Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mina
If painkillers aren’t working, and no amount of water is getting rid of the headache, the only option is to pray—and watch Leo from a distance since it’s become one of the few joys out of my day.
My arm barely swings as I walk further away from the stadium, feeling like Satan has crawled up my ass to stab my ovaries with a pitchfork.
Usually, after I get my IUD exchanged, I go home to wallow in misery.
Maybe have a cry. Binge-watch a couple shows or read a book until I feel like I’m seeing another dimension.
But apparently the thing that brings me comfort consists of lurking in the shadows in the hopes that I’ll catch a glimpse of Leo. Alas, I have poor time management because I got sidetracked at home and left about twenty minutes too late to catch sight of him.
Lying in his bed is the next best thing.
Massaging my temples, I walk back to the car in the dark. Once inside, I check on the preorders for my new book and just about pass out. Jesus fucking Christ. It hasn’t been this good in years.
Yet knowing my career has a fighting chance of survival does nothing to bring me joy.
My eyes drift shut like it might make the gnawing headache disappear. Because, respectfully, fuck this for a joke. I want my uterus ripped out.
Leo: How are you feeling?
Mina: Unless you’re going to come up with a cure for all my issues without any side effects, don’t ask.
Leo: I think there are some researchers out there in need of funding.
Mina: Please don’t get me hopeful like that.
Leo: Do you think five million will suffice? I can up it to ten next week. I’ll let my accountant know.
I shake my head. He’s ridiculous.
Leo: I’ll message after the game. I have to warm up.
Leo: I give you permission to miss this one, but I expect you to make it up to me.
The game doesn’t start for another hour, which means I’ll have plenty of time to rot in the comfort of his bed.
The pounding in my head follows a beat that doesn’t belong to my pulse, making each step more agonizing than the last. I should probably go home and call it a day, but I’m not ready to face my empty apartment since Joyce is out with Ben tonight.
I should probably also message Thomas back since he’s texted a couple times to check up on me, but I have zero energy to deal with him right now.
It might be delusional of me to say, but I’m certain Leo’s bed will fix me. Positive thoughts and manifestation and all that shit.
I drag my feet up to my car and somehow manage to drive one-handed all the way to Leo’s place without crashing. When I reach his back window, I begin to seriously question how good of an idea this might be.
Is it usually this high?
Can I somehow convince Leo to leave a key somewhere so it’s easier for me? Maybe even send me my own copy?
I unfold the best investment I’ve ever made, and set the step stool below the window, then heave my ass inside.
My foot catches, and my uterus screams bloody murder at me as I make my unceremonious fall.
I stay limp on the floor with my face shoved against the carpet, trying to get my bearings as I find the will to move.
It’s truly a miracle no one has caught me before. And if no one noticed me break in this time after I made that much noise, then they might just be willfully ignorant.
Discarding my shoes by the window, I help myself to the kitchen like I live here, munching on my favorite bag of chips as I scour his fully stocked medicine drawer for something to stop me from feeling like death’s mistress.
I pop the painkillers like they’re candy and say a silent prayer that they will make my ovaries vanish from my body.
Motherfucking endometriosis.
I want to sucker punch any asshole who tries to argue that women’s health isn’t underfunded and under-researched.
Because at the end of the day, am I even certain my issue is that the cells have grown back?
No. Not unless I scrounge up the money to go under the knife so they can cut me open just to figure out whether that’s what’s wrong with me, or if it’s something else.
The stairs loom ahead of me, and I quietly whimper as I grip the handle and haul myself upstairs. As usual, there’s a set of clothes at the foot of the bed: shirt, hoodie, sweats.
On any other given day, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Today? Fuck no. I don’t bother stripping out of my clothes before slipping beneath the sheets—flannel sheets. A man after my own heart.
The weight of the blankets cocoons me, magically making my stomach pains moderately more bearable.
Out of an abundance of caution, I set an alarm on my phone for half an hour before he’s meant to arrive.
It isn’t like this is the first time I’ve had a nap in his bed, and I highly doubt it’ll be the last.
In an instant, my eyes threaten to drift shut.
His scent engulfs me, lulling me into a sense of comfort that I never feel outside of this room.
