Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Not this one,” I say, holding it up in my hand.
“Fuck, Bri. How many of these little bastards did you get?” he questions. “There’s too many of them. I think I’m breaking out in hives.”
“There’s never too many,” I tell him. “If I’m going to freak out then I want to know I’m freaking out for the right reason. I’m peeing on all of them.”
He rolls his eyes and puts the test down on the vanity before pulling out his phone. “Where do you think I can order world’s best uncle mugs from?” At my lack of response, he looks up at me with a blank expression, his brows starting to furrow with confusion. “What the hell are you waiting for? An invitation? Get on with it.”
Uhhh . . . is this guy for real? I mean, I know we’re twins and shared a womb, but this is definitely pushing the friendship. Crossing my arms over my chest, I fix him with a hard glare. “Were you going to leave?” I question, my brows raised.
Bobby scoffs and gives me a blank stare. “No. I want to be the first to know.”
“There’s no one else here, Bobby,” I remind him, pointing a finger toward the door. “Get the hell out.”
“Uggghhhhh,” he groans as he gets up, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if I hear you on the phone or even get the feeling you’re gonna text someone before me, I’m barging right back in here.” With that, my moronic twin strides out the door and pulls it closed behind him, leaving me to grow the fuck up and do the one thing I’ve been avoiding for the past ten days.
Tearing open the packet, I pull out the test and give the instructions a good read, though I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing. It couldn’t be that complicated, right? Sitting on the toilet, I shove the test between my legs and do my best to pee, but hearing Bobby hovering by the door makes me feel a little shy.
A minute passes when I hear him start to pace. “What’s taking so long?” he groans through the door.
“I can hear you breathing against the door, asshole. You’re giving me stage fright.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he grunts before finally getting the hint and taking off down the hallway. “Call me when you’re done.”
With Bobby out of the way, I get down to business, and like magic, the river starts flowing free, and I do everything in my power to make sure I don’t accidentally pee all over myself. Certain I’ve done it right, I clean myself up and pop the test on the vanity before starting the longest waiting game of my life.
Pulling out my phone, I set a timer for two minutes, and as I watch it countdown, my nerves start getting the best of me. My hands shake, and I have to force myself to turn around. I drop onto the edge of the bathtub, right where Bobby had been only a few short minutes ago, my heart racing, having no idea how I want this to go.
I can’t help but feel as though this moment is going to define the rest of my life. It’s either going to go one way or the other, and to be honest, I already feel attached to the idea of having a child, but I don’t know if it’s the actual child I’m attached to or the idea of it being Carter’s.
Surely I couldn’t be attached to a baby so soon. I haven’t even confirmed I’m pregnant yet.
Unable to help myself, I glance back at the timer. One minute to go.
Shit.
My palms grow sweaty, and I feel as though I could be sick, anxiety gripping hold of me and threatening to send me right over the edge.
The timer goes off, and I shoot up off the edge of the marble bathtub before turning to the test, only I can’t look. Damn it, why does it have to be so hard? I start pacing the length of the bathroom, desperately trying to pump myself up as though I’m some kind of athlete getting ready for the biggest game of my life.
I shake my hands, my shoulders bouncing, and just when I think I’m ready, I go to position myself back in front of the sink, but like the little bitch I am, I crumble, unable to even glance down at the stupid piss stick.
Letting out a breath, I give in to the big buffoon out in the living room. Grabbing the door handle, I yank it open before shoving my head out into the hallway. “Bobby,” I call, my voice bouncing off the walls.
“What?” he yells back, that same hint of frustration still lingering in his deep tone.
“I can’t do it.”
“You can’t pee?” he questions with a scoff. “I moved away. You’ve been in there for ages.”