Yes, he could. That mother, after the fire. But hers had been a motion of gratitude and desperation. It hadn’t been about him.

He should be pushing Layne away. He could slice right through her offer of comfort and make her as miserable as he’d been last night. He’d made himself vulnerable once; he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But the warmth of her body made it all the way through his sweatshirt, and the scent of her hair was in his nose, one of those fruity shampoos like raspberries or apricots. Beneath that, something natural and fresh and outdoorsy, like cut grass or—no, hay. Had to be hay, from the farm.

It felt nice.

Push her away.

He should. He would. The last thing he needed in his life was something else to screw up.

But right now, this second, when the thought of being at home or at school made him feel like a caged, rabid animal, standing in the middle of the woods being held wasn’t all that bad.

“Thanks,” he said, dropping his head to speak against her hair. Her cheek was right there, if she’d just lift her head. Her cheek, the slope of her jaw, the curve of her ear. He wondered what her skin would feel like, what her lips would taste like. He let his hands find her waist.

She stiffened.

Gabriel froze. Maybe he was reading this wrong. She hadn’t called last night. Maybe a hug-without-pretense just meant she felt pity for him.

Christ, even his thoughts wanted to screw with him.

There was a tree right here. He wanted to bang his head against it.

No, he wanted to push the hair back from her face and kiss her, to cut this cord of tension between them.

But maybe that cord was the only thing holding him together.

He slid his thumbs along the jacket, just below her ribs, barely a motion, half an inch, if that. But he heard her quick intake of breath, felt the minute shift of her body as she drew back.

Damn.

He couldn’t take another rejection. Especially from Layne. She wasn’t like other girls. She saw him. Every single weakness.

And that was the reason for the hug. She wasn’t interested. She felt sorry for him.

He let go of her waist. He kept his voice flat, uninterested, like her hanging off him was a random inconvenience. “Come on. I don’t have all morning to play escort.”

She yanked her hands free, stepping back to stare up at him.

Jesus, he sounded like such a dick.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” He pulled the iPod from his pocket and unwound the cord. He could see buildings through the trees from here, and he nodded down the trail. “You’ve got to be close, right?”

“Yeah, but—”