Page 46 of Olivia's Only Pretending
“I talk to Adam more than enough, actually.” Victor laughed. “I tend to avoid my boss on the weekend.”
“Sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by my pillow. “Didn’t check who was calling. Lucy has been trying me all morning.” I glanced at the clock on my phone. It was eleven a.m., and I still hadn’t gone downstairs for coffee. My stomach growled, too.
“You doing okay, Liv? You sound down.” Victor’s voice softened as he checked on me.
I paused the show. “I’m cramping pretty bad, actually,” I admitted. Over the summer, Victor had become familiar with how bad my menstrual cramps could be after seeing me clinging to my heating pad multiple times.
“Ah, Menstruella is here?” Victor, after learning this about me, had also nicknamed my period.
I shook my head at the name.
I buried my face under my pillow. No one but my sisters and mother had ever known me so well.How had the goofy younger guy from the coffee shop with a crush become someone I shared this much of my life with?
Maybe because only the goofy younger guy had ever made me feel safe enough to share it all. He had tenderly taken care ofeach piece of me I gave him until there was nothing left to share now. He could even tell when my period was here.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“You still in bed?”
I just laughed.
“You need another coffee delivery?”
I could imagine him standing in his kitchen with his lazy weekend hair, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. He’d smell like minty toothpaste and fresh laundry.
“No, no. Enjoy your weekend. Go be young and carefree.” I snuggled deeper into my bed. “I’ll eventually leave my bed for supplies.”
“You have painkillers?”
“I keep them in my nightstand.”
“Okay, okay.” He still sounded concerned.
“I’m fine, Victor. I’ve hadMenstruellavisit monthly for over a decade. I know how to handle her.” Said the woman in the fetal position, ignoring her stomach growling for food.
“I’m sure you can handle her. You’re Olivia Rhodes. You can handle just about anything. You just don’t alwayshaveto handle everything,” Victor said, his voice bordering on chastising, but still soft around the edges.
“I have Chandler and Rachel. I’m good. It’s the cheesecake episode.”
He chuckled. “Okay, Olivia. Promise me you’ll eat?”
“Stop worrying. Girls have periods all the time. I’m lucky it’s a Saturday, and I can mope and don’t have to teach class through the cramps.”
“None of that makes me worry less.” I heard a door close, and a lock turn on his end of the call.
We hung up, and I forced myself to brush my teeth and shower.
The way Victor knew all these personal little details about me was more intimate than any other guy friend I’d ever had. The way he checked on me—the concern in his voice—blurred the lines for me.
Our phone call didn’t feel like a conversation I’d have with my best guy friend. It felt like something hazier, closer. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready to name.
I was padding around my kitchen, about to start my coffee maker, when the doorbell rang.
I could see his shadow through the window on my door. I had to fight my grin.
“Victor Hernandez,” I said in a tone of disbelief as I found him on my front porch with his arms full and a coffee cup in his hand.
He waltzed into my house, heading to my kitchen.
