“Stay there. Since it was your need for me that forced you out of bed so early, I at least owe you some food.” Braden winked as he stood. He headed toward the bathroom in his room.

Wes rolled to his side and watched as Braden got rid of the condom and then washed his hands. As he moved, the muscles constricted in his body. He was long and thin, but ripped, too. All man. It really should be illegal to be that sexy. So sexy that Wes didn’t even have the strength to call him on his cockiness.

“Coffee?” Braden asked.

“I should go,” Wes replied, but the words sort of stuck in his mouth like peanut butter. He didn’t want to mutter them.

“Eh, its fun to do something you shouldn’t every once in a while. Give me like five and I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Or get dressed. I like the view.” Braden turned and walked out of the room.

And to his shock, Wes didn’t get up to leave. His head spun half the time he was with the man. He’d try to compute one thing he said but Braden would already be moving to the next.

Needing to do something, Wes grabbed his pants, pulled his cell out and checked for any calls. It was still early, so he set the phone on Braden’s bedside table and...sat there. Just sat in the middle of Braden’s bed, waiting for him.

What the fuck am I doing?

“Here.” Braden stuck his head around the corner and held out two plates. Wes grabbed them and saw massive cinnamon rolls on each one. It was enough to make his mouth water.

“Cream and sugar?” Braden asked.

“Um, yeah. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.” He nodded his head toward the bed again.

“Jesus, you’re pushy.”

“No, that’s you.” Braden ducked out of the room again and Wes found himself back on the bed, this time with plate-sized cinnamon rolls.

It wasn’t a minute later before Braden came back in with napkins and their coffee, handing one cup to Wes and setting his on the table.

“If you have to be up at this hour, there’s no better way to do it than sex, coffee, and sugar.” Braden cocked his brow before popping a piece of food into his mouth.

For once, Wes couldn’t argue with him.

Together, they sat on the middle of Braden’s bed, naked and eating. Neither of them really spoke until Wes set their plates on the table.

“So,” Braden leaned back, arms outstretched behind him, hands on the bed. “Where’d you go to school? I know you’re from Colorado, right? But then you left?”

“Yeah. We didn’t live in Blackcreek, but I’m from Colorado. I went to California not long after high school. Went to college there, and I stayed there until I moved here. What about you?”

“Grew up outside of Denver. Like I told you, my parents have a shit-ton of land. Lived in a small town, and the second I could get my ass outta there, I did.”

Wes leaned back against the headboard with his legs out in front of him. “You didn’t like it?”

Braden’s forehead wrinkled as though he was confused. “I liked it fine. It was a good place to grow up—just not where I wanted to live forever. I bailed with a buddy of mine right after graduation. Moved around a bit, then ended up in Seattle for a while. It was my favorite there. Have you ever been?”

Wes shook his head. He’d been to California and Colorado. That was it.

“Ah, there are good times to be had there.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard they have some nice art galleries out there. I’d love to visit some.” It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought he’d do. Now, well he doubted he’d be going much of anywhere. Not that being here with Jessie wasn’t more important, because it was, but still...why hadn’t he ever tried to go anywhere before?

“I forgot you paint. When are you going to paint me something, Picasso?”

Wes chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t paint anymore.”

“You could paint.”

“But I don’t.”

“But you could.”

Damn, the man acted like he was ten sometimes. “Why do you always try to argue with me? You’re always bustin’ my balls for something, or trying to get under my skin. Like that ‘Wesley’ bullshit. I asked you not to call me that.”

Braden moved closer to him. “Because it’s fun to watch you get all rattled, to pretend shit bugs you more than it does. I’m not sure you even know you’re pretending, though.”

Was he right? No. Wes didn’t pretend stuff bothered him. Why would anyone do that? He didn’t want to feel like shit most of the time, he just did.