The Encyclopedia of Love: Guys Edition has exactly what I need.

Chapter eight of the book covers different kinds of anti-inflammatory remedies—including some recipes I'll try next time—and a guide to provide good distraction and emotional support to women when they're on their period. It also explains two other methods, which the author claims to be surefire ways to relieve a woman's cramps.

While Nessa will most probably reject the first option, she might agree to the second one.

Pushing the little black book back into my pocket, I stride toward the couch in the middle of the living room. A grimace of pain still twists Nessa's face, but she puts on a strained mask of composure as I sit on the armrest beside her.

"Hey." I take her right hand and apply gentle pressure to the webbing between her thumb and forefinger as the book suggests.

She stares up at me with confusion, a touch of wariness in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Do you mind if I try something to help with your cramps?"

She cocks an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk fleeting across her face. "What thing?"

"It's not what you think, you horny mochi," I tease. As a sweet blush mantles her pale cheeks, I reach for her left hand and massage her pressure point. "There's nothing sexual about it if that's what you're worried about. So don't worry. It's just something I read in a book."

She flicks her gaze to me, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. "What book?"

Shit. I shouldn't have said that, should I?

"I-it's just a—"

She gasps, a teasing grin spreading across her face."Have you been reading some erotic no—"

I click my tongue and scoop her up in my arms.

"Whoa!" She throws her arms around my neck, holding on for dear life. As I carry her to her bedroom, she starts to panic. "W-what are you doing, Ol? I-I'm telling you, it's like a warzone down there. There's blood everywhere, and I swear you don't even want to think of—"

I flick her temple before laying her on the mattress. "Stop being so dirty-minded, you horny mochi."

As her lower lip juts out in a pout, I'm tempted to kiss her and tease her until she begs for more. All of a sudden, the thought of making love to her tonight becomes too enticing.

Making love? What the—oh, you've gone crazy, Oliver Lauren Morrison.

"Do you have any essential oils?" I ask.

"No. Why would I have any essential—wait. I think Mac has one in her room. Why?"

"Great. Where does she put—"

"No!" She bolts upright on the bed, alarm in her eyes. As I blink at her in surprise, she stutters, "I-I mean . . . it's an invasion of privacy, Ol. Haven't you ever heard the term men shouldn't go snooping around in a woman's room unless they're given formal permission?"

"Huh?" The corner of my mouth curls up in a grimace of confusion.

"I-I'll go get it." She scrambles out of the bed and hobbles toward the door like an injured rabbit. "You stay here."

"Wait, Ness. Are you sure you can—"

She snaps her head in my direction and hisses like an angry viper, sending a shudder of fear through my body. "Don't. Move."

The threat in her voice is unmistakable, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead by now. I can only blink as she shuffles out of the room. Nessa has always been scary when she's angry, but as it turns out, she's even scarier when she's on her period.

Note to self: never mess with a woman on her period.

A glance at the closed guest bedroom door raises my suspicion. I didn't get a clear look at what was written on the questionable whiteboard Nessa desperately hid away earlier, but I was sure I saw my photos pasted all across it.

What the heck is going on? She's not doing some kind of creepy rituals, is she?

Shaking the thought away, I plop on the edge of the right side of the bed. As my gaze is drawn to the bathroom door on my left, my mind reminds me of the last time I was in this room. Soon, the memory of what happened on the night of that stupid Valentine's Day two years ago floods into my consciousness.

What am I doing?

The burning-red dragon crawls out of his cave and scratches his claws along my insides, twisting my stomach into a knot of guilt.

I don't deserve Nessa. Maybe I should let her be with that creep instead—

The demon bolts back into the darkness in fear when Kiki hops onto the bed and nuzzles me. There's something about the way she wraps her long tail around my arm that makes me feel like I should stop punishing myself. It's almost as if she's trying to convince me I've done nothing wrong, and that what happened to Nessa that night wasn't my fault.

Chuckling, I rub the top of Kiki's head. "Who's the good girl, huh?"

