Scrounger: Three

he heart starts to beat something else through the body, other than blood, and it keeps you alive,” he says. “That’s the third and final sign.”

He steps backward. “I haven’t had my vaccination yet,” he says. “I’m getting it tomorrow.”

“Maybe, then, we can meet up again?” Sally says.

“I…don’t think so,” he says. “You’re beautiful. You really are. And your laugh, there’s a lilt in it that makes me think of summer. There was a moment tonight when you looked at me just right and I got goosebumps. You know, the good kind.”

Her stomach drops. No one says things like that to your face, do they? She wants to reach out to him, to push the wisp of auburn hair from his topaz eyes and hold his cheeks in her hands and pull him close to her mouth. She wants desperately to kiss him. It’s primal, the desire she feels right now. It surges and she restrains, her muscles tense, as she stays put and lets him continue to back up.

“But, it won’t last,” he says.