“You’re not going anywhere,” he stated.
“No.” I swallowed. “I’m not.”
“You’re going to build a life here.”
I nodded.
“With me,” he added. “You’re going to build a life with me.”
I nodded again.
“Good. Now let’s change the sheets and curl up in bed.”
“It’s only eight o’clock,” I said with a laugh.
“Woman, we’re not going to be sleeping.”
“I thought you said I was too sore . . .”
He kissed the end of my nose. “Plenty of other things we can do. Let me show you.”
“Freckles,” Brooks whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Freckles, get up.”
I burrowed deeper. “What time is it?”
“A little after five.”
“Why do I have to get up?”
“Because the bed is wet.”
“Wet?” I shot up and scrambled off the mattress.
Brooks turned on the light as I flipped back the covers and gasped.
“Oh no!” I cried out.
“Relax, it’s just blood.”
“It looks like a crime scene,” I wailed in mortification.
“Hey,” he said gently, coming around the side of the bed to place his hands on my shoulders. “This isn’t a big deal. I’ve seen a lot more blood than this.”
My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” he said quickly. “Go into the bathroom and clean up. I’ve got this.”
I didn’t waste time. I booked it to the bathroom; my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
As I squatted down to the cabinet under the sink, my body winced in tenderness, a stark reminder of what had transpired between Brooks and I last night.
I opened the cabinet and rooted around for feminine hygiene products, only to discover there weren’t any. Because I hadn’t packed them.
“Freckles?” Brooks called out. “You okay?”
