“Anyone who loves you would be worried,” Jack said, disappointed, but still trying. “I want to call, no, I don’t want to, but I’ll call my folks. I don’t have anyone else who would—care. Not anymore.” Fuckers, he thought, of his former boyfriend and girlfriend. I hope they’ve killed each other, he thought nastily.
Ryan complained, “My clothes are ruined and my pants—Oh. My. God. They stink! And they have to be dry cleaned! And my other clothes were on the plane! Why me, God? Why me?”
Ryan’s little pity party was rather unattractive, Jack thought, but highly understandable.
“I hate this job! I wanted to quit anyhow! As soon as I get back to Denver and my sweetie-pie, I’ll quit and take that waiter’s job at the Roy Rogers Café and Bistro!”
“Who’s Roy Rogers?” Jack asked.