Page 11 of A Man in Uniform

Long, sweeping lines of ink follow his shoulder blades, swirling across the back of his neck and down the back side of his ribs. There are pictures built into the design. Crosses, an American flag, letters and dates.

It's beautiful.

He twists to look at me over his shoulder, and gives me a smile. “Morning, I didn't think you'd be up this early. I'm making eggs, and the coffee is ready if you want a cup. How's your head?”

My jaw is on the floor. I'm still dreaming, I have to be. There's no way Wyatt is in my kitchen right now. Pinching myself, I cringe.

He smirks, pointing at me with the spatula. “Did you just pinch yourself?”

Pursing my lips, my heart is in my throat as I take a small step forward. “What are you doing here?” I ask, rubbing the red skin where I dug my nails in.

“Wow, did we just reverse time?” he laughs, and that laugh. . . It does things to me it shouldn't. My heart races wildly, my muscles begin to tremble, and my pussy grows hot. His eyes meet mine as he keeps talking. “Because you asked me the same thing last night a few times before finally passing out.”

Holding up a hand, I warily step towards the kitchen. “Whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean last night? I don't remember you from last night at all.”

“I'm not surprised. I don't know what that guy gave you, but you had me nervous for awhile.” He flicks his eyes at me briefly, then turns them back to the stove. “You're really lucky I was there, you know that? That guy looked like he wanted to hurt you.”

Holding up my hand, I veer my stare. “I'm sorry, I'm confused. Drugged? Other guy? What the hell is going on? What the fuck are you talking about? I was with my friends, I was having fun, I. . .” My voice fades I try like hell to remember more.

I really can't remember.

He spins away from the stove, holding a pan full of scrambled eggs. Scooping some onto two plates, he sets the pan back on the burner, and pulls out a chair.

“Here, sit, you could probably use some food right now.” He fans an arm from me to the chair. “It'll help get rid of the shakes. Come on, come sit before you fall down again.”

“Again?”

He nods, ticking his head in my direction. “Check the left side of your head.” Feeling my scalp, there's a big egg. My eyes lift to his, unsure how to process this. “You insisted on walking up the steps on your own,” he goes on to say, “but you ended up falling over, and hitting your head on the banister. So, I carried you the rest of the way.”

What the hell is going on right now?

I'm so confused. The last thing I can vividly remember is dancing at the club. Now, I'm face to face with a ghost from my past. I never thought I'd see him again, no matter how many times I wished for this, no matter how many shooting stars I watched cross the sky, and said his name as they disappeared, I never thought I'd wake up and he'd just be here.

Slowly, I walk to the table and take a seat. Wyatt helps to push me in, handing me a fork, and going back to the counter.

“You still like extra cream and sugar?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, my stomach tumbling softly. “I can't believe you remember that.”

“Of course I remember. I remember a lot more than just what you like in your coffee.” He winks, giving me a sexy little smirk. “I remember how you used to giggle when I gripped the area around your knee. And I remember the way you used to open your sodas with your teeth instead of your fingers.” Smiling, he looks off in thought.

My heart lurches in my chest with that smile. I'm brought back to when we were first started dating when I was sixteen. It's that smirk right there that drew me in in the first place, that same smirk that made butterflies flutter in my stomach, and my skin flush, and my heart race in my chest.

It's the same smirk he would use after we had. . .Oh, oh no. No. No. No.

My eyes jump to his, wide and on the verge of panic. “Wyatt, did we. . .” I pause, unable to even finish my sentence.

He chuckles, and gives me a genuine smile. “No, we didn't have sex if that's what you're asking.” Leaning into the fridge, he takes out the cream, and pours it into both mugs. Stirring them, he carries them to the table and passes me one. “Here, this will get rid of the headache you have, plus a couple of these.” He hands me a few aspirins, and takes the seat across from me.

“Drugged? How do you know I was drugged?”

“Trust me, Story, you were slipped something. And you refused to go to the hospital, you wouldn't even hear it.”

“Wow,” I say in shock, “I can't believe I was drugged.” Lifting the mug to my lips, I blow cool air across the top and take a sip.

Wyatt nods, inhaling a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “I'm just glad I was there and nothing happened to you.” He lifts his eyes to mine, and points his fork in my direction. “You really don't remember anything at all?”

“No, I don't remember anything after dancing with my friends.”

---