It would certainly arrive soon. In the meantime, she had to figure out how to explain all this to her parents. Her brother would have told them some embellished version his overly romantic mind had invented, no doubt. Dinner would be interesting tonight, that was for sure. She thought about calling her sister to head off an avalanche, but then decided to let them stew for a while longer.
They’d have their chance to scare him away soon enough.
Of course, since he knew he had an escape clause at the end of the month, he might stick it out. As long as she wasn’t pregnant.
A baby. Wouldn’t that be crazy? The thought both terrified and exhilarated Megan. On one hand, she had no idea how she’d manage to take care of a baby and her family at the same time, but she remembered what Ben had promised—even if he couldn’t be there physically, she’d always have his support.
How amazing was this guy? She barely knew him, and he was pledging a part of himself to her forever. Sort of.
Hell, for all he knew, she could already be pregnant by some other guy and trying to snare Ben in some sort of “marry a Navy pilot for his child support” scheme. But he hadn’t mentioned anything like that. She wanted to think it was because she radiated honesty, not because he was naive, but then thought wow.
What if it was because he was just that good a person? There had been something in the way he’d pledged to help her—a vulnerability, almost—that made her want to trust him. Well, good intentions were one thing. Reality—especially the Shuttlekrump version—could have a whole ’nother effect.
Her dad had always told them all to never have sex with someone they weren’t willing to marry and raise children with, which seemed especially appropriate for her, considering her non-relationship with her own birth father. It seemed possible Ben would live up to her dad’s standards, though that scared her as much as pregnancy. Relying on someone other than the Shuttlekrumps to be there for her? It had never happened before.
She was going to find out how he ranked with her dad soon enough, because today was Monday. On Monday, the show was dark. For most performers, this likely meant everyone would spend time with people other than their castmates. For the Shuttlekrumps, it meant lasagna and garlic bread at Mom and Dad’s, and a rehashing of every little thing that had unfolded in the previous week.
Her stomach rolled at the thought of all those greasy carbs. Hopefully, that was just residual hangover and not premature morning sickness.
Ben’s arm tightened slightly, and she melted into him a little more, reminding herself not to get used to this, because it felt really good, and it wasn’t forever.
A glance at the clock told her she had five more hours before dinner, so she should relax and try to sleep at least a little before the inquisition started. She closed her eyes and concentrated on watching the insides of her eyelids, where she usually tried to broadcast her favorite sixties and seventies TV shows until she fell asleep. She was brought back to consciousness by a shift in the wall of heat cradling her back.
Ben was no longer snoring, and his hand had moved from his breast to her tummy and over her hip, which he caressed as he murmured, “I didn’t mean to grope you in my sleep.”
“That’s okay,” she whispered back, recognizing that the hard object pressing into her butt cheek wasn’t a baseball bat she’d accidentally left in her bed.
She tried—and failed—to avoid squirming against his erection, because he asked, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
Rolling over to face him, she said, “It depends on how you define ‘uncomfortable.’”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to have sex with me again just because we did before.”
Was this guy even real? He was lying in her bed with an erection that had to be using at least 25 percent of his blood supply, and he was rational enough—and decent enough—to make sure she wanted him there.
She was trying to think of what to say when his stomach growled.
“Didn’t we eat a full breakfast less than two hours ago?” she asked.
He shrugged. “My grandma says I’ve got a hollow leg.”
“Or you’re part Hobbit. They always need second breakfasts.”
He looked horrified. “The short furry things from The Lord of the Rings?”
“The short, furry part might be recessive.”
“Maybe.”
And without resolving anything about whether they would or wouldn’t get naked together again, she prepared to break the news about her kitchen to Ben.
Chapter Six
“This is…a lot of stuff.” Ben didn’t know what else to say. Megan seemed to have every kitchen doodad ever infomercialed, and it was all well-organized—most of the stuff was in the original boxes—and the whole place was spotless.
“I know,” Megan agreed, a scowl twisting her adorable face. She’d tugged last night’s jeans on again, with a fresh T-shirt, but was still sweetly rumpled.
“Why are you bothered?”
“Because I keep telling my family it doesn’t matter how many awesome gadgets, cookbooks, or Pampered Chef party invitations they send me, it’s no use.”
He didn’t understand. “Do you need kitchen gadgets to attract this mythical husband they want for you?”
She waggled her hand back and forth. “They’re hoping I’ll learn how to boil water without starting a three-alarm fire, and from there I’ll move up to scrambled eggs, and then, maybe, I’ll find a guy.”
He laughed, but saw she was serious, so schooled his face into understanding.
“So far the closest I’ve come was drinks with one of the firemen who showed up last time.”
Given her still-single—okay, possibly newly-wed-to-him—status, the fireman thing clearly hadn’t worked out, which was fine. But, “Really? You can’t cook?”
“I’m great at Lean Cuisine, and most of the time I get microwave popcorn right.”
“Popcorn’s a start,” he said. “Lean Cuisines have to go.”
She looked horrified. “But I’ll starve!”
“You’ll starve if all you eat are frozen diet meals. Especially if you’re pregnant.”
