David is all gung-ho about getting started as soon as possible, so I invite him over to work on the crowdfunding proposal just a couple days after our bi-weekly meetup.

Riley comes with him, on my invitation, and I may have invited Julie just so the two of them could indulge in a little friendship-growing time outside of school and tutoring. I let them have free reign over the Switch in the living room, and it's not long before I hear them both laughing as they play against each other.

"Hey, thanks for inviting Riley along," David says as we make our own camp in the kitchen. "I'm still not all that comfortable leaving her alone when I can avoid it. Which I know is crazy. She's sixteen."

I think about when I was sixteen, and how often I'd get into trouble just in the vain hope my dad might notice. I spent way too many nights puking my guts out after downing a 40 with my so-called friends.

I'm lucky I made it to seventeen, and that's definitely not an anecdote I'm going to share with an already worry-prone dad.

"It's good that you care, David. A lot of parents don't."

His gaze lifts to mine, green eyes searching. I look away, not wanting him to see how deeply I lived that life. I've never wanted anybody to pity me, and I definitely don't need David doing it.

"You want a beer?" I ask, already heading over to the fridge.

"Sure, one probably won't hurt. But just in case I’ve turned into a lightweight, I'm gonna go ahead and reserve the couch."

The thought of David passed out on my couch is something I definitely don't need. He'd probably be adorable, because he's adorable no matter what he's doing. But even just imagining him on his stomach, conked out and drooling in the living room wakes up that longing that I just can't seem to get rid of.

Not. Happening, I remind myself for the umpteenth time.

I pull down the magnetic bottle opener and crack open a bottle for David, then one for me, coming over to join him at the kitchen table. He's got his MacBook open, and he turns it toward me so I can see.

"I figured we could brainstorm a bit before we even start on the campaign," he says, taking a sip of his beer. "I've got a Google Doc open, and I'll send you the link to it once we're done."

"Sounds good," I say, scooting my chair closer.

Just to see, obviously. It has nothing to do with the fact that his soap or body spray or cologne smells really, really good. Like a fresh rainfall in the forest.

"Let's start with the basics: Describe what you're trying to accomplish in one sentence."

All right, that's easy enough. I've done as much for the school board before. "I want to start an after-school program where middle and high school students can learn to handle and ride docile, well-trained horses in a safe and supervised environment."

David's brows lift, his lips quirking upward. "Impressive. Most of my clients give me a rambling list of things they want to do without having any idea of how to strip it down to a mission statement."

"The school board has a pretty low attention span," I say with a smirk, lifting the bottle to my lips.

"I can imagine." He grins, then goes back to typing. "So that's the what. Let's tackle the why. Remember, we don't need to nail it out of the gate, so really just throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. Vomit it out."

I laugh, wondering if he gives these kinds of pep talks to his clients, too. It'd work on me, but I'm not a multi-million dollar CEO, or whatever type of power-suit wearing people he's helping.

"Vomit it out, huh?"

"You're the overambitious college freshman, this doc is the bushes outside your dorm building."

A wicked grin stretches across my lips. I can just see him, red-faced and miserable, trying his best to combat a hangover the next morning.

"I guess we know how you spent your college career," I tease him.

David glances back into the living room where Riley and Julie are still occupied. "Yep. Going to bed at nine every night after a sensible amount of studying. That's the story I'm taking to my grave."

"Worried about her going off to college, huh?" I ask.

"Have you met me?"

Fair point. David seems like he's worried about everything when it comes to Riley. I can't say I blame him. It must be so hard to raise a teenage daughter alone, and I know he's only trying to do what's best for her.

Rather than pry any deeper into his fears, I decide to finally answer his question.

"The why is a little more involved than the what, I guess. It gives kids a place they can go after school. Helps them get out and appreciate nature. Teaches responsibility, compassion, and patience. They'd have to keep their grades up to participate, so it would be an academic incentive. And…"

I consider the last—and probably biggest—point I want to make. All my evidence is anecdotal, but it's something I believe strongly in. The fact that David might dismiss it as not particularly helpful puts me on edge, though.

"Whenever I talk to Shane about this, I always call it horse therapy. It's not a certified program for that, and I don't know that I want to make it one. But I feel like working with animals, taking ownership over something, learning a skill… they all make you happier and healthier."

"I can see that," he says with a smile. "I had a rough time in school as a kid, and my parents couldn't figure out what to do with me. They knew I wanted a dog more than anything, though, so they made it an incentive. If I got my grades up and kept them up for a year, I could get a dog."

"And did you?"

