Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
He raises an eyebrow. “Is your knowledge of pregnancy all courtesy of Teen Mom?”
“No. It makes you pee a lot, makes you sick, and makes your boobs really tender. I figured those out for myself.”
He stares at me for a minute before smiling and turning back to the pasta. Yeah, you smile, buddy. You fucking smile now. You won’t be smiling so much when I’m having the baby.
I’m pretty sure those hours of labor are reserved purely for Daddy’s suffering. I get pain relief. He gets broken fingers.
To be honest, it seems like a fair trade to me.
Tyler brings me over a bowl of pasta with a sprinkling of cheese. I take the fork from him and rest the bowl on my stomach. This isn’t appealing to me—not in the slightest. But I’ll eat it because it will make him happy. And as sexy as an angry Tyler Stone is, I don’t have the energy to deal with him tonight.
He’ll have to wank instead.
Wait. When did I start thinking in British?
Bloody hell.
Shit. There it is again.
“Have you packed yet?”
I shake my head, my mouth full of food. “Last time, you did it, so I figured you could just do it again.”
“Last time, you were taking your vibrator. This time, you don’t need it.”
“Why? Did you pack yours?”
He steals a bit of pasta. “No. I reckon I only have a few months before you tell me you’re done with sex and I’m not wasting them with a vibrator. So, until after the baby is born, the only thing inside your pussy will be me.”
“Well, how does a girl argue with that reasoning?” I jab some pasta and shove it in my mouth.
I look down at the bowl. I’ve eaten just over a quarter of it. That will do. I set it on the coffee table, ignoring the way Ty’s brow furrows, and turn to the television.
He rubs my thigh and gets up. He turns in the direction of my bedroom, presumably to pack for me. My phone buzzes after a few minutes and I awkwardly pull it from my pocket in an attempt not to dislodge Angus.
Marchant’s name flashes on screen. I swipe to open the message.
Monday. Starbucks on Pike Place. Noon.
I swallow my groan.
No choice in meeting. He must have spoken to my mom.
Fucking hell. That’s the last thing I need—a conversation with a therapist about my pregnancy and my addiction.
I drop my phone on the floor with a thunk.
“Liv? You okay?” Tyler calls.
“Mmph.”
He comes back through to the front room and leans against the door. “What is it?”
I look up and can’t help but notice that his shirt is off. Yes. The noticing is entirely accidental. Just like the way my eyes flick over his abs and down that V that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants…
“Liv.”
I snap my eyes back to his and catch his smirk. “I’m sorry. What was the question?”
His lips curve a little more. “What’s up?”
I’m guessing that ‘my libido’ isn’t the right answer. “My mom kind of freaked earlier when I called and told her. Not about the baby, but how I’ll cope with it…and you. She’s a little overprotective. Anyway, my dad has this friend he fishes with who’s a therapist. It’s never bothered me before, but he was there when I went over there last week and started asking me questions. I know my mom put him up to it.”
“And?”
“And he said if I wanted to talk to call him. I did—a couple days ago, just after I took the test. But I got his voicemail. I was still in panic mode then, but now that I’ve calmed down, I don’t need to talk. But he just texted and said to meet him Monday for coffee.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“He’s not going to upset me, Ty.”
“I couldn’t give a shit, Liv. We’re in this together. Besides, he can go back to your mum and tell her I’m a great guy, can’t he?”
“Of course he can. He’d be crazy to think you’re anything else.”
“Do I detect sarcasm there?”
“Probably.”
He leans over the sofa and kisses me. “Your sarcasm sucks.”
“No, I suck,” I mutter, nipping his bottom lip.
“Good thing, too. We have an hour or so in a plane tomorrow. Since you denied me the last time we flew together, you can put your sucking to good use, can’t you?”
“A challenge?”
“A demand.”
“Far be it from me to deny you your demands.”
I follow Tyler onto the plane with a swirling in my stomach. I lick my lips several times, as if I can shift my focus from it. It doesn’t work. I get the feeling that the half slice of toast I had this morning before we left isn’t sitting well and will soon be making its reappearance.
I settle my hand over my stomach as I sit on the plush, leather seats. Tyler eyes me, concerned, and I remember him talking about going to the doctor. Sure, we never made it, but I’m starting to wish I’d called and got an appointment.