Page 30 of Interference

He laughed, and I was startled by how cute he was when he blushed. “So you like it, then?”

“I do. A lot.” I loaded some eggs onto my fork. “We have the most incredible chefs cooking for the team at home and on the road, and I think you could teach them a thing or two about cooking eggs.”

Oh. Wow. That smile. Wyatt was a good-looking man to begin with. He had the most beautiful hazel-green eyes I’d ever seen, and he rocked the neatly trimmed beard. When he smiled, though? Fuuuck.

Mercifully unaware of me drooling over him, he gestured at his plate. “It’s just cumin.”

“Cumin. Ah. I thought I recognized it.” I took another bite, and this time I definitely made the connection. “I never thought to put it on eggs.”

He gave me a smile that bordered on shy this time, and I was not prepared for how cute it was. Focusing on his food again, he said, “One of the guys I went to combat with brought it along. MREs are so fucking disgusting, so most of us just drowned them in hot sauce, but my buddy found that some actual seasoning helped. Even when we had real non-MRE food, it was still pretty bland, and he showed me how to wake it up a little.” He paused. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind me snooping through your spice rack.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.” I took another bite. “I might have to bring some spices with me on the road. The hotels have really good food, but sometimes…” I grimaced and wobbled my hand in the air.

“I bet.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“I do. It’s awesome.”

We ate in silence for a while. I hadn’t even realized I’d had cumin on the spice rack; that was probably something Simon had picked up, since he was the better and more adventurous cook between us. Maybe I needed to play around with some of the seasonings he’d bought. Or have Wyatt show me a thing or two.

After a few minutes, Wyatt broke the silence between us. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last night.” He avoided my gaze as he nudged his eggs with his fork. “I honestly didn’t think I was loud enough to wake somebody on another floor, but—”

“You didn’t.”

He turned to me, brow pinched.

I turned my attention to my own food. “I was already awake. I, um… I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Just…” I gestured at my head. “Mind was all over the place. The game… It…” I sighed. “It just wasn’t a good night.” I paused and winced. “I mean, yours was a lot worse, and—”

“Anthony.” He nudged me gently with his elbow. “It’s not a competition. I had bad nights long before my head was ever fucked up from the war. I get it.”

I chewed my lip, not sure what to say.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I guess it was just a rough night for both of us.”

“Yeah, it was.” The reasons why last night had sucked for me wanted to come pouring out, but Wyatt didn’t need to listen to me complain about my relationship. And I’d spend most of the conversation pleading with him not to breathe a word to anyone—even though we didn’t know any of the same people—about my situation, because I was that fucking paranoid about someone finding out there was trouble in paradise. Maybe I needed to talk to a counselor. Simon wasn’t interested, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t. Right?

Beside me, Wyatt cleared his throat. “Just, um… Just FYI, that might not be the only time that happens while I’m here. It’s a little hard to predict.”

“That’s okay.” I turned to him. “Does that happen when you’re, um… When you’re living…”

“When I’m out on the street?”

I nodded.

Wyatt shrugged. “Once in a while.” He gave a near-silent laugh as he picked up a strip of bacon. “Probably the one teeny tiny silver lining of my situation is that I usually don’t sleep deeply enough to have the worst nightmares.” He bit off a piece of the bacon. “Fucking sucks, not getting actual sleep, but…”

“Holy shit,” I whispered. “And that’s… It’s PTSD from the military, right?”

He nodded.

“Is that—definitely tell me if this is none of my business, but… is your leg also from your time in the military?”

Another nod. “The amputation came after I was discharged, but the original injury—yeah, that happened in the Army.”

“Jesus.” I studied him, then cautiously asked, “Doesn’t all that qualify you for disability through the military?”

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