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said, “No judgment,” parroting one of the meeting’s unofficial rules.
    Stacy looked stricken. “You’re right. I’m being judgmental.”
    Giving Stacy’s shoulder a squeeze, Logan said, “Hard to blame you after she spent twenty minutes talking last week about how the cat throwing up on the carpet made her want to get wasted. It sure in the hell made me want to drink after having to listen about it.”
    Stacy giggled. “It was bad, but everybody’s stressors are different. I have to remember that.” Turning toward the door she whispered, “Your boyfriend is here.”
    Jeffrey entered the room, eyes scanning until he zeroed in on Logan. He smiled as he walked, and he had one hell of a smile. He had an attractive face with big blue eyes and streaked, shoulder-length light brown hair. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, which clearly outlined the muscles of his chest and stomach. He had the kind of body that showed he worked at it.
    Jeffrey bounced on his toes, plainly waiting for Logan to say something. He kept smiling, but his expression held something that looked too much like longing to be comfortable. If he hadn’t been a recovering alcoholic, Logan might have been tempted to go for him, but combining vices was never a good idea. That and Dabb really would be pissed if Logan was thrown out of the group because the fling turned sour.
    “How’s it going, man?” Logan asked.
    “It’s great to see you,” Jeffrey said like he’d been mainlining caffeine. “Both of you.”
    He was always in perpetual motion. Hands fluttering, toes tapping, mouth masticating a piece of gum. Logan had been shocked to learn Jeffrey wasn’t a current or ex-smoker like so many of the members. Jeffrey was just a bundle of nervous energy. Booze had been the only thing to tame his constant jitters.
    Jeffrey hadn’t propositioned him, but he’d made his interest clear and Logan wondered what it would be like to be the focus of that much energy. Father Murphy had told Logan not to fuck anything but his right hand for the first year after prison, which had been seriously disturbing coming out of an eighty-year-old priest’s mouth. Messy relationships ranked as one of the top reasons alkies ended up going back to the bottle. Maybe I should go for it , Logan thought as he watched Jeffrey make the rounds, greeting arriving members and looking over his shoulder at Logan every few steps. I’d be less likely to hit on Caleb that way.
    More guys, mostly in their forties and fifties entered the meeting room and took a seat in the circle of chairs. Soccer Mom stood at the podium, arranging sheets of paper and encouraging people to enjoy the cookies on the snack table.
    “He wants you bad,” Stacy said as they both watched Jeffrey take a seat across from where they stood.
    “How do you know that? Did he pass you a note during study hall?” Logan pulled Stacy over to the chairs and took a seat. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I got enough shit to deal with.”
    “He’s just looking for some fun, not to get you in a tux.” Stacy gave him an assessing look. “You got someone else wanting to rock your world?”
    Logan felt his face flush. Against his will, the memory surfaced like a burst of sunlight in his head: Caleb’s sweet smile and bright green eyes.
    Stacy’s blue eyes widened as if drawing the story from Logan’s head telepathically. “You do! Who is it? Someone from work?”
    Ignoring her, Logan leaned back on his chair as Soccer Mom recited the opening prayer with about half the members saying it with her. Another member took over and started reciting the “Twelve Traditions and Promises.” Logan let the now familiar words soak in, trying to get into the inner headspace he’d heard so much about.
    A bony elbow to his ribs interrupted his attempt at enlightenment.
    “I’m your sponsor. You have to confide in me,” Stacy whined.
    “I’m not talking to you about Caleb, so you can forget it.”
    Soccer