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Chapter Two
Shayna wasn’t sure whether to bang her head on a wall or burst out laughing. Both reactions seemed appropriate to having dropped her towel in front of Billy Fucking Parrish. Of course, that would happen to her on her first day living with the guy, who’d quite possibly moved faster than any human being ever when he’d turned around and given her his broad back.
Good going, Shay.
She chuckled to herself as she dropped the towel—on purpose this time, folded it, and hung it on the bar behind the door. It only took her a minute to slide on a pair of leggings and a long, lightweight sweater, and then there was nothing to do but brazen it out and face the guy like she didn’t care that he knew her pubes were a few shades darker than the hair on her head.
To the extent that she’d ever imagined anything happening with Billy—and she had to admit she’d fantasized about it a few times—it had never begun with anything so ridiculous and humiliating as what’d just happened. For crap’s sake.
“You like pizza?” Billy called from just outside the door.
On a deep breath, she opened it to find him standing in the hall again. His dark blond hair a sexy finger-raked mess as if he’d been tugging at it. The square of his jaw set in a tight line. Serious brown eyes trained on hers. No gun in sight, this time. Which made her say, “Before we talk pizza, can we just agree that Ryan should never know about what happened the last time I opened this door?”
He nailed her with a droll stare. “Please, God. I’d like to live.”
She snickered as she flicked off the light switch. “Good. And I love pizza.”
“Come on down, then.” With a sideways tilt of his head, he beckoned her to follow. Which gave her the opportunity to really take him in. While she’d dressed, he’d removed the brown bomber-style jacket he’d had on, revealing just how much freaking justice he did to a pair of blue jeans. Because lordy did he fill them out nicely. His white T-shirt was plain but highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the bulk of his biceps. It was only once they got downstairs that she noticed his feet were bare.
His look was at once nothing special and crazy hot because this was how he looked when he was just chilling at home and not even putting in an effort to make panties drop. Yet, drop they still metaphorically did. She bit back a smile.
He went to the double ovens and set them to preheating, and then gathered flour, sugar, salt, a bottle of olive oil, and some dry yeast from the cabinets. Next, he collected mixing bowls and measuring spoons. He laid everything out in neat, precise rows. Shay stared as he moved about, obviously comfortable in the kitchen. “I thought you were going to order out.”
He shrugged with one big shoulder. “Mine’s better, Goldilocks.”
Shayna rolled her eyes even as the confidence in his tone drew a smile from her. “All righty, then.” She rested her elbows on the counter and watched him start on the dough. “If I’m Goldilocks, who are you?”
Billy smirked. “Papa Bear. Obviously.”
“Oh, obviously,” she said mockingly, earning a wink from him. It was either mock or stammer in an embarrassment she didn’t quite understand. At least she hadn’t blushed, which given how fair she was, happened often enough. “Can I help?”
His dark-eyed gaze lifted to hers, and he gave a single nod. “Suit yourself. Grab the cans of tomato sauce and paste from the pantry.” He nodded his head toward the cabinet. “And then the spices are next to the stove. We need the dried oregano and onion powder. I’ll mince the garlic and chop the basil while the yeast stands.”
“I’ll have you know that you’re putting my pride in being able to make a mean bagel pizza to shame right now,” Shay said as she collected everything.
“A decade of missed meals and MREs makes a man crave something real, something homemade.”
She nodded, a little niggle taking up root in her belly. Because Ryan was still out there. Still going places and doing things that he could never tell her about. Still sacrificing his comfort and his time. Still putting himself in harm’s way. No homemade meals in sight.
“Ryan lives and breathes it, Shay. He loves what he’s doing. Don’t you worry about him,” Billy said in low voice. He tossed an observing glance her way, then got busy starting the sauce.
Shayna blinked. How had he known? She didn’t ask, though, because Billy had insight into her brother’s life that Ryan himself would never give her. Would he share it with her? “Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to.”
“Was that what it was like for you?” she asked.
A muscle ticked in the side of that angled jaw, and the knife with which he chopped the basil thunked-thunked harder against the cutting board. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
And then he did. “It was.”
Was. As he’d moved about, she’d seen a small stretch of scarring that ran up his neck and under his shirt. Her gaze trailed over the tee again, and she wondered just how extensive his scars were from the burns he’d suffered in an explosion a few years ago. An explosion that he and Ryan had survived but that a lot of the other Rangers in their squad hadn’t. That was all she knew, and it’d taken her a lot of coaxing to get Ryan to share that much with her.
Silence rang loud in the room, clearly communicating that it wasn’t something about which he wanted to talk. She regretted asking and searched her mind for something to lighten the mood, watching as he combined the sauce ingredients in a blender.
“Have you always been good at cooking?”
A single shake of his head. “My mom came to stay with me for a few months. After I was discharged.”
