Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
All I can do is close my eyes and chant, “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.”
My chanting has Gabriella’s laugh come to a halt. Her eyes open wide as she looks at me. “You had sex?” she shrieks at me.
“Um,” I start to say, thinking there isn’t going to be any way I can deny it now. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” She throws her hands up in the air. “Maybe. Obviously, you weren’t doing it right if you don’t know if you had sex.” I put my hand to my stomach, making her freak out more. “What the fuck?” she yells. “When the hell did you have sex?”
“Six weeks ago,” I answer quietly. Almost one thousand and ten hours ago, my head chimes in. It’s been six weeks since I’ve seen him. Six weeks of thinking of nothing else but him. Six weeks of memories. Six weeks of nightmares of me seeing him, but him turning around when he sees me. Six weeks of me wishing I could go back to the day. Six weeks of emptiness.
“Six weeks ago?” Her voice goes even louder. “With who?” I think about making a name up. I think about saying anyone but him, but she knows me better than that. If I didn’t have sex in college or university with the guys I casually dated, there could only be one answer. “Who?”
“Fine.” I give up, standing. “Tristan,” I admit finally, and I’m sad the moment that was just ours now has Gabriella in it.
“Tristan!” she yells out even louder. “Tristan, Tristan?” she repeats his name twice as if she didn’t hear me right.
“How many other Tristans do you know?” I ask her.
“Tristan,” she says, her face in shock. “The Tristan you’re in love with?”
“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes at her. “I’m not in love with him.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m in lust with him. There is a difference.”
“Wow, pregnancy has made you a liar,” she snaps out. “When the hell did you have time to have sex with him on family vacation?”
“The night before we left,” I tell her as my mouth becomes dry and my tongue feels like it’s getting thicker. “I went back to the room and went outside to just look at the stars.”
“And his dick fell into you?” she jokes with me.
“He asked me to have a drink with him, and then he kissed me.” I walk past her and to the fridge to grab a water bottle. Opening the stainless door, I grab a water bottle, hoping maybe she will give me space, but obviously, she doesn’t. In her defense, if the roles were reversed, there is no way I would leave her alone either.
“He kissed you?” she quizzes me softly, and I unscrew the white bottle cap and bring it to my lips, nodding instead of answering. “And then you had sex?” All I do is nod. I don’t tell her the next day I avoided him. I also don’t tell her he probably regrets doing it.
After swallowing half the bottle, I put it down, but my mouth still feels dry. “I need to take a test,” I announce. “Do you have one?”
“Yeah, sure.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I stock up on them with my deodorant.” She shakes her head. “I practice safe sex.”
“I’m on the pill,” I remind her, “and it just happened.”
“Ugh,” she grouses, walking up the stairs. “Let me go get dressed, and we’ll go out and get a test.” I lean back on the counter and hang my head, bringing both my hands up to rub my face.
“You aren’t pregnant,” I comfort myself. “It’s all in your head.”
It takes her less than three minutes to come back down wearing a pair of shorts and a top. I follow her out and get into the car and we make our way over to the pharmacy. Gabriella opted to drive, and it’s a good thing because I’m in a daze.
When she stops the car, I open the door and walk into the pharmacy with her right beside me, “What aisle has pregnancy tests?” I ask her, and she side-eyes me.
“Probably where they stock the condoms you should have worn.” She rolls her lips. I walk down two aisles before I come to the shelf with pregnancy tests. “Wow, there are so many choices,” she states, picking up a box that says First Response. “This one will tell you six days sooner.” She puts it back on the shelf, grabbing another one and the only thing I can do is watch her. My hands feel like they are filled with concrete. “This one is straightforward.” She holds it up to me. “Yes or no.”
“We should take one of each,” I suggest, and her eyebrows pinch together, “in case one is defective.”
“Good idea,” she agrees, grabbing about six boxes of tests. “We’ll have a backup for your backup.”