Right To My Wrong

By: Lani Lynn Vale


He gave me a raised brow, then his eyes moved lower to my breasts.

My gaze followed his to see the Dwarf on my shirt, Grumpy.

Hmmm, maybe I shouldn’t have worn this one. Not to mention I didn’t even have a bra on yet.

I moved my glare back to his face to see him smiling at my discomfort, and my nipples started to bead in anticipation. Shit, but the man really was sexy.

The perfect example of a military man from the tips of his combat boots to the length of his beard.

I licked my lips as my eyes settled on his mouth, and snapped my gaze away from him.

“Breakfast?” I blurted, trying to get away from his knowing smile.

Sawyer nodded and walked to my fridge where she pulled out a gallon of orange juice, and a package of groceries that contained eggs, bacon, and canned biscuits.

She really was laying it on thick if she was going to go that far out of her way to make sure I was fed.

“What kind of eggs do you like, Sterling?” she asked as she placed the bags onto the counter.

“Over easy,” he said oddly, almost as if he wasn’t aware that there were any other ways to eat an egg.

Sawyer nodded as she started to pull out a frying pan from somewhere I’d never seen before, followed up with a cookie sheet from above my stove.

I narrowed my eyes.

Had she gone shopping?

Because I definitely would’ve remembered having either of those items.

I hadn’t cooked since I’d moved in unless it was microwavable, and I was fairly certain I had a pot only.

“Where’d that come from?” I asked her suspiciously.

“I found it at a yard sale,” she lied.

I narrowed my eyes and went to her purse, pulling out receipt after receipt.

My eyes scanned for it and I found it at the very bottom.

“You lying whore!” I yelled, waving the receipt around.

She shrugged.

“At some point, you were going to need a pot and a pan. It’s not my fault you won’t get one. When I come over to cook, I want something to work with!” Sawyer yelled right back.

I glared at her.

“You need to leave me alone! And I never asked you to cook!” I pointed at her.

She ignored me, though, and started to place the bacon in the frying pan.

I narrowed my eyes at her and walked into the kitchen, picking up the tube of biscuits and peeling the paper off of it.

Before I’d gotten it all the way off, it exploded in my hand and I shrieked.

“Fuck!” I yelled.

“Serves you right, hoe,” Sawyer muttered under her breath.

I flipped her off, ignoring the man that was at my back laughing at our back and forth banter.

I put the biscuits onto the pan and Sawyer stopped me.

“You need cooking spray,” she said, freezing me.

“Why would you need cooking spray when these are made with small bits of butter? Aren’t they naturally lubricating?” I asked her, ignoring her instructions to spray butter on the pan.

“Are you asking me if you can use butter for lube, seriously?” Sawyer asked in exasperation, moving away from the now popping bacon to the cookie sheet where she picked up every single one of the biscuits and sprayed the sheet down before placing them back, this time in a more neat line.

“Seriously?” I asked her.

She glared at me.

“Go sit down. You’re interrupting my flow,” she hissed.

I washed my hands in the sink and sat down at the island next to Sterling, ignoring the smile on his face.

“So, what are you doing today?” He asked me.

I sighed.

“Apparently going to the baby store and registering for things she doesn’t need,” I told him.

He snorted.

“You could come play baseball with me,” he offered.

I sniffed and stood, turning slightly so he could see my side when I lifted my shirt.

He winced.

I’d been hit yesterday by Cormac, of all people, and the ball had struck me in the lower ribs on my back.

I felt Sterling trace around my bruise with one finger, encircling the entire thing before he said, “It looks pretty bad. I can’t believe he hurt you.”

I laughed. “But I got a walk out of it.”

He winked. “Guess if that was worth it for you.”

It was.

They threw really hard, not caring that I was a girl.

Or that the other men playing with us hadn’t played baseball like they had.

So I was happy for the walk, because stealing bases was where it was at for me, hence why I now had huge scrapes on my ass.

Which was where Sterling went next.

“Your ass was pretty raw,” he said.

I nodded, remembering he’d seen it as I’d walked out of the room earlier.

“I’m pretty sore,” I admitted.

He nodded. “You’re gonna need some sliding pants if you keep coming with us.”

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