Shane’s eyes remained on her cereal for a moment, but her gaze was weighted. He recklessly pressed on, desperate.

“Shanelet’s talk about the other day.”

“What day?”

“When you stormed off during the interview, when I asked how lesbians *****.”

“I told you this isn’t a press conference. What the *****, Mark, why are you pushing this?”

Mark sighed.

“Shane, have you ever been intrigued by something?”

“Great, man, that’s great. I told you quit with the questions, you answer me with a question.”

Mark put down the camera and turned it off. Shane looked at the machine as it sat silently on the counter, as if it had died. Her face fell for a split second before looking at Mark, as if he had just entered the room.

Mark sat down at the table carefully, hesitantly under her gaze. Shane had forgotten how shy Mark sometimes could get, and how he didn’t seem to have the bravado to be an ***** without his camera. She didn’t see him without it often, and it was refreshing.

“Shanejustplease, I’m trying to tell you something. Think about if you’ve ever been intrigued by something.”

Shane’s solemn stare made his blood run faster. She was unexplainably ***** when in contemplation. He could only blink and will his instincts down with rational thinking, trying to concentrate and make her understand. Understand that he was studying her, that she fascinated him, and somehow, somehow be okay with it. Understand that he was trying to learn from her.