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"I thought we could go to that little place down the block. They have this cream for the pancakes that is so good." He chatters on, but I can't focus on anything he's saying. Wetness trails down my leg. This has got to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. And he's just standing there, swinging my purse from the strap, talking.
"Jonas! Please, I need my purse."
He looks at me, confused, but walks back to me and extends it by the strap. I snatch it to my chest and try to figure out how to get out of this mess. "Great. Thanks. Okay. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll meet you back here in fifteen?"
"You're being weird," he says, planting his feet and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Weird? I'm not being weird." My words probably would be more convincing if I don't groan and wince while I say them.
His gaze sharpens on me. "You're hurt? Sick? What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?" He rushes forward and grabs my arm in a firm grip, and gently tugs. "We can go to the hospital now. I'll —“
"I'm not sick. I have my period, and I wish you would pretend you didn't hear that, and go away so I can handle it."
I've never seen that shade of red on a person's face outside of the gym. His eyes dart around my body, but they lock on my thigh. I follow his gaze and yep, there's a smear of red. Great, my face feels like a flaming tomato.
"I see. Yes. Well. Okay. You're okay. It's fine. Everything is fine." I don't know who he's trying to convince, me or him. "We'll just go....that way." He gently tugs me toward the bathroom, and I go because at least this way, he's not looking at my butt and the huge stain I'm sure has spread over my white bottoms. Why did I have to pick white? The stupid little cherry pattern sucked me in and now look at the mess I'm in.
Jonas walks me right into the bathroom, then turns to face me. "What do we do now?"
I stare at him, honestly dumbfounded for a second. "What? What do you mean we? This is a me thing. You go outside, and I handle things here.”
"Right. Yep. Outside. I'll go there. Bye." He turns and exits, muttering under his breath the whole time. I take a big breath in relief, then it hits me.
"Shit," I mumble.
"What's wrong? Do you need something?"
His voice is muffled a bit, through the door, but I still hear him loud and clear. “Is your ear pressed to the door?"
Silence. "Maybe."
Another trickle down my leg and the ridiculousness of this situation hits me. A snort, then another, escapes, then full-on belly laughs.
"What's so funny?"
"This has got to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. I thought it would be better with you on the other side, but I just realized I don't have my panties, or a change of clothes in here. And you're listening at the door. I should be creeped out."
"You're not creeped out? Even I can admit I'm acting a little creepy. I'm sorry. I'm not sure how to help you right now, and I really want to."
I step to the door and rest my forehead on it. "Jonas, you're about the sweetest man I've ever met."
"Most men don't like to be called sweet. Manly or strong is good."
"I think sweet is great. Sweet is trustworthy. Sweet is safe."
A long pause. When he speaks, his voice is a low caress. "You're always safe with me, Janey. Please, tell me how to help."
"Can you please get me some clothes, and a pair of panties...not the lacy kind. The big ones, with lots of coverage."
"Lots of coverage," he mumbles. I can picture his frown. "Oh. For the pad? Do you have the wing kind? Why do they call them wings? They look more like flaps."
I choke out a laugh as his muttering grows fainter. In less than a minute, he taps on the door. I open it and peek out, jumping when I see his face pressed against the doorframe. "God, you scared me!"
"Sorry," he says, not looking at all sorry. He passes me a neat pile of clothes, my favorite t-shirt of his right on top. Then he very carefully drops a pair of panties on top. A black pair that he paid for, that will do just fine. They’re the most expensive period panties I’ve ever worn. I murmur a thanks and try to shut the door, but he resists.
"Give me your pajamas. I'll put them in the wash."
God, I'm blushing again. "It's okay. I'll take care of them —“
