Page 12 of Issued
Massaging my temples, I take a second before responding. “Had the same issue when I first got deployed. Changing environments is always a struggle in the beginning.”
She hums in agreement and turns toward the hallway. “You want anything from the kitchen?”
My eyes follow her. “A glass of water.”
The clangs coming from the kitchen cause my heel to bounce against the floor a mile a minute. Getting used to living with someone again isn’t coming as easy as I thought it would. Hell, I’ve lived with my bunch of morons in tight quarters overseas. But my house is my safe space. Especially during recovery. But now someone else is here, and the privacy I crave—the privacy I need—is nonexistent. Rubbing my brows, I release an exasperated sigh.
Taya walks back into the living room, holding a bowl in one hand and my glass of water in the other. She puts the glass down in front of me—and she actually uses a coaster—before she takes a seat on the other couch. I mutter “Thanks,” then pick the glass up to take a couple of small sips.
I gaze over to Taya, who is now curled up with the bowl of cereal balancing on her knees. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, which sways forward as she leans in to bring a spoonful of cereal and milk up to her mouth. When she goes to scoop up more cereal, she moves the spoon around in the bowl, pushing the marshmallows out of the way and only allowing grains floating in the milk to glide on the spoon.
I stifle a laugh as I return my half-empty glass of water to the table.
Taya’s head jerks up and she swallows hard. “I’m just trying to get the boring stuff out of the way first. Not my fault they refuse to make marshmallows-only boxes. It’s what the people want. Even Cap’n Crunch offers the ‘All Berries’ cereal. But Lucky Charms? Nope.”
She scrunches her small nose up, eyes focused on the bowl, searching around and then the left side of her mouth stretches into a crooked smile and her eyebrow raises. She leans back into the couch and takes a big, confident spoonful of marshmallows. She chews them slowly, with her eyes closed, the inside corners of her eyebrows lifted up.
“How was your day?” she asks, in between bites.
“Fine.” I tap my fingers on my knee.
“The humidity was out of control today.” She sighs and shakes her head. “The weather report shows it’s only going to get worse in the coming days.”
I nod in acknowledgment and reach down to wipe some dust off my computer keys.
“Were you working on something?” She takes the spoon out of her mouth and points to my laptop with it.
“Yes.”
She brings the bowl to her lips and gulps down the remaining milk before reaching across the table to grab a magazine. She places it in front of her and puts her empty bowl on top. “So, yoga?”
“A team member suggested I try it. Said it helps with the headaches. Between being in the sun all day, not sleeping much, and the computer screen poking at my brain, I’d figured, why not give it a try.” I close my laptop.
Taya pushes a strand of hair not in her ponytail behind her ear. “Computers certainly put a strain on the eyes. Did it help?”
“A little.”
She nibbles her lip while she watches me, like she’s trying to make a decision. Then, she rises from the couch and walks toward me. “Here, let me try something for your headache.”
Alarmed by her approach, I rear back in my chair. “What? No! I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”
She glares at me before taking another determined step. “Learned a technique when I had to go to physical therapy once. I used to do this for my dad all the time when he came home stressed from work.”
Her voice wavers at the end and sorrow fills her eyes. My protest dies in my throat. I might not want this marriage, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a total asshole. “Fine. But hurry up. I’ve got work to do.”
Not the most gracious of acceptances, but she’ll have to take what she can get.
Her expression brightens, and she walks until she’s standing behind me. She’s standing so close, the sweet floral scent of her shampoo tickles my nose, and then her soft, warm hands gently land on the back of my neck. My body responds by sending blood rushing below my waistband. My hands clench the armrests.Please, just get this over with already.
Her fingers slide up my neck, until they nestle on either side of the muscled columns and just beneath my skull. “Take a deep breath.”
I comply, hoping that focusing on my breathing will distract my dick.
“Now, exhale.”
When I do, her fingers exert an upward pressure, deep into my neck. I flinch. It’s uncomfortable as hell. At least for the first second or two. But as time passes, the pressure that fills my head like helium in a balloon eases and I inhale a ragged breath.
“That’s it,” she says, adjusting her positioning. She waits until I breathe a few more times before applying the pressure again, in a slightly different spot.
