All I know is I can’t fucking stand it.
He tilts his head slightly. “You… don’t like the heating pad?”
I stare at him.
“What?” He doubles down. “I thought I was being thoughtful.”
Something in mesnaps.
I see it then—the heating pad, still plugged in beside the bed. With no hesitation, I yank the plug out of the outlet and wave it above me like a lasso. I must look crazy as the cord flips about my head, my eyes wide, my teeth bared.
The cord picks up speed and I launch it at his head. “Aaaaagh!” I yell as it careens toward him, buoyed by the weight of the heating pad part of the device.
I gasp as in what feels like slow motion I realize what’s about to happen.
He ducks, but the edge of the plug clips him on the cheek.
A thin line opens instantly.
Blood beads, then spills from the gash.
The soft thwack of the metal meeting his cheekbone jolts me out of my crazed state. “Oh shit,” I gasp. “Sorry.”
He touches his cheek, glances at the blood on his fingers. “Jeez,” he says mildly. “Now I see why they say not to mess with a woman on their period.”
“Oh my god—” Blood rushes to my temples again and I leap from the bed and charge forward.
When I get close enough, I lunge at him.
He doesn’t move fast.
Doesn’t need to.
He just lifts a hand and plants it on top of my head, holding me at arm’s length.
I swing anyway—wild, furious—but I can’t reach him. Not even close.
My arms windmill like I’m competing in some manic Olympic freestyle race.
But he just holds me at bay, a smirk forming on his lips while a little trickle of blood continues to seep from his cheek.
“Aaaaagh!” I repeat myself in frustration, my normal articulation out the window. “I fucking hate you and your tall stupid tallness!”
He laughs.
Actually laughs.
Low. Amused.
Completely unbothered.
“You’re cute when you’re furious, little poison.”
I freeze for a second, still caught in his hold, breath coming fast.
Then I scowl harder. “I’m not cute.”
“Mm,” he murmurs. “Debatable.”