In the middle of Des Plaines Illinois three boys find themselves in a tangled knot of angsty lust and amateur love.
Evan Webster has an average American life. When he isn't at swim practice or the movie theater, he's trying to make time to study bi...
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Evan's bedroom wasn't as neat as Danny had expected. There were piles of notebooks on his desk and a mound of dirty laundry in the far corner. He had countless shelves cluttered with golden trophies and blue ribbons. Scattered among his awards, there were other notable keepsakes, like a banged-up license plate, a ceramic piggybank, and his favorite camera. Danny scanned his surrounding, intrigued by the four little walls that had seen Evan grow up. If the wallpaper could talk, he'd be listening to embarrassing childhood stories about the boy he loved, but as Evan became shirtless, it was evident that he was definitely not a child anymore.
His lean, wing-like back had been sculpted by years of varsity swimming. The sharp slant of his broad shoulders seemed to peak at the nape of his neck, symmetric to the thick muscles on the upside of his ribcage. The whole top half of his torso looked like a diamond attached to his slim middle. When he bent over to untie his shoes, a row of sickle-shaped bones protruded from underneath his skin. All his tendons contracted and rolled with his movements, and with every flex, Danny imagined all the things Evan could do with that strength.
"What're you doing?" Danny asked after he closed the door.
Evan dragged down his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. Danny barely had a chance to glance at the brand of his underwear before Evan switched off a lamp and made the room go completely dark.
"Sleeping," Evan answered.
The tall boy's silhouette moved to the bed, climbing underneath the sheets as Danny's eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He could see Evan's shoulder peeking above his comforter, turned away from where Danny stood.
"Evan...?"
"You should sleep too," Evan mumbled into his pillow. "It's late."
Danny wasn't getting his keys back—he was supposed to stay. Evan wasn't asking, but he wasn't demanding either. His wish coiled around Danny like a daring breeze.
Sighing to feign annoyance, Danny kicked off his shoes and stretched out atop Evan's covers. He was careful not to scoot too close.
Danny fixated on Evan's bedroom ceiling, wondering how many dreams had seeped into the paint. Or how many tears had dried under the blow of the spinning fan.
