Page 25 of In Bed with Mr. Wrong

She gave herself a mental kick. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be with someone who thought she needed to wear makeup every second of every day in order to be beautiful. Not that he’d ever called her beautiful. God, she was giving herself a headache with all this mental circling.

Or maybe that was the sodium overload.

If she hadn’t been so angry, she would have taken him up on his offer to make a scramble and just tossed the eggs, but she’d wanted to prove to him that there was something she could do right, even if it was something so small as fried eggs. She was horribly wrong on that count. From the moment she’d started cooking, things had gone sideways. And he hadn’t reacted at that first bite, or the second, or any of them. She already felt so out-of-control around him, admitting she couldn’t eat something that had been her idea in the first place was harder to swallow than the eggs. So she’d forced down the entire thing.

Looking back, it was the highest degree of stupidity, but he seemed to bring out that side of her like no one else she’d met. She’d never had a problem with controlling herself before, let alone to the point where she was having sex on her porch swing—or getting into car accidents. But with Ryan, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to climb into his lap and let him do wicked things to her. At least it did when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

Why, oh why, had she eaten those stupid eggs?

She sat on the chair she’d started to think of as hers and watched him dump a few cups of oats into the boiling water. Good Lord. Couldn’t he at least resort to the little microwavable packets? She knew she shouldn’t feel so damn irritated that he could cook, but it didn’t stop her from doing exactly that. “Are youtryingto make me feel inadequate, or does it just come naturally to you?”

To her surprise, he gave her a small smile. “I don’t get a chance to cook all that often, and I’m kind of enjoying it. My team will eat damn near anything, so it’s nice to feed someone who might actually appreciate it.”

She blinked. When was the last time someone made something for her with the hope she’d appreciate it? Avery cooked from time to time, but she couldn’t care less if Bri and Drew ate or not. “You’re doing a whole lot better than I am at this point—except for the corn bread.”

“That would have been really great.” He grinned. “But I’m okay with how things turned out, jokes about burning this place to the ground aside.”

Her face flamed at the memory. “Can we please not talk about that?”

“You were more than willing to talk about it last night.”

Things had changed since then and he knew it. He was testing her. She straightened, but refused to take the bait. “Where did you learn to cook?”

For a long moment, she thought he might not let the previous subject go, but he shrugged. “I kind of learned as I went. Dad wasn’t much of a cook, even when he was around, and I got really tired of Drew’s burned grilled cheese sandwiches after the fifth straight day of eating them.”

She could sympathize. A few of her foster parents had stuck to meals that could be made in bulk and rotated on a weekly basis, while others hadn’t always worried about whether things were edible. But she’d never once considered taking things into her own hands the way Ryan apparently had. Which brought up the question… “What happened to your mom?”

“She died when I was two. From what people say, my dad wasn’t a bad guy before then, but he let missing her take over his life.” A shadow passed over his face, lingering in his eyes as he looked at her.

To get them off the shaky ground, she asked, “Why did you join the Air Force?”

He stirred the oatmeal. “I never really fit in here, even as a kid. Everywhere I turned, I had to deal with being Drunk Billy’s kid. Most people didn’t judge me for it, but there was no escaping the fact that everyone knew my dad spent more nights passed out in strange places than he did at home.”

He made a face as he set the pan on the oven and adjusted the heat. “But beyond that, I love history, and I’ve probably spent more time in that library of yours than you have, reading up on different places. All I wanted for as long as I can remember was to travel and see where history went down. I wanted to get away from a town where no one seems to get past something I did in high school.”

Bri folded her hands in front of her, feeling the ridiculous need to apologize for misjudging him, at least on one level. “It’s a funny story. People enjoy telling it.”

“It was a long time ago. When most people talk about the Flannerys, they’re thinking of how great Drew turned out, being sheriff and all. I’m just the kid who burned down the damn school, even though I’ve accomplished a whole hell of a lot since then.” He opened the fridge and poked around in the fruit crisper drawer. “Jesus.”

She peered over and couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping. “What in God’s name would possess them to put condoms inthere?”

“I can’t decide if they thought we were actually going to have enough sex to justify what is obviously a Costco-sized box of condoms, or if they’re just fucking with us.” He pulled the condom packet out of the fridge and tossed it onto the counter farthest from her.

“It may very well be a combination of both.”

“Good point.” He pulled out a carton of berries and milk. “As to why I went with the Air Force, specifically, I picked the PJs because my uncle was one.”

She tilted her head to the side. “PJs? Is that the abbreviation for pararescuer?”

“Yeah. I used to beg him to tell me stories about the people he’d rescued.” He paused to look at her. “Something he said always stuck with me—it’s a whole lot harder to save a man’s life than it is to pull a trigger and end it. Though apparently my dad didn’t get that memo.”

Hearing his reasons sent a pang through her, a pang that only got worse when she realized what the last comment must mean. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if his dad had taken a gun to himself. Ryan hadn’t had a perfect upbringing any more than she had. A sense of kinship welled up inside her, snuffing out the last smidgen of irritation from the egg incident. “Your dad...”

“He killed himself a few years after I graduated.” He turned away. “I’ve never regretted leaving, even considering that, because joining the PJs was the best thing to ever happened to me.”

“You’re a hero.” More so than any man in her romance novels because he wasreal.

“I serve my country, same as any other soldier.”

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