“All you need is cheap quality protein powder and hot water.”
My eyes widen. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “There are other effective methods that also use simple ingredients that are available in your pantry, but those two ingredients combined are pretty potent. If the jackass created twenty or fifty stink bombs and dispersed them throughout the basement, it’s no wonder it smelled that bad.”
I stare at him, jaw-dropped.
“When the superintendent sent the notice for him to come in and drop air fresheners to mask the odor, I bet you none of the tenants living in the basement refused.”
“I was the first one to raisemy hand,” I say.
“I’m certain it was the same reaction across-the-board. That was the superintendent’s goal all along––little lambs opening their doors to the big bad wolf.”
“I’m speechless, Kaz.”
“That was my reaction when my lawyer brought it up.”
My shoulders slump. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
This incredible man is my savior.
He takes a seat on the ottoman. “Nothing will make me happier than to get to the bottom of this, so your superintendent rots in jail.”
“If what you say is true, I hope the asshole wears an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life.”
I change position so my feet land on the floor.
I cradle the blanket to my chest. “Other than my best friend, no one has ever gone to bat for me like that. It means a lot to me.” My voice breaks. “Since meeting her, she’s been my ride or die.”
“Since I live here in the good old USA and I’m not pregnant with triplets, let me be your ride or die.” He taps his flat stomach.
I didn’t see that coming. “If your second career as a restaurateur, ice cream shop co-owner, and craft beer brewery owner don’t pan out, you should try comedy.”
“I tip my hat in respect to the men and women who excel at that profession, but I’m sure as hell not one of those people,” he says. “I’d rather take a job as part of a reproductive control team that collects elephant semen all day long under the hot African sun than do stand-up comedy.”
I lose it.
I’m laughing so hard, I slap my hand against my thigh. “Oh, my God.” More uncontrollable laughter. “The— The visual— Eew. Priceless. You might not smile much, but you sure knowhow to make me laugh.” I wipe my eyes. For the first time in forever, my tears have nothing to do with sorrow or humiliation.
Kaz stares at me, his expression stoic as always.
I regain my composure. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s good to see you laugh.”
I grin. “It’s good to laugh.”
“If you’re laughing, that means you’re no longer in pain.”
“The medicine I took when we got to your place helped with my period.”
“Give me a second, I’ll be right back.” He disappears and returns in a flash, holding two massive reusable shopping bags. “Worried ibuprofen wouldn’t be enough, I did a search to find out what else you might need.”
What is he talking about?
He sits back down on the ottoman and drops the bags at my feet. “I got you more ibuprofen. A hot water bottle.” He pulls out the first two items. “Herbal pain balm. An assortment of herbal teas. Lip balm for all that cringing in pain—the clerk said this will come in handy. Tampons and pads for different flows.” He pulls out each item one by one.
I gawk at him.
