Page 152 of Rules of Association

“I washed them last night becausethey smelled, Celestia. They’ll be hanging in the mud room next time you go looking, okay? Where do you want them?” I asked.

She nodded toward the bag I had swiped from her shoulders. I moved toward it, setting the wraps in on top. Making a detour to the kitchen, I grabbed a protein bar from the cupboards and a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine stock. A banana, some yogurt, and an apple later and I was returning to her stuff with a little lunch box. If Ceci had been a food gremlin before, she had turned into an absolute monster about eating after she started working out. I swear she could put down more than me if she wanted to.

Packed and ready to go, I returned to my place in front of her and traded the cat for the bag, taking little Lila into my arms and holding her up close to my chest while I ran a hand up and down Ceci’s shoulder. I waited until she gave me her eyes again before I asked, “Anything else?”

She narrowed hers at me. More than likely trying to understand my change in tone. I had my reasons. For now, I just wanted to make sure she was alright.

“I think I’m good,” she said slowly, giving me one last glance over before turning and starting her way toward the door.

We followed her. Me on foot and Lila in my arms. When she got about a step or two out of the door, she turned, her mouth open as if she was going to say something. She stopped short as I held the cat right in front of her, face level. Flicking her gaze up to me she asked me a question with her eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing?’those eyes asked.

“Give her a kiss goodbye,” I said, still holding Li out for her. She eyed the cat and then me suspiciously. I nudged her a little further, and God bless the little furball because she just hung there staring up at her mommy expectantly. I wiggled her. “Go on.”

Leaning forward she kept her eyes on me the whole time as she placed a little kiss on the side of Lila’s nose. It was as if she was expecting me to pull hijinks or something.

And since she was already expecting the worst of me…

I leaned forward next, offering my face this time. “Now me.”

I couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped me when she leaned forward and closed the door in my face.

Only I knew that I was laughing through the sting.

* * *

By dinner her condition had gotten worse. She came straight home and disappeared right into the shower, hardly saying hello to me or her feline love as she zombie waddled her way intomyroom to use all ofmyproducts like she usually did. I didn’t care if she did or didn’t use my shit. I mean hell she basically lived with me and had literally convinced me to let her cat live here too. No, her being in my space wasn’t a problem.

My mind thinking of her being naked in my space…Thatwas the problem. It didn’t matter how many showers or clothing changes or closet raids that happened over the years. Lately, every time my brain (and my little brain) so much as thought about Ceci undressing in my proximity let alone in my own personal spaces, I got unreasonably aroused. It's like I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of her slim and now muscular frame. Her curves, her olive skin, her hair. And when she was showering, I thought of all the same features, just being wet and soapy. Which was about a hundred times worse.

While I wasn’t used to being an absolute horn dog around her, Iwasused to her in this condition. That’s why I wasn’t all that surprised to find her exiting her shower in the biggest sweatshirt of mine she could find, a pair of my socks bunched around her ankles. And when she flopped down on the couch and demanded food, I produced her favorite fried rice and a simple chicken and cheese quesadilla.

“I want a burger and fries and a milkshake,” she said, even while she nibbled on the quesadilla.

“Maybe next week,” I said, helping my own food onto a plate and cutting it up.

“What’s up with the hodgepodge?” she asked, leaning her nosey ass over into my plate and sniffing my steak quesadilla. I picked it up and held it out to her. Without hesitating, she leaned even deeper and took a bite.

Brat, just like I said.

Raising an eyebrow, I met her eye, asking, “Stomachache?”

She rolled her lips into her mouth, her eyes cutting me with suspicion as she nodded her head. Biting another piece of quesadilla off, she watched me. Her eyes let me know that she knew that I knew.

Stomachache?Yeah right. Stomachache my ass.

What did you call a stomachache you get every month that is accompanied by mood swings and food cravings that just leave you feeling shitty after you gorge yourself on them? Ceci called it a “stomachache” like I didn’t know, or like I gave a shit that her period made her extremely sick and extremely moody.

Spoiler, I didn’t care. The only actual concern I had about it was the fact that every month it caused her so much pain. More pain than my sister had ever gone through with her cycle or any girl I had ever been involved with. So much pain that it called for a lot of pain medication. Which caused me a lot of stress.

Sometimes, when her cramps were really kicking her ass, she could pop back two extra-strength pills every few hours or so. That couldn’t be healthy. Nothing too bad had come of it yet, but I worried about her health down the road. That quantity of medication, even if it was just a couple of days out of each month, could turn out to be serious trouble if we didn’t cut her back soon.

Neither of us ever mentioned that I knew she was on her period. I assumed it was one of those lines Ceci convinced herself we should not cross. So instead of outright admitting that I noticed it was her time of the month, I just fed her and let her gallivant naked in my room and continued to play nursemaid like I did every month, because apparently using my shower and wearing my clothes and having me wait on her hand and foot always made her feel better.

After a dinner of simple foods that wouldn’t make her feel worse, I gave in and set the little pink box I got for her earlier on the coffee table. She was lying face down on the couch by the time I got back to the living room after washing the dishes. Looking at her, I couldn’t help the hand that slid up the length of her back, rubbing long lines over the taut muscles there. She looked so miserable laying like that. I wanted to do anything to alleviate her pain.

“Got you something,” I murmured, leaning down toward her ear. Peeking an eye out, she zeroed in on the bakery box on the table.

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