Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
And that’s when I came.
Hard. Long. And loud.
***
“You awake?” my bedmate rumbled.
My eyes opened, and I rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Have you…”
That’s when I realized that things were a little too wet down there.
Dread began to sweep through me as I slowly sat up in the bed, my eyes going to the spot where I’d been lying not even a minute before.
The minute I saw the blood, I wanted to cry.
It was everywhere.
On my legs. On his leg. On the bed. On the sheets.
Jesus! What a nightmare!
“Oh, God.”
Tommy followed my gaze, and he closed his eyes before turning his head to study me as I scrambled out of the bed.
He looked at me, laughter dancing in his eyes, while I tried to decide whether crying was appropriate in this situation.
Would that make it worse or better?
“This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life,” I informed him as I tore out of the room and headed for the shower.
I turned the shower on and jumped in without waiting for it to warm up, completely and utterly mortified.
But that wasn’t the end of my mortification.
No, never. If one thing went bad, ten things went bad.
So there I was, staring at the red tinted water going down the drain when Tommy joined me in the shower.
I stiffened, turning to look at him with wide, cow like eyes.
“Your daughter’s still sleeping,” he informed me as if I hadn’t just stained his sheets with my monthly curse. “And I’ll bet if we hurry we’ll have ten minutes or so before she wakes.”
No, I bet we had more like eight, if not five. It was like she had a sixth sense when it came to knowing if I was awake or not.
Tallulah had been sleeping through the night since she was three weeks old, and I’d counted myself lucky because that meant when I went back to work, she’d sleep in while I got up early to study. Or so I’d thought, it never worked out that way.
For instance, if I were to wake up early to work out in the living room—she woke up. Without fail.
Didn’t matter what I was doing, or how quiet I was. If I was awake, she was awake.
Period.
Today, though, she’d have to wait.
I had to get cleaned off quickly so I could go strip the sheets and start a load of laundry while he was cleaning off in the shower.
Then I had to pick Tallulah up and get out of here before he got out. I’d never, ever be able to face him again, and here he was standing at my back acting like I’d not just committed a dating faux pas.
“Hand me the soap,” he ordered, pointing at the corner of the tub where I’d placed it the night before.
See, here’s where Karma kicks in.
Had I put it back in the soap dish holder on the wall, I wouldn’t have had to bend over at all.
Because had I not had to bend over, I wouldn’t have farted.
It was the cutest sounding fart I’d ever let out in my life, but still, it was a fart.
My asshole clenched and I froze under the water, wondering what in the hell I’d done to deserve this lot in life.
Surely I hadn’t done anything too bad.
I’d kicked my brother in the nuts on purpose when I was in high school, and I’d stolen my mom’s car two months later out of spitefulness. Though, she hadn’t noticed. I’d felt bad and come home all within fifteen minutes, and then had the gall to admit what I’d done to her.
She’d looked at me like I was crazy and had told me to go clean the kitchen.
And, to this day, I still felt bad for that fork I’d thrown in the trash because I couldn’t get it clean.
So yeah, I was going on the fact that I’d thrown one of my mom’s expensive forks into the trash for the reasoning behind why exactly my life sucked.
Maybe I could just drown myself in here.
A strong, muscled chest moved up close to my back, and I stiffened even more.
Here I was, bleeding and goddamned gassy, and the man wanted to hug me?
Why?
“How are you so calm?” I demanded as I looked at him with water pouring down my face. “Aren’t most men period-phobic?”
Fart-phobic? Not that I’d bring that one up. I could totally act like it didn’t happen.
He looked at me with laughter in his eyes.
“Yeah, some are,” he shrugged. “I’m a fuckin’ doctor, and a grown ass man. I understand the logistics behind periods and gas.”
Oh, god.
He’d just said gas.
I was going to die quietly right here in his arms.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Get off me.”
He refused.
“I already put the clothes in the washer, and your daughter’s about to wake up any minute,” he informed me. “I’m about to drop you off at your mom’s, and I won’t be able to speak to you for two and a half goddamn months the way that I really want to. So how about you forget about being embarrassed over bodily functions that you have no control over and that the majority of the population experiences on a daily basis, and hug me the fuck back?”