“No, no,” I groan, tipping the purse upside down to show I have no tampons and no pads inside. “Fuck!”
“Sid,” Noah’s concerned tone sounds from the other side of the door again, “What’s wrong?”
Hanging my head, I admit defeat. “Can you run to the store for me, please?”
“Of course I can. What do you need?”
“Tampons.”
A pause.
Listen, periods are natural. I don’t believe anyone should ever be made to feel ashamed for something that is quite literally out of their control, and I don’t shy away from talking about them. But I also like to be prepared, to be able to handle it the way I want to, and asking my best friend—the man I am actively fucking—to go buy me tampons makes me feel a touch vulnerable.
“What kind?” He finally responds.
Pulling my cell out, I screenshot the ones I usually use and send it to him, listening to the ping of his phone through the door.
“Got it,” he calls, “Be right back.”
The apartment goes quiet, so I decide to hop in the shower, the warm water helping only a little to ease the cramps. I take my time, remaining under the spray until the hair on the nape of my neck stands on end. Sensing his eyes, I turn around, finding him leaning on the counter with his arms crossed, hair still disheveled from sleep. He’s dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a tight white tee; an outfit I don’t see him in often since he wears suits and ties most of the time.
“Hey,” his head cocks to the side a little, eyes dipping down my naked body.
Beside him are the tampons I asked for and a pair of his boxer shorts.
“Are you okay?”
Hitting the button to turn off the shower, I step out, the chill in the air immediately making my skin pebblewith goosebumps. Noah unwraps a towel from the rack and wraps it around me.
“Caught me off guard is all,” I look down at the tiles beneath my feet.
“It’s okay,” he tips my chin back up, “What can I do?”
“Coffee? And some pain pills.”
“Get dressed, cricket, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, slipping under my wet hair so he can squeeze lightly, and then he presses his lips to my forehead, my heart swelling three sizes.
He leaves me to get changed so I get myself sorted, slip his boxers on and then go search for a fresh tee only to find he’s completely stripped the bed, the sheets in a pile by the door. I can see the red stain from where I leaked through in the folds, and my cheeks heat.
When I finally make it out to the kitchen, Noah’s sitting at the island with his laptop in front of him, but his attention snaps to me the moment he hears me come in.
“I’ll, uh, replace the sheets.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the sheets.”
“I bled on them.”
He stares at me for a beat and then shakes his head before he closes his laptop and reaches for the bottle of pills on the counter, sliding them toward me.
“What do you want to eat?” He gets up off the stool and heads to a pile of bags in front of the couch before he pulls out a hot water bottle with the tags still attached.
“Why do you have that?”
“Sit down, Sid,” he orders. “We’re taking the day off.”
“What?” My eyes bug out. “I can’t do that.”
