Page 78 of Restricted List

Long-sleeve white T-shirt pushed up on his forearms. Backward baseball cap. And gray fucking joggers.

He’s torturing me.

And he might be doing it on purpose.

“Hey, Starlight,” he says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too. Want to come sit down?”

I walk into the living room, and Cole follows, taking the spot at the end of the sofa. I take the spot next to him.

“How has your birthday been?”

“Good for the most part,” I answer honestly. “I feel like shit, though.”

“Why?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Cramps.”

“On your birthday?”

I laugh. “Aunt Flo doesn’t care what day it is. I’ve spent a large part of the day bloated and in pain.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Honestly,” I say, “if you grab my heating pad from the bathroom, you’ll be my favorite person ever.”

Cole laughs as he stands up. “I’m a little offended that I’m not your favorite person already.”

After a minute, he returns to the living room, heating pad in hand. Once he plugs it in, he hands it to me, and I place it right on top of my pelvis.

“Thank you, Cole. Thank you for helping when I feel like garbage.”

“I wasn’t going to let you sit there in pain, Ror.” He gives me a soft smile, the one that always gives me butterflies. “I care about you way too much for that. You just relax right now. I’m hoping Google will come up with other ways for me to help.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, sinking into the sofa as the heat starts radiating across my body. “This happens every month. I’m used to it.”

Cole lowers his phone, looking right at me. “That doesn’t mean I can’t help. If there’s something I can do to help you feel better, I’m going to do it.”

“Okay.” I smile at him and watch the light sparkle off his gorgeous blue-gray eyes.

I close my eyes and relax while Cole starts scrolling on his phone, determined to find a way to help as if I haven’t already tried them all.

“This list seems promising,” he says. “There are a lot of things mentioned. You’re already using a heating pad, so I’ll skip past that. It says exercise can help.”

“If you try to move me from this fucking couch, I will shank you.”

Cole roars with laughter. “Okay, that’s a no to exercise. Massage could work.”

“Tried it,” I say, eyes still closed. “It’s never helped.”

“Hmm…” he mutters, still scrolling through the list. “Yoga?”

“You’re trying to get shanked, aren’t you?”

“Apparently,” he chuckles. “Let’s see what else is h-oh.”

I open my eyes, looking over at him. He looks flustered, and I can see a blush creeping across his cheeks.

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