“f**k the eggs,” Roger growled as he stood. He pushed past Wes, his elbow hitting him in the small of the back. Wes staggered against the hot stove, catching the pan before he could dump the frying eggs all over the floor. “I’m leaving.”
“Why?” Wes turned off the range and followed Roger into the hall. “Breakfast is almost ready—”
“I gotta get to work.” Roger pulled on the same heavy flannel shirt he wore the night before, covering his tattooed arms. Lighting a cigarette, he crammed his wool hat down over his curls, hiding his forehead, then pulled on his shades. “What?” he asked. “No kiss goodbye?”
Wes kissed the corner of his mouth with a quick peck and stepped back. Pointing the cigarette at him, Roger said, “You get this s**t worked out, you hear me? I’m not gonna beg for a fuck.
