along a dirt road, and now we’d stopped at the edge of a pretty part of the bay.

Maybe his plan was to recreate our picnic. I wouldn’t have minded, although I was a little disappointed he hadn’t thought of something more original.

I clambered out of the truck while he reached for something in back.

He looked nervous as he approached me. I realized he was holding a pair of fishing poles.

“Fishing? We’re going fishing?”

I was nonplussed. I’d never been fishing in my life, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to start now.

“We don’t have to,” he said, his expression wary. “I just thought maybe we could catch ourselves some sea trout and cook them over a fire.” He looked so earnest I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the thought of fish-guts made me want to hurl. “And, um, I’ve brought a couple of potatoes. We could put them under a fire while we’re fishin’ then dig them out when they’re cooked.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, mustering as much fake enthusiasm as could reasonably be expected.

“We can do somethin’ else…” he began, worry creasing his forehead.

“Hell, no! Fishing! Lead me to it, but I’m telling you, gutting these poor suckers is your job, and if I don’t catch anything, I’ll get grumpy if you don’t feed me.”

“I consider myself warned,” he said, relaxing instantly and throwing me a huge smile.