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faults, it was a quiet, peaceful place to stay. They could fish and drink beer as long as they wanted without the interruption of real life that was constantly chaotic. To Paul, that made the beat-up shack Danny called home about as close to Eden as he’d probably ever find.
    Rubbing his tired eyes, he blinked down at his textbook and finally had to admit defeat. He couldn’t study anymore. He was too tired to retain anything. Night had long since fallen and Danny’s considerable lack of lighting made studying almost impossible anyway.
    He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and walked outside. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees and the crisp feel in the air signaled that autumn had officially arrived.
    Paul found Danny sitting in a plastic chair near the porch railing and said, “I thought you were working. You said the porch needed sanding.”
    Fishing pole in hand, Danny cast out his line, shadows playing over his handsome face and bare chest from the single light off a lantern he’d set on the dock near him.
    “This is me working,” Danny said blandly as he started reeling in his line. “Grab a pole, stay awhile.”
    Paul smiled, wishing he could tell Danny how much he appreciated more than the haven of his house, but the protection his friendship offered. Around Danny he could be himself.
    Almost.
    Rather than dwell on the secrets between them, he grabbed a pole and enjoyed the indulgence of fishing when life rarely gave him the time for much of it anymore. What little stress relief he did have didn’t include fishing poles, and required quite a bit of creative time management and colorful excuses to the man fishing next to him.
    Staying awhile meant Danny and Paul ended up sprawled in cheap plastic chairs sharing one beer after another. As tired as Paul was, those beers shared with Danny were enough to have him resting his head back against the chair. He laid the pole between his legs as his eyes fell closed.
    “What’d you do to your arm?”
    “Hmm?” Paul asked, his eyes still closed.
    His entire body was heavy with the weight of mental and physical exhaustion that threatened to let him sleep all night in the uncomfortable chair.
    “Your arm,” Danny said, his hand grazing Paul’s upper arm as he pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt. “What the fuck—”
    Paul didn’t think it was possible to wake up that fast, but he did, a surge of adrenaline pulsing through him so quickly he jerked in shock. He wrenched his arm away from Danny, shoving his sleeve back down.
    “It’s nothing,” he growled out of fear. “Don’t touch me.”
    Danny stared at him, his dark eyes narrowed and calculating, giving Paul the impression he was looking into his soul. “Defensive much?”
    “I just don’t want you to touch me,” Paul said, feeling a sickening wave of dread wash over him because he knew he was acting suspicious, and he floundered for a way to cover up his mistake. “Why the fuck do you care if I hurt myself or not?”
    Danny was silent as he rubbed his thumb against his bottom lip, turning to look out to the lake. He appeared to be choosing his words wisely before he finally whispered into the darkness, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
    “You’d think you were looking for a date or something,” Paul said, hoping to God that was the end of it.
    “You made your point, asshole.” Danny’s head fell back against the chair as he reached down to grab the beer between them. He took a long drink, speaking against the rim. “You don’t want me to touch you. I got it.”
    * * * * *
    “Yes! YESSSSS!”
    Danny jumped out of his seat, his fist raised in victory. He stood suspended in that strange place where everything felt as if it were in slow motion as he watched the football soar through the air. The receiver was wide open. Paul wasn’t the most light-footed quarterback in the world, but he could put a ball where it needed to be. That was a brilliant throw. It would take a complete