Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
There’s immediate silence in the gym, as if every single person stopped what they were doing to look my way. My head drops, and I stare at my tennis shoes for a moment before I get up the courage to look over at Tank. He’s staring at me with his jaw dropped.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I’m horrified when they start to spill over my bottom lids. Tank’s eyebrows disappear into his military-style buzz cut, but I only see that for a blessedly brief moment before his entire face becomes hazy through the water in my eyes.
“Fuck,” I mutter and spin away from Tank and the knives. I dart across a small area set up with a squat rack where Sal Mezzina and Benji Darden are working out. As I jog past, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, Sal calls in his thick Bronx accent, “Hey Hart… what are the tears for? On the rag or something?”
It’s not the first period joke I’ve heard from my male coworkers, and it’s never bothered me before. But apparently, my hormones were in a state of dormancy prior to getting knocked up, and a fresh wave of tears well in my eyes.
Another wave of pure rage rockets through me, heating me up from the inside out. I swear I can even feel my earlobes sizzling.
I veer left and change course without thinking, barreling right at Sal. Through the tears and fury, I see his eyes grow wide. He opens his mouth and holds his hands up in slow motion as if to stop me, but my hands slam right into his chest and he goes flying. Right through the back of the squat rack and onto his ass with a resounding thud.
I come to stand over the top of him, legs spread wide and hands on my hips.
“I’ve got your rag for you, you fucking sexist pig,” I scream.
He stares up at me as if I have horns sprouting from the top of my head. The way I feel right this moment, it wouldn’t surprise me to find them there. My body is not my own.
This enrages me further and I open my mouth to lay every vile curse word in my arsenal on him, when an arm circles me from behind.
Because I know his body so well, I recognize the planes and contours of Bodie’s chest as I’m hauled backward into it.
I’m offended he’d think to stop me in the middle of my tirade; especially since, as a woman being shamed for her period, I have a right to be incensed. Doesn’t matter that it has never bothered me before, or that I’ve always taken it as the type of ribbing from male teammates that means I’m part of their inner circle of trust.
“Easy does it, Hart,” Bodie murmurs in my ear in an attempt to calm me, but I’m thinking that would require some serious anti-psychotic medication at this point.
“Fuck you, Bodie,” I yell as I wrench out of his grasp. Well, he actually lets me go quite easily, and that he knows just what my boundaries are pisses me off even more.
Bodie stares at me warily, face etched with concern. He doesn’t spare a glance at Sal still sitting on the floor.
I think it might even be okay… that I can come out of this without any embarrassment, but those stupid fucking tears start again, sliding down my cheeks in frustratingly itchy rivulets. Bodie’s expression goes from worried to pitying, and it’s the straw that breaks this pregnant psycho’s back.
“Fuck you,” I snarl at Bodie before looking at Sal again. “And fuck you. Don’t ever say something like that to me again.”
Sal gives me a tight nod, but I don’t give a fuck if he agrees with my right to claim a harassment-free environment. He’s already forgotten as I spin on my heel and barrel through the glass door that leads into the coed locker room.
I stomp across to my locker, and I’m so furious I can’t get my combo entered correctly. On the second attempt, I’m cursing.
On the third, I’m crying harder.
“Rachel…” My body locks tight at the sound of Bodie’s voice behind me. “What’s wrong?”
I ignore him, take a deep breath, and try the combo again.
Bingo. It fucking works. Hallelujah. Something is going right in my life.
“You know Sal was just kidding with you, right?” he says.
I spin on him, incredulously glaring at his insensitivity. And I see it on his face as clear as day. He knows that’s a stupid remark to make to a hormonal pregnant female who was just teased about something that makes her distinctly female in a heavily male-dominated working environment.
He said it specifically to provoke me into conversation, even at the risk of inciting more fury from me.
I can’t help it. I just break.