“Well, if that happens, I’ll…” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll figure something out. Sign up for Meals on Wheels or something.”
“While I’m here, I’ll make sure you have real food.”
“Do you cook?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“I ran the kitchen at Nana’s Place restaurant back home in Memphis.”
“Yeah? You worked your way through kindergarten before you went to Annapolis?”
“I worked at my grandma’s restaurant on the weekends. But sometimes, when we were short-staffed out front, I was the only one cooking.” It was also the only place he felt comfortable for a huge chunk of his childhood.
She laughed. “Well, I’m impressed. If you’re cooking, I’m eating. I’ll clean up afterward, too.”
He admired her willingness, even if it was born of desperation. He admired a lot about this spunky, quirky person he was married to. He looked forward to finding out more about her over the next month. But first, nutrition. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, opening cabinets and drawers. Nothing but cooking implements. “Where do you keep your spices and canned stuff?”
She smiled guiltily and shifted her gaze away.
“You don’t have a spice rack?”
“I’ve got salt and pepper!” she said, and pointed to a pair of shakers shaped like slot machines.
“That’s a start.” Not much of one, but he was creative. He opened the refrigerator. She had a plastic tub full of packets of ketchup, mustard, mayo, tartar sauce, and taco sauce, and about eight Styrofoam containers—containing, he assumed, leftovers.
He reached for the closest one, but she smacked his hand. “God, no, don’t touch that!”
“Okay…”
“It’s been there for a while. They’ve all kind of been there for a while.”
“We gotta go to
the grocery store.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” She saluted him.
He rubbed his head. “I’ll take these to the dumpster on the way to the store.”
She grinned. “I knew having you as a roommate was going to be awesome.”
He almost flinched—being roommate-zoned was the same as being friend-zoned, wasn’t it? “Got something I can make a list on?”
“You mean like paper?”
“Or an Etch a Sketch, a stone tablet, whatever.”
She smiled. “I’ve got some paper here somewhere.” She glanced around, hooking a thumb in her back pocket. “What’s that?” She frowned, then fished something out. A folded postcard. “Hey, another wedding place clue! Little Chapel on the Corner. One more venue to visit on our ‘Where did we get married?’ quest.”
“Should we start this afternoon?” he asked, trying to sort through the weird disappointment-like feeling he experienced at the thought. It was probably about the possible baby.
“Well…” She grimaced. “I’m supposed to go to the weekly family dinner tonight. I’d like to think I could call off on account of, you know, newlywed status”—she laughed—“but all things considered, I’d probably better go face the firing squad.” She worried her bottom lip and wrinkled her nose. “Do you…would you like to come with me? To dinner at Mom and Dad’s?”
Would he like to? Not really. He was comfortable with Megan, but that didn’t mean he wanted to make small talk with his new in-laws. Especially after the bomb he’d launched at them through the phone earlier. But he’d been trying to do the right thing then, because Megan had seemed a little overwhelmed with all the phone calls. “I won’t let you stand in front of the rifles alone.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised. Was he supposed to decline? “You’re the best temporary husband I ever had,” she told him, and he thought he heard her mutter something like, Might as well see if he can stand the heat before I get attached.
He didn’t have to remind himself this was a temporary gig—she kept doing it for him. If it wasn’t for the way she looked at him when she didn’t think he noticed, he might think she didn’t want him around.
And the way his gut flip-flopped when she turned that smile on him was starting to make him want her to want him around.
…
As they walked out of her apartment, Megan’s phone began to honk and beep and chime. She should have waited to turn it back on until…never. “Do you mind driving so I can deal with these texts? They’re gonna start calling soon, otherwise.”
“Just give me the coordinates,” Ben said, using the remote to unlock his SUV. She had to admire his willingness to roll with changes—so far.
She gave him directions to the nearest grocery store and settled into the passenger side of his spotless car. It was extra good that he was driving, because he’d probably be horrified at the mountain of empty Diet Mountain Dew bottles in her passenger-side footwell. His ride was not only clean, it smelled good. Like Ben.
He put his hand on the back of her seat as he turned to look and back them out of the parking space. There was something about the way he did that—looking to make sure the path was clear, taking his time, but not hesitating about backing up, stopping, shifting into forward that made her trust in him grow. Confidence that he knew what he was doing. He’d be the best carpool dad ever, and the other moms wouldn’t mind that he normally drove above the speed of sound as long as he waved that amazing smile in their general direction when he dropped off their kids after soccer practice. At which point she’d have to not let him drive car pool, because she’d be jealous, and then—
“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing at her as he signaled a right turn onto the main road.
“How many speeding tickets have you had in your life?”
“Huh? None.” He didn’t pull out into traffic, but watched her and waited.
“Oh, good. That’s great. I just was thinking. I bet you’re a really good driver, but you probably go too fast.”
The right side of his mouth rose and his eyes crinkled in that smile he made when he thought she was funny, even though he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I’m pretty boring on pavement. I only go really fast through air.”
Honk, honk. Beep. Ooogah.
