One Day You'll Be Mine: Steamy Contemporary Military Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

creative spirit. But this time around, I felt it stifling. I didn’t bother attempting to make any home-cooked meals. For the last week, Jordan’s binged on pizza, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, and any fast food his heart desired. I simply lay in bed, reading books from romance authors like Alana Hart, feeling sorry for myself.
    “Have you tried making any aphrodisiac meals to get him in the mood?” I asked, randomly. Even though I wasn’t in the mood to cook, a huge cut of steak across the aisle captivated me. Like any other supermarket, the fresh goods, meats included, were along the outside perimeter of the commissary aisles.
    Kelli scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t believe the hype. That stuff doesn’t work. When he’s good and ready, he’ll find you. Until then, get you a little release and relax.” She shifted the conversation. “What would be better: Frito Pie, like the boys get back home, or nachos?”
    “You have two packages of jasmine rice in your cart, and you’re asking me about Frito Pies and nachos?”
    “Just because I buy it today doesn’t mean I’m cooking it today.” She sounded exasperated. She looked at me, shaking her head again. “What’s up with you today?”
    “I already told you.” I lowered my voice. Even though nobody else was in the aisle, I didn’t need wandering ears listening in. I leaned in and reminded her. “I’m. Frustrated .”
    Kelli’s eyes were both amused and piteous at once. She wanted to laugh, yet refrained. I was grateful; now wasn’t the right time to do so.
    “We’re going to stop at the MCX; you need some Sweet Bitch in your life.”
    “I need something stronger than Sweet Bitch,” I shook my head. Moscato was nice, but these days I could finish a bottle a day on my own.
    “Fine. We’ll get you some Svedka, get some gummy bears, and have a grand old time. Cooking, drinking, and talking until our husbands get home.”
    ***
    Kelli grew up in a big family, with three sisters and four brothers. She learned to cook by spending lots of time with her mother, and possessed flair for seasoning in ways I had yet to master. Her seafood recipes were amazing. In fact, that’s what she was making that day while we sat back and talked: baked shrimp and crab legs, based upon a recipe she pulled off Pinterest.
    Once she seasoned the crab and shrimp with Old Bay, garlic, and a mixture of chili spices, she put the jasmine rice in the rice cooker. I sipped a strawberry Cosmo made from the Svedka and began boiling water for simple syrup. She’d use it to create her mango lime lemonade, which she’d make from scratch. (Now that’s a recipe she did share, but I’ve never perfected.)
    Jordan and Karter, Kelli’s son, would not be home for several hours. Kelli didn’t work, and it was my day off, so I took the time to really diffuse. I’d been a ball of anger, hurt, and confusion, wrapped up under tight threads of numbness.
    We made our way to the living room. Kelli’s house had a Mediterranean flair to the design. The home had rich brown furniture, but the walls were a gorgeous deep teal color. There was a picture of Kelli and Kristopher, as newlyweds, hanging on the wall, between family pictures. The photos were below one of those wall appliqués with clichéd quotes on them. Theirs in particular said, “The Love of Family is Life’s Greatest Blessing.”
    “So,” Kelli said, sinking down into one corner of the espresso-colored leather sofa. She set her strawberry lemonade, splashed with vodka, on a rich cocoa coaster. “Spit it out.”
    Her words were straight to the point, no nonsense. Her tone of voice was quiet, contemplative. She wanted me to speak, uncensored, without the fluffy dance around the problems, and she would listen without interruption.
    I leaned back on my side of the sectional, my fist anchoring the side of my head as I spoke. I recanted the experiences of the last few months. I explained that I felt my husband pulling away from me, how