Friday night, as I walked past the patrons at Johnny’s Hole, I heard some snickering, and a few guys were whispering behind their hands while looking at me.
I thought nothing of it and made my way to the bar. Bruce, one of the regular bartenders, got me my usual. He was a nice guy, good-looking but not arrogant about it. He got hit on all the time and was very popular. We were friends, of a sort, but had never slept together. Maybe I wasn’t his type.
“Sonny, I need to tell you something,” he began, but was called away by a customer for a drink order.
Not worried, I took a sip of my Guinness and turned to lean back against the bar. I saw people openly laughing at me now, and I had no idea why. Then I zeroed in on Noah surrounded by a bunch of guys. I gulped down the contents of my bottle
