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)
If she can give something, anything, to make this awful all-day-long sickness go away, you bet I’m gonna jump on it.
“We can delay a little bit if you need to,” Tyler says softly, pushing hair from my face.
I nod, not daring to open my mouth. He gets up and knocks on the door of the cockpit. I hear him ask them to hold for fifteen minutes. Then he’ll come back and let them know if we need to delay further.
My stomach cramps as he walks toward me, and I get up, darting around him. One hand on my stomach and the other clamped over my mouth, I run to the bathroom. He follows me and opens the door.
I drop to the floor in front of the toilet, and my suspicions are confirmed.
Tyler holds back my hair as my stomach empties itself into the sparking porcelain. He rubs my back as I choke and splutter, seemingly unaffected by my vomiting.
My eyes burn with hot tears once again, and I reach up to flush the toilet.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself.
Tyler releases me, and when I turn, he’s holding a packet of face wipes and a toothbrush. I offer him a weak smile, and he crouches next to me.
“I came prepared.” He opens the wipes and tenderly cleans around my mouth and chin before handing me some for my eyes.
I wipe my makeup off completely. Right now, I don’t give a crap how I look. I grab the toothbrush from him and get up. Bile rises in my throat for a second time and I pause, gripping the side of the sink.
“Are you—”
I shake my head and wave my hand at him. I take a few deep breaths through my nose and the feeling subsides. Thankfully.
“Now.” I shove the toothbrush at him and he puts some toothpaste on.
I scrub hard and reason that at least I’ll have clean teeth if this keeps up. As long as I don’t become one of those pregnant women who hates toothpaste. Then I’m really going to have some problems.
I rinse the brush and leave it on the back of the sink since there’s no holder. “I’m okay,” I reassure Tyler. “Let’s go in case it comes back.”
I precede him out of the bathroom. I sit in my chair again, secure my seatbelt, and lean forward on the table. Ty takes the seat next to me after talking to the pilot.
“I guess the blow job is off the cards,” he quips.
“Start a tally. I’ll make them up to you when the thought of something in my mouth doesn’t make me want to gouge out my stomach.”
“Well, it’s nice to know you’re so attracted to me.”
I smile, closing my eyes. “Any time you doubt it, all you have to do is ask, honey.”
“I think I’ll avoid it if I’m honest.” He reaches over and rubs my back again.
I hum at the soothing sensation. The pilot speaks over that we’re heading for the runway to take off and that the weather in California is sunny, clear skies, and eighty-six degrees.
Well, that’s just fantastic. Another fifteen or so degrees is just what my nausea-ridden body wants right now.
I sigh it off and relax into the feeling of Tyler’s hand trailing up and down my spine. The warmth from his palm seeps through my skin and eases the tension in my muscles, even as we lift off.
“Water?” he asks softly.
I shake my head.
“You need to try, Liv. It’s hotter in California. You’ll dehydrate.”
“Fine.”
This is going to be a long few months.
I climb out of the cushy hotel bed and open the balcony doors. We have an incredible view of the beach from our room. The only thing that interrupts it is a few palm trees, their leaves swaying in the gentle sea breeze.
My stomach has somewhat settled, and although I know it could come back at any moment, I call down for some toast and water.
My stomach might be settled, but it’s clawing at me for some kind of food.
I rifle through my suitcase and pull out a light, cotton dress. Today was supposed to be for us, but Tyler got dragged into another shoot almost the second we landed. Naturally, I did what any woman would do and headed straight to bed.
Well, any pregnant woman, that is.
If I’m sleeping, I don’t have to think about him being around half-naked models. I don’t have to consider him staring at them, even if it is through a camera lens.
It’s my number-one insecurity, something that’s now increased tenfold. So instead of thinking about him working, I’m going to sit here, aimlessly nibble on toast, and sip water while staring at the waves crashing on the beach.
How fucking romantic of me.
I twist my hair into a knot on top of my head and secure it with a tie. The door knocks, and I answer it. A cart is wheeled into the room for me and left by the table.