Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(77)

I chose English as my major because I like to read and it sounded pretty impractical to me, which was perfect, since my dad wouldn’t budge on the whole college thing





But it’s really not. It helps you learn how to think, and how to communicate, and how to appreciate art





It helps build empathy





Even for the loser sitting next to you in class eating the most disgusting sandwich ever





Help me, Red





It might be entirely onions





You know, that was beautiful up until it wasn’t





I have to go to American Lit I





You’re taking it with Stanwick, right?





Yeah





Sweet, enjoy





I have my period so fingers crossed I don’t have a cramp attack





I curl into the smallest ball I can manage and let out a moan.

My period did me the favor of not being a bitch while I was in class—and it was a super interesting class, all about colonial period literature—but now, it feels like someone is stapling me with a nail gun from inside my uterus. Cooper will be here any moment, and I’m in an ugly old pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt that says, ‘Holy Salchow’ on it—a Christmas present from Mia—and fuzzy socks. A distant part of me thinks I should at least brush my hair before he gets here, but that would require moving, and nothing sounds worse.

“You okay in there?” Mia calls.

“I think I’m dying.”

She pokes her head into my room. “You’re not dying.”

“I don’t know, I think I might be bleeding out.” Another cramp hits me; it feels like someone has my lower back caught in a vise. “If this is the end, make sure Tangerine remembers me as the one who gave her more snacks.”

“Is she okay?” I hear Cooper ask.

“No,” says Mia. “But at least it’s physical pain. My periods turn me into a raging bitch.”

Cooper comes into the room, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. His gear bag is slung over his shoulder; he texted to say he was coming from practice. By now, I’m used to seeing his beard just a touch longer because it’s winter, but it makes desire jolt through me. I press my legs together; even with the cramps, my body is aching with need. He glances over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

“Was she making a joke?” he asks. “I sort of assumed that bitchiness was her default state.”

“I heard that!” Mia shouts from her room.

“Like you’re not proud of that!” Cooper calls back.

I snort out a laugh, burying my head in my pillow. “Be grateful my anti-anxiety meds keep things steady.”

“I’m grateful for anything that helps you.” He sits down next to me on the bed, his hand settling on my shoulder, and rummages around in the plastic bag. “I brought some reinforcements.”

He pulls out a heating pad, the tampons and pads I asked him to pick up on the way over, and best of all, gummy bears. I rip open the package and breathe in the sugary scent. “Is the package new because I complained that your gear bag was too smelly to store my precious gummy bears in?”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not too bad.”

“It smells like an armpit. A gigantic one.” I wrinkle my nose as I chew.

“Well, it’s not too bad now. I got a gym bag deodorizer, and it’s working.” He leans down and unzips the little side pocket he keeps snacks in—AKA gummy bears for me and protein bars for him—and pulls out a plastic bag. “Also, I’ve been putting them in here. A double layer of stink protection.”

I’m about to think of a snarky comeback, even if it is adorable that he’s trying to make the bag less gross just for me, when a cramp makes me grit my teeth, doubling over. Cooper is there right away, pulling me into his arms. He sets the gummy bear package on my nightstand and smooths my hair away from my forehead. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“It’s just... fuck. It hurts.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Want the heating pad?”

I shake my head. “Could you maybe…” I trail off, flushing. He’s done enough already. There’s a difference between gingerly fingering myself because it helps with the cramps and asking him to ride the red tide.

He works his hand underneath my shirt and rubs my belly. I groan, turning my face into his neck. He smells clean, with hints of cinnamon—his masculine, almost spicy cologne. I bite down gently, and he huffs out a little laugh. He keeps on massaging my skin as he kisses the top of my head. “Could I do what, Red?”

“I’m too gross.”

“You’re never too gross.”

I squint at him. “You know, I poop and everything.”

He laughs. “You know, I heard something about girls doing that. So weird.”

“Okay, if I’m not gross, what I want to ask you is.”

He traces around the birth mark next to my belly button. “You want me to give you an orgasm.”