An hour later after I’d showered, I donned an old peacock-blue T-shirt with a couple holes in it, and a pair of ragged jeans shorts that were more rag than cloth. Hell, you could see my ass in places in the back, but I wore electric blue briefs to, at the very least, keep some mystery alive. Yeah, yeah, I knew I wasn’t putting my best foot forward clothing-wise, like I usually would for a potential suitor, but I wasn’t about to make this easy for Sam.
I sat on my front porch with my guest, drinking beer. Hopefully this time we wouldn’t get too drunk and say even dumber s**t to each other. Forty-something-year-old men ought to know better, right?
We were waiting for the chicken to bake, and filling up on pretzels and dip in the meantime. Dinner of champions.
“So you forgive me yet?” Sam
