I pick up the other shoe and throw that one too. Drew grabs a pillow and uses it as a shield. I retreat to the closet for more ammo, but he grabs my arm before I can get there.

“Would you f**king stop! Why are you being like this?”

I glare up at him. “Because you don’t even care! I’m really upset here—and you don’t give a shit!”

his eyes open wide, incredulous.

“Of course I give a shit—I’m the one getting Jimmy Choos thrown at my head like Chinese freaking stars!”

“If you care so much, why don’t you apologize?!”

“Because I didn’t f**king do anything! I have no problem crawling on my hands and knees when I screw up. But if you think I’m gonna beg because you’ve been possessed by the hormone Demon, you’re out of your mind, sweetheart.”

I break out of his hold and push him on the chest with both hands. “Fine. That’s fine, Drew. I don’t care what you do anymore.”

I grab a blanket and pillow and shove them at him. “But you’re sure as shit not sleeping next to me after you do it. Get out!”

he looks down at the linens. Then back at me. And his face relaxes, turning calm.

Too calm—like the kind before a storm.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

he throws himself on the bed, spreading his arms and legs wide like a kid making a snow angel.

“I happen to like this bed. It’s comfy. Cozy. I’ve made some great memories here. And this is the only place I’m sleeping.”

There’s no point in arguing when Drew gets like this—willful and childish. Sometimes I actually expect him to hold his breath until he gets his way.

I whip the pillow out from under his head, leaving him flat on the mattress, looking up at me.

his brow furrows. “What are you doing?”

I shrug. “I said I’m not sleeping with you. So if you won’t take the couch, I will.”

he sits up. “This is frigging insane, Kate—tell me you realize that. We’re fighting over nothing!”

My voice rises. “So now my feelings mean nothing?”

“I didn’t f**king say that!”

I point a finger at him. “You said we’re fighting over nothing, and we’re fighting about how you made me feel—so that means you think my feelings are nothing!”

his mouth opens, like a fish searching for oxygen.

“You lost me. I have no idea what you just said.”

I close my eyes. And just like that, my anger deflates.

hurt fills me instead.

“Forget it, Drew.”

As I walk down the hall, his voice follows me.

“What the f**k just happened?”

I’m too tired to try and explain it anymore. Usually when we argue, I have a hard time falling asleep. I’m too charged up with adrenaline, with passion.

But that’s not a problem tonight. I’m out like a narcoleptic as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Sometime later—could be three minutes or three hours—a warm, hard chest presses against my back, waking me up. I feel his hand on my stomach. he presses his face into my hair and inhales.

“I’m sorry.”

See, boys, that’s all you have to do. Those really are the magic words—capable of overcoming any obstacle.

Even PMS.

I turn in his arms, and look into his eyes. “What are you sorry for?”

Drew’s face goes blank, searching for the correct answer. Then he smirks. “Anything you want me to be sorry for.”

I laugh, but my words are sincere. “No. I’m sorry. You were right—I was just being a bitch. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m definitely pre-menstrual.”

he kisses my forehead. “It’s not your fault. I totally blame Eve.”

I kiss his lips softly. And then his neck. I trail a path across his chest, moving around his pecs, suddenly awake with the urge to please him. I look up at him. “You want me to make it up to you?”

his fingers trace what I’m sure are dark circles under my eyes.

“You’re exhausted. how about you make it up to me in the morning?”

I pull myself closer and rest my cheek against his skin. I close my eyes, ready to go back to sleep.

Until Drew’s voice breaks the silence.

“Unless . . . you know . . . you really want to make it up to me now. Because if you do, far be it from me to—”

I laugh out loud, cutting off his words as I duck my head under the covers, slowly traveling downward to make it up to him.

In his most favorite way.

Chapter 3

Two days later, we’re having breakfast at the kitchen table. Drew likes to exercise in the evening after work, to decompress and release the stress of the day. I, however, am one of those highly annoying people who love to go for a five a.m. run. Breakfast is where we meet in the middle. After which, Drew goes to the office and I shower.

“You know what I love about Cookie Crisp cereal?” he’s staring at his spoon.

I’ve never seen one person ingest so much cereal. I swear, if I didn’t cook, it’s all he would eat.

I swallow a mouthful of yogurt—Dannon Light & Fit. The commercials don’t lie; it’s really delicious. Strawberry banana is the best.

“What’s that?”

“It’s shaped like cookies. So, not only is it awesome, but I feel like I’m getting revenge on my parents for making me eat frigging oatmeal the first half of my life.”