“Well that’s good, then. I’ll have plenty of time to respond to these texts on our way.” She waved him on and ducked her head to deal with her phone.
There were a lot of messages.
She started to read, and respond.
<12:16 p.m.
Beth: WTF? Paul said you got MARRIED? *weeping emoticon* Why didn’t you ask me to be your matron of honor? You promised!
<12:18 p.m.
Craig: Warning. Beth’s pissed at you. Mom’s having a nervous breakdown. Paul is connipting. *smiling pile of poo emoji*
<12:24 p.m.
Mom: Missed call. Voicemail to Text: Megan Marie, Craig is pulling another prank. Please tell me that Craig is pulling an antler Frank. Call me immediately.
Ooh. Mom was upset if she wasn’t enunciating well enough for her phone to translate her into text.
<12:37 p.m.
Beth: Mom’s losing her shit, and she keeps calling me. You have to tell me what’s going on before she makes me lose my shit. *Edvard Munch emoji* And don’t forget to bring that skirt you promised to lend me when you come for dinner.
<12:43 p.m.
Dad: Call your mom. She’s having a nervous breakdown.
Oh for crying out loud, Megan thought. She took a deep breath and began to type.
>4:18 p.m.
Megan: To Beth: It’s crazy, but Ben, the guy from last night? He and I really connected. I’ll tell you all about it at dinner, and I’m fine.
She began to read and respond to the rest of the messages.
<1:29 p.m.
Mom: I know you told Beth you’re okay, but it would have been nice if you’d called to tell me this news yourself. Is this the boy from last night? I barely met him. Where is he from?
>4:30 p.m.
Megan to Mom: His name’s Ben and he was homeless before I married him and moved him into my apartment. We’re going to the grocery store. Need anything?
<1:35 p.m.
Dad: Does this guy have a job? What was he doing all alone in the bar last night?
>4:32 p.m.
Megan to Dad: He said something about being between assignments at the moment.
She snickered, hoping Dad’s sense of humor was in the house.
<1:39 p.m.
Craig: I forgot to ask. What kind of car does he drive? A hybrid, or electric?
Megan had expected Ben to have something with a significant amount of horsepower, but he drove a late-model Chevy Traverse. The urge to torment her brother—the Greenest Guy in Town—was irresistible, so she decided to mess with him a little.
>4:35 p.m.
Megan to Craig: I’m not sure, but he said it’s fast and loud.
Oh boy. She cracked herself up.
“What are you laughing about?” Ben asked.
“My family. They texted me a million questions about you, so I answered them all truthfully. This should be very interesting.”
He shot her a sideways glance.
“It’ll be fine. I just gave them some less-than-specific information about where you’re from, what you do for a living, and the type of vehicle you drive.”
“I’m afraid to ask—”
“You were homeless until this afternoon, you’re between assignments, and you drive something very fast and very loud—that last part was for Craig, the neighborhood recycling Nazi, who believes that all cars should be made of bicycles.”
He nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That ought to ensure that they’re waiting for us in the front yard with baseball bats and shotguns.”
Her own mouth went dry at the thought of maneuvering a new guy through her crazy family, but this one was different, temporary from the outset. Easy peasey.
“They
’re going to love you,” she assured him. Her parents and siblings loved all the other guys, too, until they got overwhelmed and ran for the hills.
Chapter Seven
They were going to love him? Sure they were. Because he was such a barrel of laughs and excitement.
Ben’s neck began to itch just thinking about running the family gauntlet, but he reminded himself that he didn’t have to deal with it this minute, so there was no reason to get all twisted up.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one dealing with stress today. Megan’s shoulders bunched around her ears when her phone honked with another incoming text. She sat up straighter and stretched her neck while she checked the screen, typed out a quick reply, and said, “We need to pick up some rabbit food while we’re in here.”
“Like carrots and celery?” he asked, coming around the car to walk next to her.
“No, more like rabbit food for the rabbit. The one Mom pulls out of her magic hat.”
“Ah.” He nodded, not sure why that should surprise him. He paused to let her precede him into the store. He liked the way she moved, liked the long line of her spine in the snug T-shirt that ended an inch or so above the waistband of her shorts. And he really liked the way her hips swayed. Hell, he could walk behind her all night. But then he couldn’t talk to her, which he was finding he really liked to do. He looked up from her ass into the eyes of an elderly gentleman pushing his groceries out in the opposite direction.
Caught you looking, the old guy’s smirk said.
Ben smirked back. She’s with me.
He was about to ask if she wanted to push the cart or if she wanted him to when she hooked her hand through his arm and gave it a little hug. All the air went out of his lungs, and he couldn’t have spoken if he had to.
It was good she didn’t have the same problem.
“I call driver!” she announced, skipping ahead to yank a cart out of the row at the front of the store. “Hah!” she said when she had the cart lined up next to him. “I win.”
“Is that a thing?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
“Oh my gosh, yes! Driving the cart is a huge responsibility. The driver doesn’t have to help carry stuff into the house when we get home.”
Accidentally in Love with the Pilot Page 5