“Sam called me a pussy and I didn’t appreciate it.” Okay, now we were getting somewhere.
“Alright. Sam, why’d you call Bulldog a pussy?”
Sam growled. “Because that’s what he is. He’s afraid of commitment and he uses screwing around with other men to hide that fact. It’s about damn time somebody told him that. I called him on it, and he didn’t like it.”
Curious now, despite the heaving, angry bulls on either side of me, I glanced at each man and asked, “How did this even come up in conversation?”
And almost immediately they both deflated and refused to look me in the eye. I took two steps back, suddenly horrified at what I guessed was the most likely reason for all this hullabaloo, especially if Sam thought he was making things up to me after what he’d said the night before.
“Tell me you stupid fools weren’t fighting over my delicate sensibilities.”
The lack of response, along with the sheepish looks and boots scuffing the wooden floor, answered my question.