Hot & Bothered by Susan Andersen

the time of day.” Then he brightened. “We could head on over to Sock’s Place, though.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt’s another drop-in center. Well, it’s really kind of a church, but it’s tight. You can get a meal and shower there and catch a few hours sleep. Whaddya say?”
    â€œSounds good.” It sounded great. Like a little piece of heaven. He wasn’t about to say that aloud, though. Playing it cool was difficult, but he sure as hell didn’t have to come off sounding like a hick.
    It also felt really nice, he admitted a few minutes later as he and P.J. set off for the new place, to have someone to hang out with. Right up there near the top of the Horrendo-meter was how alone he’d felt in this ongoing nightmare. It was good to have someone to talk to.
    Not that he did much of the talking. P.J. seemed to be a jawer by nature; he had an opinion on everything under the sun and didn’t hesitate to state it. That was fine with Jared. The smaller boy had obviously been on the streets longer than he had and he was a font of good information that most likely would have taken Jared weeks to learn for himself.
    Studying the other youth as P.J. skipped backward in front of him, telling him ways to blend in around the Auraria College campus in order to catch some rest during the days, he thought the two of them probably looked like Mutt and Jeff. He possessed the Hamilton genes, which meant he was tall and rangy, all long arms and legs. To his disgust, he wasn’t the least bit buff, but Cook said that was because he was still growing into his bones. She insisted he’d be buff enough before he knew it.
    He wasn’t exactly holding his breath waiting for that to happen, but compared to P.J. he could have been a fricking graduate of the Charles Atlas school of bodybuilding. The other boy was nearly a foot shorter than he and so fine-boned that he appeared almost girlishly delicate. To be fair, that impression was gained mostly bywhat was on view: the little dude’s big-eyed face and stick-thin arms. The rest of him was buried beneath a T-shirt about three sizes too large and a pair of wide-legged jeans that sagged off his skinny hips and pooled their frayed hems around sneakers that had seen better days. Somehow Jared doubted that the rest of P.J. was any more filled-out, though. Hell, his face didn’t even exhibit a trace of fuzz yet.
    â€œHow old are you, anyway?” he demanded.
    â€œGonna be fifteen in a few months.”
    â€œYeah?” Jared studied him skeptically. “How many months do you consider a few?”
    â€œâ€™Bout twenty.” P.J. grinned unrepentantly. “How about you? I bet you must be around eighteen, huh?”
    â€œNot until November.”
    â€œI was close.”
    Jared snorted. “Closer than thirteen is to fifteen, anyhow.” But his disdain was all for show, and they both knew it. “So, what does P.J. stand for?”
    â€œPriscilla Jayne.”
    Jared stopped dead. “You’re a girl? ” His voice cracked on the last word, but he was too busy staring and reassessing to care.
    â€œOf course I’m a girl! Jeez! Why does everybody think I’m not?” Looking down at her chest, she plucked the cloth away from its flat planes. “It’s because I ain’t got no boobies, isn’t it? Well, I’m gonna have ’em someday, you know. I’m just a late bloomer.” Her little triangular face went forlorn. “I’d sure have a lot less money troubles if I had ’em now, though.”
    â€œHow’s that?” Now that he knew she was a girl, he was amazed he hadn’t tumbled to it the second he’d clapped eyes on her. Shit. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious.
    â€œIf I had a nice rack—or, okay, any boobs at all—I could turn tricks and my money problems would be yesterday’s news.” But she made a sour face.