He's got big hands, calloused and strong, but I'm not so sure the rest of him is strong to match. Like this, he seems more vulnerable and more fragile than I'd thought, swept up in the idea of the power of an alpha werewolf.

Everybody in this city is lonely, in one way or another, but I think it might go a little deeper, with him.

I've always been tactile, and I get the urge to touch him, give whatever comfort he might get from a hand on the shoulder or whatever, but sitting here across from him, it probably wouldn't be anything but awkward.

"I'm sorry, man," I say, letting my own hands sink into the grass, and even though I can handle a gun just fine, they don't look like the hands of somebody who's ever done a lot of manual labor.