Page 81 of Major Love

I watch her for a couple of seconds before asking, “What?”

She shifts around in discomfort, cheeks blushing as she looks at our joined hands.

“It’s, uh…” Her voice is light and breathless, and hoarse as hell because of the cold. “I think that, um… it might be a little exacerbated because of something else.”

I blink at her. “What d’you mean?”

“Like, cold aside, I knew that I was going to get a headache but… because I’ve caught a temperature, it’s just made it a little worse.” She looks up at me with earnest eyes and says, “Because, if it was just a headache, I would have totally still gone to the movies with you.”

I mean, that’s something, but I don’t fully understand what she’s getting at.

I nod slightly, trying to figure her out as I search her face.

“Do you… get a lot of headaches?” I ask.

She rolls her lips into her mouth before dropping her voice so that it’s barely audible. “It’s, um… it’s what happens when it’s my time.”

My biceps flex, still not following. “Your time,” I repeat.

She watches me, her cheeks staining darker, before she whispers, “Like, the crimson time.”

I stay silent, shifting my quads as I maintain my position beside the bed.

When she doesn’t continue, I finally say, “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, baby.”

“Mycrimson time,” she says, super enunciated this time. “You know, my moon cycle? I’m riding the crimson wave?”

When she sees my blank expression, she covers her face in humiliation.

“It’s my time of the month, Jason! Which means that – not only do I have a freaking temperature – but I also have a bunch of hormonal issues happening on top of that, too.”

My abs clench as I glance at her stomach, the curve of her waist visible beneath the thin cotton of her top.

I release one of my hands from its clasp on hers, raking it through my hair as my breathing becomes deeper.

“Right, okay,” I rumble, rolling back my shoulders. “I get what you mean. It’s your… crimson time.”

“Oh my God!” Sunday squeals, releasing a little sob of embarrassment as she tries to roll away from me.

“Sunday,” I say, immediately tugging her back around to face me. “What are you looking all shy for? You never need to be embarrassed around me.”

She smothers her face in her palm and whispers, “Please just blame everything on my hormones.”

I swipe my tongue over my lower lip and nod. “I promise. Just tell me what I can do to help, and I’ll do it.”

“Nothing,” she whispers glumly, before flicking those big eyes in my direction. “You should take me back to Casey’s.”

I watch her steadily as my chest rises. “Is that what you want?”

We search each other’s eyes, neither of us saying anything for a couple of moments.

Then, finally, she whispers, “Are you sure that you wouldn’t mind me crashing here for a while?”

Warmth spreads up my abdomen because I know what that question means.

It means that, if I’m okay with it, she’s okay with it, and that deep down this is what both of us want.

“Stay as long as you want,” I reply, no hesitation. “I’ve got ibuprofen and, you know, lots of other healthcare stuff, too.”

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