“Too late,” I say, and poke at the beans and rice that came with my tacos. There’s a little hole-in-the wall Mexican restaurant close to the clinic and is my go-to when I’m too lazy to pack a lunch. I get the same thing every time and love it, but today, Lunch Combination #12 isn’t appealing.
She laughs. “Don’t tell me you had another ‘one night stand’ with some mystery man again.”
I glare at her. “It’s possible, and it really did happen.”
She just laughs again. “Sure it did. Sweet little Lauren went home with someone she didn’t know, and never got a name.”
I purse my lips and shake my head. I hadn’t told a single soul—not even my best friend Rachel—about Noah. But I couldn’t keep the entire situation a secret. I can’t keep secrets to save my life. So my friends know I had naughty dirty sex with some hot guy I met at a bar. But that’s all I tell them, and really, that’s all Icantell them.
I assume the sex I had with Noah was naughty and dirty. And probably sloppy and wobbly; since I was too drunk to remember it, I was too drunk to do, well, anything remotely sexy. In all honestly, I probably got the rug burns on my knees from falling, and then I passed out under Noah as soon as we both finished.
“I live on the edge, duh,” I say with a smile and set my fork down, unable to eat anything in front of me, and drink my lemonade. I can’t get enough of that.
Soon enough, I’m busy rewrapping bandages, inserting an IV for theeleventh timeinto the leg of a beagle that somehow manages to pull it out as soon as our backs are turned, and prepping for surgeries.
Finally the day is over. I’m exhausted, and my back hurts from hoisting heavy dogs up and down the surgery table all day. I yawn the whole way home, stopping for takeout so I don’t have to cook.
“Sorry, guys,” I say to the dogs. “I’m too pooped to take you for a walk.”
Vader cocks his head at the word “walk,” and I feel guilty. It’s a nice night, with a clear sky and warm air. But I just can’t.
“You had plenty of play time today, and I have a short shift tomorrow. You’ll be fine for one night.” I pat my leg and head to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll give you an extra treat, okay?”
If there a better word than “walk,” it’s “treat.” He trots ahead of me. Sasha follows, and I toss them both a handful of treats before getting myself a drink and falling onto the couch. I watch a re-run ofOnce Upon a Timewhile I eat.
I’m so drained from staying up late last night, I shower and get into bed as soon as I’m done eating with the intent of reading a new book, but I’m asleep before I know it, waking when my alarm goes off the next morning.
Despite over eight hours of sleep, I’m still drained in the morning. What the hell? I must be getting sick. And I’m cramping like crazy. Come on, Aunt Flo. Just show up so I can get this over with and feel better. Stupid hormones.
But she doesn’t show up the next day, or the day after that. I go to bed Thursday night feeling like shit. Cramps, no appetite, and I’m super tired. Just one more day to get through and I can spend two full days doing nothing but sleeping and watching Disney movies.
Getting out of bed Friday morning is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If Vader hadn’t come and licked me after I turned off the alarm, I never would have gotten up.
I fire up the Keurig while I take care of the dogs, stick my favorite Ariel mug in place, and push the button to fill it. As soon as the coffee pours from the Keurig, my stomach flip flops.
What the hell?
The scent is so strong, filling the air, and making me sick. It’s like the smell of coffee is day-old roadkill in July, left out to bake on black pavement in the afternoon sun.
I want to throw up.
I cover my nose with my hand and press the power button, shutting off the machine before it has the chance to fill my mug. I dump it down the drain and leave the kitchen.
Okay. This isn’t right. I’m one of those people who can’t function without coffee. This has to be a PMS thing, right?
Deep down, I know it’s not.
A little over a month ago, I hooked up with Noah.
And I don’t remember a thing.
I don’t remember if he used a condom. I don’t remember if he pulled out. And right now, I don’t know what to do.
My hands are shaking and I feel like I’m going to pass out. It was one time. The odds are against me, and the stress of life is probably what’s delaying my period.
It was one night. One time.
And I know it’s entirely possible.