Threesome
By J.M. Snyder
A hot hand clapped me on the back and I
turned as a young man shouldered his way through the crowd to join
me beside the bar. He had large, dark eyes half-hidden by a fall of
bleached hair and full lips that spread into an impossibly large,
Mick Jagger-esque grin. Leaning close to my ear, he shouted, “Hey.”
His warm breath smelled of whiskey—where it touched me, it curled
the ends of my hair and flushed my cheek. With that grin stretched
tight across his face, he asked, “Buy me a drink?”
Like he needed another. I pointed to my
boyfriend Alan on my other side and raised my voice over the crowd
to holler back, “Look, I’m with someone—”
The guy shook his head. I didn’t know if that
meant he couldn’t hear me or didn’t care. “Come on, man,” he
pleaded. He