The three-legged cat responds by lifting her head before lying down on her side, purring.

As I continue petting Kiki, I catch a glimpse of a heap of mess on the pink desk in my peripheral vision. An empty bag of chips, tangled earbuds, and a Mr. Dumpy mug lay on the sheet music scattered around an opened laptop. Behind the desk, a 17-inch Mr. Dumpy doll sits next to a pack of maxi pads on the wooden chair, a pink bra slung over the back of it.

"What the . . ."

Another creature lurks in the darkest part of my mind as I glance around the room.

Two years ago, this room was messy. But now, it's a total shipwreck. If someone told me a burglar had broken into this room, I would believe it in a heartbeat.

A bookcase filled with disheveled stacks of books stands in the corner of the room near the window, Nessa's old Yamaha guitar standing next to it against the wall. Dust and spider webs cover her Lovejoy's mascot collection on the top shelf. On the other side of the room, a messy pile of apparel drapes on the clothes rack that looks like it's about to break in half anytime soon.

The huge white creature inside me—Baymax, my inner neat freak—awakens. My hands tingle with the need to clean this room and organize everything, but I stay put.

This isn't your room, Oliver. I repeat. This isn't your room.

"Yet," Baymax whispers in my mind, and I gasp in shock.

Horrified at the deranged creature's absurd remark, I snap my gaze to the least messy part of the room: the nightstand.

Five of the six Lovejoy's National Bacon Day keychains I bought for Nessa stand on the white wooden nightstand among some scattered makeup kits. The only one missing from the collection is that chubby dumpling, which she attaches to her favorite sling bag along with the plush cat keychain I won for her at Cat Rack two years ago.

A smile slides across my face when I see the photo strips near the Miss Mochi keychain—photos taken during our date yesterday.

I didn't know it was possible, but the sparkle in her eyes looks more beautiful than ever, especially in the picture where I steal a kiss from her. While that alone has me grinning like an idiot, a thrill of pride rushes through me when I remember I was the one who brought that beam to her face.

Maybe TJ and Emilia are right. Maybe it's time I stop punishing myself for what happened to Nessa. Maybe the best way to atone for my mistakes is to make her happy. And maybe I can do it by being her—

"Found it." Nessa walks out of the adjacent room, and I quickly set the photo strip back onto the nightstand. "Here you go." She sits next to Kiki and hands the small bottle to me. "What do you need it for anyway?"

"Lie on your side." I pat the mattress and open the bottle.

A shade of hesitation crosses her face, but she does as I ask. "Now what?"

The pleasant, slightly sensual scent of rose wafts in the air as I pour the oil onto my hands and rub them together. Breathing in the fresh fragrance, I snuggle up behind Nessa and pull her strawberry-printed duvet over us.

As I tuck my arm around her stomach and slip my hand into her shorts, her body tenses up. There's a hint of nervous excitement when she stammers over her shoulder, "W-what are you doing?"

"Just relax."

I follow the instructions I read in the Encyclopedia of Love and caress her bloated lower belly in a clockwise direction, gently squeezing her flesh once in a while. Her ice-cold skin grows warmer as she relaxes in my arms. For a while, the calming silence between us has me thinking this method works.

Oh, thank you, Cupid! I swear to my future wife's future grave, I'll kiss you if we ever meet.

Pikachu and Baymax are about to dance as if they're in a twisted version of Saturday Night Fever when Nessa breaks the silence.

"Ol?" Her voice sounds strained, ringing an alarm in my head. She hunches her shoulders and holds her stomach, her body trembling.

Shit, shit, shit. Did I do something—

"You're . . . pinching . . . my fat rolls."

I choke on my breath. It takes a while before my brain finishes processing what she just said. Suppressed laughter spurt from my nostrils before we burst into full-throated guffaws.

"What the hell, Ness?"

"I'm sorry, I can't help it!" She throws herself onto her back, her once pale face glowing with the bright flush of embarrassment. "You were literally pinching my fat rolls!"

