Page 18 of Clashing

Chapter thirteen

The Whole Package

Ryker

O ne more night. The futile chant didn’t improve my self-control.

My plan to set things straight with Scarlett and end all this sneaky hooking up backfired when she answered the door to her apartment in sweats and a T-shirt.

The T-shirt hung loose everywhere except her chest, and the sweats rested low on her hips, like a temptation to pull them down.

A lack of revealing clothing didn’t diminish her irresistibility.

Especially not when I ripped those clothes off her.

That night, I told myself no more . I trudged in on Friday planning to tell her and of course, it went to hell.

I snuck up after closing, and she answered the door all sleepy and adorable, wearing a tank top that did nothing to hide her perfect nipples and shorts that might as well have been underwear.

Pretty clear I didn’t end it that night.

Saturday’s the day. Another attempt failed when she returned from an art show wearing a little red dress.

It clung to her curves and ended mid-thigh, showing off legs I wanted wrapped around me again.

I invited her to my place and told her to keep the dress on.

I now had a lot of good memories attached to that dress.

I only hoped she’d spare me and not wear it again.

Sunday’s inability to locate self-control marked the fourth week of hooking up, which I’d never done.

I usually got bored, but there was nothing boring about Scarlett—her retorts, her attitude, her body.

I loved pulling those needy sounds out of her, loved watching her writhe and whimper. Her responsiveness enraptured me.

The addiction had gone too far. We talked about birth control and stopped using condoms. Another thing I’d never considered before but when she asked, the image of taking her raw shoved responsibility out the window.

Fantasies of my come spilling out of her drove my decision to say fuck condoms .

That kinda thing was relationship-level shit. I had to end it.

Another week passed, but this time I arrived with a plan. I prepared a speech and spent the whole drive thinking of the most unsexy things. Grandparents doing it. Green beans. Danny naked. Yeah, that’ll do it. I just had to stay focused.

Cigarette smoke and greasy but delicious smells from the kitchen filled my nose when I strolled into Danny’s.

With Scarlett nowhere to be found, I sat at the bar and Tammy dropped off a drink.

I expected Scarlett to appear at any moment since Dan said she’d work weekend nights—barring an art show— to help with the NBA crowd.

Thirty minutes passed. Dan emerged from the kitchen with crackers and ginger ale but abandoned them behind the bar. Muttering a curse, he stalked to a new group of customers who planted themselves at a corner table.

While Danny and Tammy rushed around, I racked my brain for a reason behind Scarlett’s absence. She knew weekends were hard for them.

Dan refilled my scotch, shaking his head. “Sorry, Ryker. Swamped today.”

“Isn’t Scarlett supposed to be helping?”

“She’s sick.” His concerned gaze flicked to the ginger ale and crackers. “I meant to take this up to her an hour ago but haven’t been able to.”

“Want me to take it?”

“Would you?” He inclined his head toward another group who sat at the bar, gazes glued to the TV mounted above the liquor. “I have to get these new guys.”

“No problem.” When his attention diverted, my shoulders slumped. This wasn’t part of my plan.

Crackers and ginger ale in hand, I stomped upstairs and knocked. No answer. Trying the door, I found it unlocked. Damn her. She never fucking listened.

Static voices sounded from the CRT TV, but no Scarlett. Then I heard it. Retching.

I should leave this and get out of here. She could be contagious. Even if she wasn’t, I wasn’t her boyfriend. We fucked. There was no reason to stay and check on her. Except the retching continued, each one more violent than the last.

Ah, fuck.

I slogged to the bathroom and found her lying on the linoleum floor, pale and clutching her stomach. Sweat gleaned on her forehead, and she curled into a ball. A horrifying thought seeped dread into my chest and stomach.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I asked.

“Jesus, what are you doing here?” she whined, hiding her face. “Go away.”

“You’re not.” My heart thundered against my ribs. “Right?”

“No.” She tightened her arms around her stomach. “ Christ , Ryker.”

“Are you sure?”

She sat up, glare furious and almost intimidating. “Pretty fucking sure.”

“Because you took a test?”

A kid at this point in my life? I couldn’t even fucking take care of myself.

“No, jackass, because I’m on my fucking period.” She barely snapped the words out before her eyes widened. She dragged herself over the toilet and vomited, one hand haphazardly holding her hair back.

