“The. Fuck. Joe Bufford stared at the man standing just inside the door of his favorite gay sports bar. To be fair, it was the only gay sports bar in Pittsburgh. The guy stopped after his first step inside. He was breathtakingly beautiful. But that wasn’t what held Joe’s attention at the moment. Joe was on guard as soon as he took in the man’s fists clenched at his sides and feet braced shoulder-width apart. He knew this man. If he’s here looking for a fight, we can give it to him. Sal, the bart...ender, also must’ve noticed him, if the suddenly fierce expression that appeared was anything to go by. “What the hell are you doing here?” “I…I…” Joe continued to stare as the man licked his lips. “If you’re here looking for someone to bash, you’re in the wrong place,” Sal said, flexing his Popeye-like biceps. Joe couldn’t hold in the snort. It may be stereotypical, but Sal was right. Not very many of the queens, twinks, and other more feminine classifications for gay men came in here.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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