“Nobody calls me that anymore. It’s Joe, but you can call me whatever you want.” He placed a beer and an empty shot glass in front of me and sat down, then lifted the bottle of Jack Daniels and raised an eyebrow. I nodded, and he poured me a shot. Joe raised his glass, and I touched mine to his, careful not to let our fingers make contact. Handsy was a dangerous kid, so I was assuming the same could be said for the adult version named Joe. When we were teenagers I’d given him the nickname because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. It wasn’t just with me, he was the most expressive boy I’d ever met, his fingers always touching everything and everyone. Now he seemed more subdued, but his looks were still magnetic, attracting my eyes whether I wanted to look or not.
“Cheers... to the mos
