Katee Robert - In Bed with Mr. Wrong

She wanted to play queen of the castle? Fine. She could choke on the damn eggs. “Knock yourself out, then.”

Bri grabbed two plates and shoveled a pair of messed up–looking eggs onto each. She shoved one across the island to him. “ Enjoy .”

So she expected him to suffer, too? Fine. He’d survived Hell Night during indoctrination. Nineteen hours of the worst torture training could serve up, and he hadn’t washed out. Eating two eggs should be nothing compared to that.

He was proven horrifically wrong when he took his first bite and was pretty sure his tongue would never be the same. Or maybe it was all part of her plan to make sure his mouth was too dried up to talk for the rest of the weekend. As plans went, it was brilliant. He got up, doing his damnedest to keep any expression off his face, and went to the fridge in search of some kind of juice to combat the horrible taste. Water wasn’t going to cut it today.

Behind him, Bri made a choked noise. He glanced over as he grabbed the orange juice, schooling his face to show nothing. “Problem?” How’s that pride tasting now?

She coughed, a pained expression on her face. “Not in the least. How’re the eggs?”

How far was she willing to take this? Because if she thought she could outlast him, she was crazy. He’d eaten worse things than this—not many, but still. Ryan poured himself a giant glass of juice and smiled, though it felt more like a baring of teeth. “They’re great.”

She flinched, then seemed to gather her resolve. “If you’re enjoying them so much, I should make you seconds.”

The little brat. She would in a heartbeat, too, and smile sweetly while she double-dosed the salt. He took a long drink and nearly groaned with relief when it hit his parched tongue. “I’d never be so selfish. You must be starving, though. I don’t see how two eggs would be enough after the workout I gave you last night.”

Her mouth thinned, blue eyes sparking behind those glasses he still wanted to take off even though he kind of wanted to throttle her right now, too. “You know, that’s a fantastic idea. And since I’ll be cooking anyway, it’ll be no trouble for me to make us both more.”

“Awesome.” If he died from high salt toxicity, it was just one more thing to lay at the feet of Drew and Avery. It would serve them right to show up here and find him and Bri mummified, all moisture pulled from their bodies.

They ate with jerky movements, staring each other down. He kept waiting for her to flinch and back off, but she wasn’t showing a bit of weakness. And because of how things had played out between them up to this point, he couldn’t . So he forced down bite after bite of egg while he fantasized about bending her over this counter and fucking some sense into them both.

She finished her last egg and set down her fork, looking a little green around the edges. “You know—” Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes going wide.

Though part of him wanted to leave her to her much-deserved suffering, Ryan couldn’t do it. He slid his half-filled glass over. “Drink.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. Then she drained the entire thing.

He couldn’t let this go on. He wasn’t sure they’d survive a second helping. Even now, his stomach was making its unhappiness known��which was saying something since he’d eaten some questionable things over the years. He took a deep breath. “If you’re still hungry, how about oatmeal instead?” Hopefully it would soak up some of the salt.

For a second, he thought she’d argue or insist on the goddamn eggs, but then Bri offered up a sheepish smile. “That sounds a lot better than my idea.”

He hopped out of his chair and got to work. If he gave her too long to think about it, it was entirely possible she’d change her mind.

Once he disposed of the eggs and got a pot of water situated on the stove—and was facing away from her—he rubbed his stomach and grimaced. Pride might have been the name of the game, but it was pretty damn stupid to muscle down terrible food just to prove a point. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a thread of satisfaction that he wasn’t the first one to blink.

It was high time he got the ball back in his court.

…

Bri sat perfectly still, trying to convince herself she wasn’t going to throw up. There was a reason her oven sat mostly unused at home. She didn’t bake or roast or cook as a general rule. The only reason she’d tried this morning was because she needed something to do while Ryan showered, to distract herself from thoughts of water running over his naked body. She’d reasoned that he made dinner last night, so she might as well pull her own weight this morning.

She should have stuck with cold cereal.

But then he’d come in with his comments about her going to the bathroom to finish getting ready, and she’d forgotten all about trying not to fight. How was she supposed to keep her temper when his words felt tattooed on her brain? Mousy librarian . No matter what had happened since they met, he still thought of her like that.

Would he like her better if she wore makeup?

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 you trying to 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?”