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I nod, not sure what to say. I must have looked like hell. “Yeah.”
“And Layla? Storm told me he brought in a doctor to see her. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, about that…” I plant my ass down as well and link my arms around my knees, watching as the Pomeranian comes bounding back and then starts sniffing my hands, trying to bite my fingers off. “I guess it’s stress, you know? Psychological shit. Psychosomatic, probably. But she’s still pretty bad, and I was wondering if it has to do with the time in the month or something.” I lick my lips, cock my head to the side. “Hit me if you want, but I never really looked into this shit. PMS? Premenstrual whatever. Combined with the stress we went through this week, could it be the reason she’s like that?”
“Like what?” Raylin says, and doesn’t look like she’s about hit me—yet—so I relax a little. “Details.”
Even chick punches hurt on top of bruises.
“Okay, so, she’s been crying a lot. And she threw up a couple of times, but now she’s better. I think.”
Raylin scratches her dog behind the ears. “Throwing up, huh? You sure she’s not pregnant?”
I open my mouth, close it again. Can I tell Raylin what Layla told me? What if she doesn’t want others to know about it?
“You’re hesitating, and you’re right, that can’t be it,” Raylin says and waves a dismissive hand. “My friend Megan got knocked up and told me all about it. Trust me, you’d have noticed. Wild mood swings. Vivid dreams. Lots of extremes, know what I mean? She’d either be furious, or depressed, crave sex or not be able to stand it… Oh and something you’d have noticed: bigger breasts, more sensitive, too, and bigger nipples.”
She’s grinning at me, wagging her brows, and all I can think of is, oh fuck…
“But that happens before the period, too, right?” I
scramble to scrounge up what little knowledge I have of women’s mysterious hormonal cycles. “All this.”
“You tell me. You’ve been seeing Layla for months, haven’t you? Does she seem different to you this time?”
Fuck yeah, she does. I remember when I first saw her tits in the basement of the warehouse, and I shift uncomfortably because my body doesn’t care about the discussion, and my dick gets excited at the memory of Layla’s tits every single time.
Also, vivid dreams, check. Mood swings, check. The fact she wants me all the time—except when puking, that is—check.
But she can’t be. She told me why. She acted like she believed it. I mean, holy shit, she cried over the thought of Raylin being knocked up, and now…
What’s going on here?
“Want me to talk to her?” Raylin asks. “Sometimes girls find it easier to talk about what’s wrong between themselves.”
Makes sense. Though I thought Layla and I had no secrets. That she had no reason anymore to hide anything from me.
“That would be awesome,” I say and decide it’s time I followed Rook’s fine example and located that bottle of scotch.
Chapter Twenty
Layla
I’m sitting on the bed, running a brush through my hair, thinking about the things Hawk said—the official date we’re going to have, his wish for a family with me, his arms around me.
His mouth on me.
Heat spreads in my cheeks. Good Lord, I started it this time, touched him, told him I wanted him. I couldn’t help myself.
Still want him. The throbbing between my legs is unbearable. Now I know. I’m coming down with the sex bug. I’m turning into an insatiable sex machine.
I put the brush down and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Maybe it’s because I feel so trapped here. So out of place.
I’m missing classes. I’ll never catch up. And my mom and Dorothy must be worried about me. I should talk to Rook again, and Hawk. There must a way to communicate with them without putting anyone at risk, right?
There’s a knock on the door, and I lift my head just as a girl’s voice says, “Coming in!”
Oops.
