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Why does he even have this? Don’t they just throw these things away once they get the sketch on your skin?

I lay it on the dresser, smoothing out the crinkle further. The full image finally within my grasp.

Silent, almost breathless, I don’t know how to process what I’m looking at. Unmistakable eyes are fading by the day on the paper, but what’s absolutely certain is that they aren’t just any eyes.

They’re mine.

Not frightened, or laced with worry. Even through the fading sketch, they’re glowing.

Pushing down the swirling feeling in my gut, I run my finger over the thin paper. Eye contact since the night of my assault has always been hard for me during hookups; it’s part of the reason why I like them so fast in the first place. Most men aren’t looking for passion during a one a.m. booty call, but with Jett, it’s never been anything but.

I hurriedly crinkle the paper back to how I found it, placing it back in the drawer.

Once I’m back downstairs, I grab a blanket and cozy myself into the same spot on the couch. On the TV, I put on my favorite home renovation channel, sitting in stillness as the show plays in the background.

What is even happening?

How can someone I swore I wouldn’t let get too close, someone I knew if I even gave a sliver of my heart to would break it, seem to have become the only one willing to put it back together?

Before I can spiral further, the faint noise of the garage opening has me sitting a little taller on the cushion. When I do, a sharp pain hits me right in the bottom of my stomach, forcing me to hurl back over my bellybutton.

“I’m back!” Jett’s cheerful voice booms through the high ceilings, but I can’t rise. It hurts too much.

The sound of brown paper bags hit the hard marble in the kitchen as he continues. “I didn’t really know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything.”

I try my best at lifting just slightly, to find the strength to say thank you, but a loud croak is all I can muster when the pain in my stomach multiplies. Hoping he didn’t hear the animalistic noise that just escaped my throat, I sink a little farther into the sofa, but it’s too late.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks, concerned and coming closer.

“J-Just cramps,” I strain to say, soft as a whisper.

“Here.” I hear him dig through the bags, before coming around the corner. “I got a heating pad. Do you want some pain reliever?”

“Please,” I cry.

In just a few seconds, Jett’s in front of me with the biggest heating pad I’ve ever seen, a bottle of Advil, some sort of strawberry soda, and more treats than I could ever eat.

“Strawberry soda?” I mutter.

My eyes burn with tears, the lump in my throat widening as I watch Jett reach for the plug to turn on the heating pad.

Fucking PMS, always making me emotional.

“You get strawberry in all your other drinks. I got other flavors too if you want something different.”

With a curt nod, I hold back the intensity I’m feeling in this moment. I don’t know that anyone has ever paid attention to me as much as he has. And more than that, I don’t know how to handle how it makes me feel.

Since I can’t find the words to accept his kindness, I shimmy the blanket down to my hips, giving him a better path to my stomach.

“May I?” Jett’s hand reaches for the edge of my blanket, asking lightly if he can remove it from my body.

I accept, uncurling my fingers from the plush cover, allowing him to take the lead. As I watch carefully, I can’t help but admire as he unrolls the heating pad and places it just above the top of my pants. His motions are soft and precise. Pure intention behind every movement.

Sadness makes my chest ache that, one day, someone else will be on the receiving end of a love so special.

I study his large arms as they do the daintiest of duties. Tracking down his black T-shirt, I trace the inked patterns of his skin with my eyes, searching harder than ever for the tattoo I found in his dresser.

“How long did it take for you to get your arms done?”