Stale Beer, Sweet Vengeance

The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight.

Game night, loud as ever.

I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine.

But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore.

A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious.

Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man."

My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me.

With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?"