Boy Number Six came in, and he was part of the locker-room-talk (?) people, not going into detail, but also not mentioning Jude as the culprit.
After he left, my heart thundered in my chest. Jude would be the next. Coming in with his hands in his pockets, he took a seat on the stool before me. Without being able to stretch out his legs comfortably, he placed the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. His arms crossed, his languid pose and in his black jogging suit, with his hair a bit in disarray, he gave the picture of a panther in its full tremendous being, waiting and ready to strike at every possible moment. The black hair, black eyes and black clothes contrasting against his skin, a ravishing handsome man.
I averted my eyes, my pen ready to note down his answers.
"Name."
There was a pause before he answered,
"Jude Lennister."
