Page 34 of American Sweethearts

With that, he turned the show back on and settled the bowl of popcorn between us again. And we went back to the show in silence, the tension of all the things that we didn’t say making the air so thick I could practically see it. I needed to go.

I was about to stand up and do it when a sharp pain in my belly made me sit back down. Of course.

My period would start fucking with me just in time to make this situation that much more shittastic. “Dammit.” I groaned as a particularly eye-watering cramp came right on its heels. With any other person, I would’ve just dealt with it in silence, but this was J, so I opened my mouth.

“Shit,” I said, grabbing my belly.

“You okay?” He was already up, his entire body poised, as if he was ready to pick me up and whisk me to the nearest emergency room.

I grimaced as another spasm shot through my back. “Cramps.”

“Oh shit.” He started moving, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Do you still like ginger tea? I have some, and I’ll put the warm pad in the microwave for you. Here.” He handed me a throw that was hanging over the back of the couch. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

I took the blanket with numb fingers and spread it over my legs. I sat there digesting the fact that he had the tea I usually drank when I had cramps and remembered I put a hot pad on my back when the pain got really bad. J had never been squeamish about periods or “woman stuff.” He’d grown up with three older sisters and Irene raised him not to be an asshole. But he had never been…nurturing. Neither of us had been. That was one of the things that always seemed to work for us. Neither ofus was sentimental. We were practical. Got our shit done, and if we ever needed a hand, we asked for it.

This was different. Such a departure from our usual playbook, and it shook me. To know that in these past couple of years J had worked on himself, found ways to be different, better. And I was drowning in self-doubt, my entire life one big unsatisfying mess.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” I said, realizing shit was about to get real, and I was going to cry. And I couldn’t even blame it on PMS moodiness. “I’ll go home.”

“But I have stuff here.” He looked crestfallen. Like I’d mortally wounded him by turning down his offer to help. And if I was a stronger woman I’d have taken my ass home. Instead I looked up at his handsome face, and those brown eyes that were looking at me with so much longing and said, “Do you have any Motrin?”

He beamed, like I’d made his entire year by letting him coddle me. There were so many levels to how all of this could potentially fuck with my head, but it felt so nice here with him. I just wanted some more. More of not having to grin and bear it on my own. More of being taken care of, for once. I knew this was the kind of shit that was going to make staying in friend zone hard, but I could not bring myself to care just then.

God, I wanted to kiss him. Pull him down to where I was, find a position that didn’t make me feel like I had ferrets gnawing at my lower back and then, I’d kiss him. Hard.

“Why are you looking at me like you want to take a bite out of me?” His mouth was all twitchy, like he was working real hard on not smiling. I looked down at his white crew socks and then back up to see him run his hand over his fade. Everything about Juan Pablo felt comforting and oh-so-tempting at that particular moment.

“For a guy that’s had a front-row seat to how moody I get when I have cramps, you’re taking a lot of risks.”

He snorted as I folded my arms around my belly and leaned my head against the couch.

“Let me go get your Motrin. Actually.” His face changed then, like he was really taking his life into his own hands with the next part, but he asked anyway. “Why don’t you stay over?”

He said it as he was walking away and I knew it was to avoid seeing whatever face I’d make. It was a good time to ask him what he thought was happening here. To make it clear to him that the only way this could work was if we didn’t muddy the waters again. That the night after his dad’s birthday has been good, too good. And I was scared that if we kept falling into bed together, we’d fuck things up royally. That having him back felt like a lifeline.

I was about to say all of it. But when he came back to the room a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea and put out his hand to pull me off the couch, I took it.

“You can take my bed.” His voice was husky and low, and even in my less than comfortable state, I was having a hard time staying on task.

“J.” I really did mean to step back, but I pushed closer instead. He brought both hands so they were pressed to my lower back, right where I needed soothing. My eyes were half open, as if I was still trying to fool myself into thinking I wasn’t really going to kiss him. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he held himself back, not making a move until I did it first, and again I was blown away by all the ways in which Juan Pablo had changed.

I turned my head, so my mouth was right under his. His beard prickly on my lips. He smelled good. So good. So I opened my mouth flicked my tongue over his lower lip. Just a caress, but like I knew he would, he ran with it.

He gasped as our mouths touched and without hesitation, kissed me deeply. He was gentle, too, careful not to press too hard on my belly. He managed to somehow watch the places I ached at the same time he touched and licked me just how I craved. When he lowered his mouth to kiss my neck, he let out a groan that I felt in my own gut.

“You feel so good, Pris.” The yearning in his voice, the deep longing there, made my knees weak. “You always feel so good.”

I covered his mouth with mine, trying to stave off whatever words were primed to come out and break the spell. I wanted to stay like this, feel the rasp of his tongue on my neck. His teeth grazing my ear until I shivered. The way his touch filled places that no one else ever could.

“Juanpa.” I didn’t even know what I wanted, I just had to say his name.

“Nena.” He slipped a hand down my back and gripped my ass hard as I panted, the cramps and pain forgotten for these few seconds. Just as I was starting to wonder what exactly I’d started, my phone started buzzing against my thigh. I sighed, pushing back from J and pulled the phone out of the pocket in my leggings. When I looked at the screen, I saw that it was my mother’s number. It was almost 11:00 p.m. and she knew I was off.

“It’s Mamí, you know she’ll get worried if I don’t answer,” I muttered tiredly, as J tried his best to get himself back in control.

“Sure, tell her I said hi.” His voice sounded resigned, he knew better than to expect I’d pick up where we left off after I talked to my mother. But I let it go to voicemail as I considered what I was doing. I’d had an emotional day—hell, an emotional week, month—and everything I hadn’t let myself feel was sitting right under the surface. I kept feeling like all my priorities were out of whack. That the things I seemed to have valued above everythingwere smothering me, and if that wasn’t enough of a mindfuck, it seemed like the only person I could talk about it with was the man I told myself I needed to stay away from.

I sent a text to my mother, without any indication that I was at J’s house. He’d gone into his bedroom, so I just stood there waiting, I wasn’t sure for what. No, that wasn’t true, I was waiting for him to come out of the bedroom and try to convince me to stay, so I could tell myself I was just being nice. But he didn’t come back. I waited for a minute, then two until I went looking for him. I found him sitting on the bed with the hot pad in his hands.