I sit on the edge of the bed, the towel draped over my shoulders, still working it through the damp ends of my hair. The warmth from the bath still clings to my body, loosening the knots in my muscles, softening the sharp edges of my mood. I should feel relaxed.
I do feel relaxed.
But something stirs beneath my skin. A strange warmth low in my spine. Restless. Wrong.
My hand drifts to the back of my neck—to the place where his breath touched earlier, where his chin rested against my shoulder. The memory flickers through my mind uninvited.
I rub the spot slowly.
Why does it feel like my rut is coming?
The thought settles heavily in my chest.
I reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen glows too bright in the dim room. I squint and scroll. The calendar stares back at me, neat and indifferent.
No. It's not time.
Not for another week. Maybe longer. My cycles have always been predictable. This strange heat beneath my skin shouldn't be here yet.
