Page 91

“And for the record, I’m kind of proud of how I nailed this whole morning. Delivered on some hard-core fantasy. Check. Discussed periods like a grown-ass man. Check.”

Della chuckles. “Yeah. You did. I liked waking up like that.”

“What makes you feel better when you have your period? You need carbs or healthy?”

“Carbs, all the way. Pancakes. Ice cream. Chips.”

“Got it. Now, you go get in the shower and do whatever you need to do. And I’ll make a start on breakfast.”

As soon as I hear the water running, I tug out my phone and look up foods that are good for periods. Because, while I fully intend to provide Della with chocolate chip pancakes, I want to know what healthy shit I could put on her plate that might help her feel better too.

Chocolate chia pudding, whatever the fuck that is. Sounds gross.

And I didn’t even know chickpea-based pasta was a thing.

But it does say that Greek yogurt and berries with honey might help. And I have the fixings to pull that together, though I probably have to move fast, because I’m sure Della has to be back at the college to teach this afternoon.

Wait, this post says eggs contain calcium and magnesium to relax the…what the fuck is that word? I look it up. Huh. Who knew uterine was a word? I’ll make eggs because it will ease cramps.

By the time Della appears with her damp hair in a towel and one of my T-shirts skimming her thighs, I’m nearly done.

“I borrowed it,” she says, touching the hem. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You look good in it. Sit.”

I laid the table, of a fashion. At least, I have matching glasses for the orange juice, with pulp because I always thought that pulp-free involved throwing away the best bits of an orange.

She pulls out a chair, and Mango hurries to her feet. “Hey,” she says, picking her up and burying her nose into her fur.

Mango traitorously purrs like the happiest cat in the world.

“Did you mean what you said last night about the lawyer taking a look at my contract?” Della asks. “I can attach my old one, too, so they can see the differences.”

“I’ll need to check if it’s the type of law she’s involved in. But if she is, I’m sure she will.”

“That’d be a relief. I still don’t know how I’m going to go in for one more day and face Mina and Evan and pretend like everything is normal. And I feel like such a coward for even considering whether I should back down or not. A braver person than me would just tell the dean to go fuck himself and walk away with their integrity.”

I scoop the first four pancakes off the griddle, add half the eggs, and carry it to her. “Good stuff and fun stuff. The internet assures me that eggs are winner, winner, chicken dinner when it comes to period things.”

She slips her finger through the belt loop of my jeans. “Thank you for taking care of me. And sorry if I’m not responding right. But it’s because I’m not used to it.”

I run my knuckle down her cheek. “Wading through life together, am I right?”

“You’re right.”

I make myself some pancakes and eggs and come sit down by her. “What does your schedule look like for the rest of the week? Like, when can I see you?”

But before she can answer me, a noise comes from the rear of the house. There’s no knock. It’s the sound of someone trying to break in. I tug open the drawer in the kitchen, where I keep a loaded Glock. Seeing as I live by myself, I don’t worry about gun safes.

I tug out my phone, pull up a number, and hand her the device. “Go lock yourself in the bathroom, and call Ridge. Tell him someone’s breaking into my house.”

Della’s hands shake, and she makes the call, but she doesn’t run to the bathroom. Instead, she gets a large knife out of the knife block.

The door opens, and a large man, with greasy hair and limbs that look too long for his body, steps inside. He’s twitchy, baseball cap pulled low, and as he looks around my house, I shoot him in the foot. There aren’t many laws I get behind, but Florida’s Castle Doctrine is one of them.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” I shout, charging at him while he hops and screams in pain.

I send him flying to the ground, and look around for accomplices, before stopping dead in my tracks. “Mom?”