What was it about the feel of him that brought me running even when I hated him just then? The back yard felt so far away as I scrambled out of bed, lurched from my room, down the stairs and through the screen door. I stopped myself finally, panting and angry.

No way were we playing this damned game again. I glared at Quaid where he stood, hands in his pockets, a thin T-shirt the only thing between him and me. That and the ten-foot gap my anger insisted on. "What do you want?" ...