Cursing myself, I collected a hair tie from the counter. I waited until she stopped throwing up, then braided her hair. “Look, I got three sisters. None of them were this sick on their period.” I caressed her spine. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh my God .” She sneered at me. “Can you not be a total prick? I know my body. This is my body on my period. If you want me when this is over, I suggest you leave me the fuck alone and stop being a dick.”

Whether I was more annoyed with myself for breaking the rules again or with her, I couldn’t tell. Either way, I frowned and stood. “Fine. Jeez. You’re being the real poster child for bitchy women on their periods.”

“Get the fuck out before I claw out your eyes.”

“There’s ginger ale and crackers on the table.” I walked out, not so sure she wouldn’t actually claw out my eyes if I didn’t haul ass. “You’re welcome.”

Another retch halted my advancement to the front door. Leave her alone, Ryker. I tried to tell myself that. I really did. The fact was, my sisters were sick on their periods, but nothing that brutal. It still sucked. I still helped them. She’s not my sister.

So I left.

And returned an hour later with a bag from the store.

Standing outside her door, I wondered what the fuck was wrong with me.

How could she have this hold on me? My hand lingered on the doorknob.

I shouldn’t do this. It’d give her the wrong idea.

Yet, I twisted the knob, and it wasn’t locked even though I locked it on my way out. Now she was being a pain.

I entered, relieved to find her on the couch, nibbling crackers and watching TV. She peered over the sofa and scowled.

“ What? ” She narrowed her eyes at the bag. “Ryker, I swear to God, if that’s a fucking pregnancy test . . .”

“It’s not.” I kicked the door closed behind me. “This door was locked when I left.”

“I know.”

“Why isn’t it anymore?”

“Oh, I don’t know .” At least she wasn’t too sick to allow sarcasm to drip into her tone. “Maybe someone picked the lock and snuck in.”

I white-knuckled the bag as I circled the faded red couch. “When you feel better, you’re paying for that.”

“What do you want? Come to tell me more about how I don’t know my own body?”

“Jesus Christ.” I lifted her legs and sat down, then draped her calves over me. “You’re in a real crappy mood.”

“You barged into my bathroom while I was vomiting and demanded to know if I was pregnant. What did you expect?”

She had me there. “Sorry,” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. “I panicked.”

“Well, next time don’t.” She timidly sipped her can of soda. “This is normal for me. I won’t have you freaking out every month.”

“The violent vomiting is normal?”

“It’s my normal.”

“That’s horrible.”

“No kidding.”

“Can’t someone give you something to help?”

“The medical field doesn’t give a shit about women, Ryker. No one does research to help. The most they do is give you painkillers and anti-nausea pills and say good luck. Pills are pretty useless when you can’t keep anything down.”

I pictured Scarlett lying on the floor every month and flexed my hand. “All right, I’m not trying to be a dick, but what the fuck? Three sisters, never saw shit like that.”

“I have everything wrong with me a girl can have.” Her face reddened before she looked away. “My periods are like periods on steroids.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have PCOS, PMDD, and endometriosis.”

“I don’t know what any of that is.”

“It’s bullshit. Bullshit and pain.” She stroked her lower stomach with a grimace. “Also why no matter how hard I work out,” she patted her tummy, one I knew she was insecure about because it wasn’t flat, “I can’t get rid of this.”

“Don’t get rid of anything. Your body’s perfect.”

“Perfect at causing me immense pain.”

Can’t argue with that. I retrieved the electric heating pad from the bag I brought and knelt next to the closest outlet.

“What’s that?” She craned her head to see what I was doing as I plugged it in.

“A heating pad.”

I rested it on her stomach after setting it at a medium heat. Her eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Never had a guy who didn’t get squeamish at the mention of a period. Or one who knew how to help.”

“Then you haven’t been with men; you’ve been with boys.”

She giggled, and I didn’t realize how much I missed her smile until that moment. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I owed you for the pregnancy freak-out.”

“That’s for damn certain.”

“So, what the fuck is that shit you listed?”

She tilted her head. “You seriously want to know?” I gestured for her to continue. She arched a brow. “Um, okay. You’re a first for me. Guys usually treat me like I have the plague when I’m on my period.”

“I told you, they were boys. If you were with a guy who couldn’t handle hearing about a period, then he was a fucking child. Real men buy tampons and chocolate.”

“Real men buy tampons and chocolate? Is that what else is in the bag?”

I tossed her said bag. “Obviously.”

“That’s so sweet.” She peeked inside. “How’d you know what kind of tampons I use?”