"After a few stumbles, yeah. My grandma told my mom that I'd just go right back to slacking once I had the dog, but I didn't. Being responsible for him, having him there when I got home from school… it helped a lot with the underlying issues."

It's easy to read between the lines—or at least easy for me to do so. Maybe it's because I work with kids like that every day, but the signs of a deeper struggle are clear as day. I don't dare give a name to it, though I can guess a few.

"Do you still have that dog?" I ask, a fond smile on my lips.

"He passed while I was away at college," David says, raking his fingers through his hair. "And Sid was allergic to pet dander, so we never got another one.”

It's unfair to be a little angry at his dead wife for something she couldn't control, but I can't help but wonder how much a dog might help David now. He'd at least be calmer, I think.

He takes a generous swig and continues, though. "Right, so I'd say that covers the why of it pretty well. Let's get down to brass tacks here and discuss the how."

That one's a little nebulous to me. "As in how it works, or…?"

"How it works, how you'll spend the money on a granular level, that sort of thing."

That seems easy enough, but as I open my mouth, I realize I don't have an answer ready to go. "Oh, uh. Well we definitely need to buy more horses. And more tack. Transportation for the kids to get to and from the ranch. The school board was concerned about safety, so we'd need to buy new gear and probably hire a couple trainers."

David types away, and I watch as my words appear in shorthand on his screen. They seem lacking somehow, but I can't put my finger on why.

"This is a good start, though we'll need a cost breakdown for all of these things. Donors really like to know where their money is going—it helps them feel more confident in their decision." He makes a note of that, then asks, "Have you thought about any stretch goals?"

The more we work on this, the more I realize I'm way out of my depth. I know my idea is worthwhile, and I know it can help a lot of kids. But the numbers David asks for, along with the proof to back them up, are things I never thought I'd need to worry about.

It seems naïve now, honestly, and I'm a little chagrined every time I have to admit to him that I hadn't thought of something. I guess that's why he's here, though.

We work well into the night, and eventually David pulls up a successful Kickstarter campaign he’s worked on to show me exactly what we need to meet our goals. It's intimidating, but he assures me we can do it.

By the time he starts talking about Facebook ads and targeted marketing, though, I feel completely useless. Partly because I've never dealt with this stuff before, and partly because I've been up since five and it's now almost two in the morning. Jesus.

I drove Julie home earlier, and Riley got set up in the guest bedroom where my brother used to stay. It wasn't the plan to have her stay over, but it seems more and more likely as we burn the candle at both ends.

"Shit, no wonder I can't see straight. It's really fucking late," David says, rubbing at his eyes.

"I know you were joking earlier, but you're welcome to crash on my couch if you want."

I almost offer him my bed. Not with me in it, sadly. Just him taking the bed while I move out to the couch. I'm pretty sure he'd reject that idea, though, so I keep it to myself.

"I think I may take you up on that if it's not too much trouble," he says.

"No trouble at all. The guest bedroom is closest, so if you snore, it's only Riley who has to put up with you," I say with a grin.

“Well, she's had sixteen years of practice. She should be a pro at it by now."

A yawn overtakes him, the kind it's impossible to escape from. He stretches, and when he does, his shirt rides up a little, giving me a tantalizing peek of sparse, red hair.

Dammit. I really didn't need to know that the carpet matches the drapes. Now it's all I'm going to be able to think about.

David closes his laptop and pushes out from the table, yawning again. "I don't have any other plans for tomorrow, so we can pick back up in the morning if you want."

Right. Tomorrow's Saturday. Both he and Riley will be sleeping in, and I'll be left alone with my thoughts in a house where I can't do anything about them for fear of making things really, really weird.

It's not impossible. I'm a grown-ass man, not some randy college kid. I just need to remember that and act like a restrained adult. That means no jacking it to fantasies of a man I can never have. No jacking it at all, no matter how much privacy I might think I have in my bedroom.

I can concede that a cold shower will help deter any thoughts—or other things—that might spring up.

"I'm gonna get a shower real quick, but let me get you some pillows and a blanket before I do."

"I appreciate it, Jake," he says with a sleepy smile.

And that one image—his unrestrained grin that dimples his cheeks just so—reaches me deeper than any flash of skin ever could. That one image isn't something I can get rid of with a cold shower or a hands-on approach.

It's going to stick with me, and somehow I just have to be strong enough to keep from thinking about 'what ifs.' Because that's all they'll ever be, and if I let myself hope for more, I'm not just hurting myself here. I'll be tossing away a budding friendship with a man who seems to need a friend more than anything else in the world right now.