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“I go through it every month; I’ll be fine,” I said, feeling a little awkward, telling him about my period cramps.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
When I’d first complained to my mom about my period pain, she’d told me to suck it up. That I was a woman and I should get used to it. I never complained again, but sometimes, I just had to smile through the pain.
“Do you want to come out?” Tristan asked, still stroking my hand.
“Not yet.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Every hour, but I’m still hungry,” I said, and he smiled.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Chicken sandwich with fries, some chicken nuggets, and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all I can think about.”
“Okay, I will see you later.”
“You’re leaving?” I grumbled, increasing my grip on his hand.
“I will be back soon. Let me drive downtown and get you something to eat. My butt has been in the air for five minutes now,” he said, and I laughed.
“Fine.” I frowned.
I refused to let go of his hand as he tried to pull away. He laughed softly while I smiled and let go slowly. I loved the sound of his laugh. It was boyish and soothing to the ears.
I listened to his retreating footsteps with a smile still plastered on my face. I had never felt like this with anyone—ever. Knowing all his flaws and still accepting them. The content and security I felt, even when I had seen him at his worst was knew to me. I didn’t understand what was going on between us, and we both hadn’t talked about it.
I remained under the bed until Tristan returned with two takeout bags. I crawled out from under the bed. I hadn’t noticed before that he was in his suit.
What time is it?
“I wasn’t sure what dip you liked, so I got all four,” he said, placing them on the floor, where I sat with my legs folded and a blanket wrapped around me.
I smirked and reached for the milkshake. He sat on the floor in front of me. He took off his suit jacket, and untucked his white button-up shirt from his pants. I stared shamelessly as he removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. My hormones couldn’t handle the sexiness right now.
“I’m not eating this alone,” I said, dividing the chicken sandwich into two and giving him the other half.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Tortured.”
“Maybe there are medications out there that can help.”
“Doesn’t work for me.”
“Um … I spoke to a friend about it. Sorry if that seems weird. She suggested you use hot water. I got this bottle that holds hot water, and you can place it on your stomach. I gave it to Morris to put the hot water in it and bring it up later. Sorry if I’m overstepping. You just look awful.”
“It’s fine.” I laughed.
I was happy he cared but also wanted to ask about his female friend.Do I know her? Why would he ask her if I’m supposed to be pregnant? Maybe she knows the truth, but who is she?
“Trust me, you don’t want to know my search history right now,” he added, and I couldn’t help but laugh again. He leaned back and rested his head on the wall.
