Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Wynter grabs a piece and eats it, uncaring that she doesn’t have a plate. Yeah, my woman is stressed and the fact that I showed up here is probably only adding to it. I feel a wave of guilt for that. I want to be the man she runs to when she’s having a shitty day, the one who comforts her over it and reminds her that she’s not alone.
“I got a job. It’s in another town with another station,” I tell her, figuring it’s best to start with that. I don’t want her having to think about the career implications when I confess my feelings.
“I know.” She finishes that piece at alarming speed and reaches for the next one. Her voice is flat when she speaks, “You’re moving three hours away. Congrats on your new life.”
Oh shit, that’s when I realize that maybe I did fuck up by not telling her the game plan sooner. She thinks I’m trying to start over with my life. That’s the last thing I want.
She shrugs. “I’m glad you’re going. I hope you enjoy your new job.”
My heart sinks to the floor. “You’re not…we’re…?”
“We were just a fling,” she answers and pushes to her feet. “I need a drink. Do you want anything?”
I shake my head, caught off-guard by her casual attitude. Did I really do this to her? Did I convince her so completely that I don’t want her, don’t think about her every day and crave her in my bed every night?
With a deep breath, I take a seat on the couch next to her abandoned spot. I know she has to feel something for me. Chemistry like ours doesn’t just disappear and if I can remind her of that, then maybe I’ll stand a fighting chance.
Beside me, her laptop hums to life. The little device must have popped out of sleep mode when I jostled it. But the images on my screen make my stomach twist. She’s made an appointment with an OB/GYN. There are pictures of babies up on the screen, the little blobby kind that show you what a baby in the womb looks like.
Before I can even process this, her voice floats from the kitchen. “I’ve got water, beer, tea. You sure you don’t want something?”
“Just some answers,” I call back.
She returns to the living room a moment later, her socks scooting across the carpet. She frowns at me. “What answers do you need?”
I gesture toward the computer screen, my mouth dry. This isn’t what I think it is. It can’t be. I wouldn’t get that lucky.
She drags her gaze up to mine, her blue eyes filled with some emotion that I can’t quite define. “I think I’m pregnant.”
7
WYNTER
My boobs are sweaty again. I’ve only been doing light cleaning around my apartment but for the past few weeks, they won’t stop sweating. It’s not only chafing me. It’s annoying too. Finally in frustration, I plop down with my laptop on the couch. I type my problem into the search engine to see if internet strangers have any idea of why I have this sudden problem.
When my gaze falls on one simple sentence, my entire world shifts. Nipple discharge may be an early sign of pregnancy.
Oh, no. No, no, no. I stop and try to remember if I’ve had a period since I was with Derek. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. It means cysts grow on my ovaries and it typically causes infertility. Since my androgen levels are always high, my periods are often irregular. Sometimes, I don’t have one for months at a time. It’s never been something I’ve had to think about or monitor because I wasn’t sexually active.
Not for the first time since I’ve left home, I wish I could call my mom. If she and my dad didn’t live in the commune, maybe I could. Calls aren’t allowed but once a week and it’ll be six days before I can talk to her again. Not that I would tell her about this but just to hear her voice would be enough to comfort me.
I blink against a sudden wave of moisture in my eyes. Rather than sitting here crying, I need to make a plan. I always think better when I have a plan.
Drumming my fingers, I decide my first task should be getting a pregnancy test. After all, there might not be a reason to freak out. What are the odds that two people with infertility problems made a baby? I mean, the chances have to be super low and I’ll probably laugh about this when I’m in bed tonight streaming my favorite cooking shows.
Courage County is a small town, and I don’t want everyone to talk before I even have a chance to figure out what’s happening to my body. That’s why I drive over two hours away to a tiny pharmacy where no one knows my name and I’m not likely to bump into anyone from town.