Page 8 of Noah

"Figured as much. Did you have fun?"

"I turned him down."

Liam coughed out a laugh. "You said no to that sexy and gorgeous man?"

"It was late."

"And?"

"I don't know. We went for pie and talked instead."

"I think you've been working too hard. Your brain is short circuiting on you. You love sex, remember? I knew I should have stuck around. You're obviously in crisis."

I smiled. "No … it was nice. He didn't really share much but it was nice."

"You said nice twice. You don't like nice. You like hot and nasty."

"True." And that was the truth. I didn't typically date. I fucked guys. But last night had felt very much like a date. Maybe Liam was right. Maybe I was in crisis. "I don't know. There's something innocent about the guy. I think he might be gay curious. Which is not my thing. There must be someone better than me to show him the ropes when it comes to gay sex."

Liam tsked me. "Why are you being so passive? What's wrong?"

Trust Liam to burrow underneath my façade and root around. "The pub is getting me down."

"Why? It's doing great."

"The profit margin is practically non-existent. I need to figure out a way to fix it."

"Let me guess. Your solution is to work harder."

"I have to get the pub way up into the black."

"Why? So your parents will be happy?"

I inhaled deeply, released it, and moved the phone to my other ear. Liam knew my hangups when it came to my parents. They expected perfection. Always had. Always would.

"They just want me to be successful."

"Noah, I love you, man, but sometimes you drive me crazy. The pub is a success." I heard the mumble of a voice in the background. "Gotta go. Sleeping beauty is waking up."

"Enjoy him. I'll see you tonight."

A knock on the door announced the arrival of my power bowl with extra chicken. Once I had that down, I called myself a cab and made my way to the Rainbow LGBTQ Youth Centre.

The place was hopping. Kids were meandering the halls and then ducking into classrooms to partake in a variety of activities. On Saturdays, we had our usual crafting area but also a class on nutrition that was essentially a cooking class. Kids loved it. Some of them were homeless and some had food insecurity at home. This was a chance to fill their bellies.

The head coordinator, Jamal, was in the gym, supervising a game of basketball. I jumped in and stole the ball away from one of the older kids. My interception was met with a collective groan.

I played basketball in high school. Along with baseball, soccer, and rugby. All of which, I had to be the best in. I hadn't snagged any scholarships, but I was often the game's MVP.

I dribbled down the court and took my shot. A tall kid Alex totally blocked it, making me laugh and wander off the court. Jamal pounded my lower back as I made my way to his side.

"Better luck next time," he said.

"I'm getting old and slow."

"Hardly." Jamal looked up at me. "I was going to text you but didn't want to bother you."

I didn't like the seriousness in his voice. "What's wrong?"

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