I double over with mirth. Tears stream down my aching cheeks, but I can't stop. When the laughter finally dies down, I collapse on my back and turn my head toward Nessa, beaming as I watch the sparkle in her chocolate-brown eyes shining brighter than ever.

She shifts her gaze to me, still chuckling. "What?"

"Feel better?"

"A little." She grabs my hand and rolls onto her left side, pulling me with her so that I'm cuddling her from behind again. Setting my hand on her stomach, she purrs, "Please, continue."

I ease myself closer to her and rest my chin on her shoulder, our heads sharing the only pillow on the bed. As I pick up where I left off, she lets out a sigh of contentment that serves as the intro to the best lullaby in the entire history of humankind.

The next few minutes are filled with silence—the good kind. The soothing scent of rose floating in the air combined with the feel of Nessa cradled in my arms brings a sense of comfort beyond imaginable. Slowly but surely, an unexpected sensation flows through my veins. The sweetest kind of warmth I never thought I wanted or needed.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm . . . home.

Ugh. What am I doing? She's probably going to start dating that creep again once he got back from his trip to Timbuktu or something. Hell, she probably just wants me to be her sleeping buddy, or worse—

A fed-up Pikachu carries a boombox out of his extravagant mansion and holds it above his head. The cheesy song I wrote for Nessa two years ago, the one I'd forgotten until last night, resonates in my head like a broken record. Just like last night, a powerful sense of déjà vu crashes over me like a tidal wave, reminding me that I've always had these feelings for her.

Nessa has always been the bright light in my otherwise dark world. Even when I almost got fired from my job, or when I became homeless, or when I had to sell my precious Rusty to pay my piling credit card debt, those hardships became endurable because Nessa was there by my side. And now that I'm lying here next to her, I can't help but wonder how amazing it would be to spend every single day with her, seeing her face every night before I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up.

And that's when a realization strikes me.

I never want Nessa to be just my horror buddy, lunch buddy, or best buddy. And I think . . .

I think I'm . . .

I think I'm in love with Nessa.

Pikachu somersaults in front of his mansion at my realization, emitting a powerful, bright energy that lights up even the darkest part of my mind.

How did I not realize this sooner?

Holy crap. Nina was right, wasn't she?

As I make a mental note to research more about the condition that everyone seems to insist I have, the yellow creature in my head reminds me of the magic words Nessa told me to find.

What if the magic words are . . .

A huge part of me refuses to say those three words to Nessa before I'm 100% sure about my feelings toward her. Yet Pikachu goes violent for the first time since he first popped into my head.

He holds a butter knife to Not-So-Little Oliver and orders me to do as he says. Or else.

"Ness? Remember when you said you'd stop seeing that creep if I found the magic words?" Struggling to calm my racing heart, I stutter, "I-I think I've found the magic words."

I wait for her to respond. A simple yeah or a single hum would suffice. But she remains silent.

Calm down, Oliver. It's just a simple sentence. People say it to each other every day even when they don't mean it. No big deal.

"I . . ."

Wait. What if she freaks out?

"I love . . ."

What if she doesn't feel the same way as I do?

"I love y—"

A loud snore cuts me off.

Craning my head over her shoulder, I find Nessa fast asleep with her mouth open. Annoyed, a voice inside me tells me I should wake her up. But the beautiful serenity in her expression prevents me from doing so.

That sweet warmth coursing through my veins goes straight to my heart the longer I watch her sleep—and I become more and more convinced that I am, indeed, in love with my best friend.

I kiss the top of Nessa's head before laying my cheek back on the shared pillow, hugging her tighter. As I close my eyes, Pikachu drags the Project V whiteboard out of his bedroom and smiles at me. This time, I smile back at him, determined to fix the day of love for Nessa.

Yes. Project V is back on track. And I'll make damn sure everything goes according to plan this time.

Author's Note:

Special thanks to terria01 for the butter knife idea! It will be Pikachu's main weapon from now on 😄

As always, if you enjoy this chapter, please don't forget to show some support by voting and/or commenting. Thanks for reading!