I press my nose into the pillow, and before I can contemplate whether I should call it quits and go home so I can have an uninterrupted sleep, my eyes close. Then there’s nothing but darkness.
A loud noise jars me from my sleep, and my mind turns, trying to piece together what’s happening. I lift my arms above my head and stretch out in the bed, barely muffling a groan.
Another sound, and I freeze. Hold my breath.
One second.
Two.
On the third, the wooden floors creak right before the faucet starts up.
No.
Oh fuck.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
I scramble out of bed and snatch the phone off the pillow. The motherfucker is early. Since when the fuck is Leo early?
There’s still a solid five minutes before I’m meant to be waking up. In my months of learning his habits, he’s never once arrived back at this time. Not once. He’s more likely to get home two hours later than early.
Shit. Think. Think. Think. I cancel the alarm, then rush to fix the bed using the power of adrenaline and the fear of prison. My heart reaches a state that’s toeing the line of cardiac arrest as the footsteps vibrate through the floorboards in the direction of the stairs.
My head whips from side to side. Where the hell can I hide?
I can’t risk leaving this room because he might catch me. The closet is out; he’ll probably get changed. The bathroom is a definite no as well. Behind the armchair? No. Maybe behind the curtains—but if he turns the light on, there’s no way he won’t spot me.
Shit.
I’m so screwed.
Leo’s not meant to know I’m here.
I nearly trip over my feet as I drop to the floor, praying to whatever deity that’s listening to pity me so I can make the tight squeeze beneath the bed.
It’s suffocating down here, and I can practically feel the dirt and dust burrowing into my skin like little razor blades.
The sensation is almost too overwhelming.
I blow out a breath, stretching my fingers out as I gaslight myself into believing I’m imagining the dust that’s seeping through my clothes.
Movement makes me freeze completely, impending sensory overload forgotten.
From this angle on my back under the bed, I spot the top of his head appearing above the stairs, followed by his blinding grin that whips me off my axis.
The soft curve playing on his lips has my lungs stuttering as he watches his phone.
I’ve never been this close to him before. Never been in a position where I’d be near enough to hear him breathing. It’s like I’m coming face-to-face with divinity, and I’m woefully unprepared.
Part of me wishes he’d look up and stare me right in the eyes. Because that would mean he senses I’m here—feels this undeniable thing between us that was written in stone long before we were born.
If he’d just look at me, he’d know there’s no point fighting this or beating around the bush with fake accounts and lies.
But I know that’s a foolish dream. The groundwork hasn’t finished being laid yet.
Leo crosses the threshold into the room, flicking the light on to bathe the space in gold. I stay completely still, chest barely moving. There’s only one clear thought in my mind: I fucked up.
My pulse ricochets before it stalls, and I wait for a face to appear beside me or to be dragged out from under the bed, Taken style. My nails dig into my palms as I watch him through the gap beneath the bed.
The only thing I can see is his socked feet. His steps are sure, moving through the space like he doesn’t have a clue there’s a woman hiding under his bed. Which is good. Very good. Let’s keep it that way.
When he goes to sleep, I’ll make a run for it. I’ll bank on him being a heavy sleeper, then zip away and he’ll be none the wiser—
Wait. What is he doing?
Leo’s shirt drops onto the floor beside the bed.
The silence turns deafening as he lowers himself into the armchair in the corner of the room, giving me the perfect view of his lips and down the muscular expanse of his bare torso.
His abs contract as he gets comfortable, and the ink on his tanned skin catches the light with each of his movements.
I’m transfixed by him, sitting on the edge of my metaphorical seat as I wait to see what he does next.
He splays his legs out in front of him and leans back in the chair with an easy sigh.
Then he unzips his pants, and the tip of his hard cock peeks out from above his boxers, and I damn well almost choke.
I can just make out the bulge of his dick and, dear Lord, he has the length and girth to make a person forget about their morals.
Molten heat burns a path to my core as I imagine what it’d feel like to drag my tongue over his cockhead. Would he groan? Shudder? Christ, how would it feel to have him fucking me?
My lower stomach cramps unhappily from the rush of desire, but the lust far outweighs the pain.