Scooter didn’t usually smoke in the middle of the day; two per day was his compromise between his bad habits and his general attention to his health. (His ma had died of cancer, for f**k’s sake and smoking seemed somehow disrespectful, even if it wasn’t lung cancer she’d had.)
But he was gonna f*****g fall over and die of a heart attack and he needed a cigarette damn bad.
He’d just put Andy’s sweats down on the table when he’d heard a familiar noise from the bathroom. Andy always sounded sexy as hell when he took that first sip of coffee in the morning. Starting work half-hard for the last two weeks had been killing him, but Scooter couldn’t seem to give it up. He was a pile of bad habits loosely disguised as a responsible adult.
Andy probably didn’t drink coffee in the shower.
And the
