“It’s still me and vibie then for a while.” I wink.
Oli lets out a guttural groan from the back of his throat, and he narrows his beautiful honey eyes on me. “You aren’t playing fair. I have a visual of you on the couch, spread-eagle, with a vibrator between your legs. You’re going to be the end of me. You realize that. Right?”
I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around. But I don’t say that. Instead, I let out a longing sigh.
He leans forward to press a kiss on my forehead. Subconsciously, my eyes fall to his crotch, his protruding arousal suddenly very visible against his jeans. The thought of his amazing cock spikes heat through my body. As if reading my body, or maybe my thoughts, his honey-colored eyes heat up like a furnace. I want to give in to the lust coursing through my veins. Claim what I’ve been wanting for months, but I can’t do that, not after he poured his soul to me. He’s been through too many women; he doesn’t connect sex with love the way I do. I need him to get there though.
“You should go . . .” I suck in a breath and tilt my head to the door. I need him to leave now, because if he doesn’t, we may end up having mind-blowing sex tonight and our same problems will exist in the light of day.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I should go.” His eyes remain locked on mine. His words are unconvincing.
“You’re headed out of town tomorrow. Right?” I ask as I guide him to the door.
He adjusts his cock, looking uncomfortable as it presses into his jeans. “Yeah, I’ll give you a call. I’ll be gone for a good week, but we should grab a drink when I get back. We can meet at a bar. It’s safer.” He laughs.
I shake my head and smile. “If you say so. A bar sounds good to me.”
“Have a good night, Shorty,” he says, tucking me back into the friend-zone pocket he has made just for me. He leans in for a quick peck on the cheek, and then high tails it out of there.
I close the door behind him and let out an audible sigh. If that mouse hadn’t run all over my floors, I probably would have melted to them. Now I just need to wait for Oli to get his shit together. That should be easy.
Thirty
Sloane
Oli surprised me by texting me every night he was out of town. Even though it’s off-season, the team was training down in Florida. When he got back, we met in a bar just like he suggested, and we spent the night engulfed in great conversation. We get along great. We seem to have a lot of things in common. Everything is perfect on paper, so to speak. He even mentioned therapy again, which seems to be going well. I don’t have a right to complain or be upset—it’s just that ever since he became a constant in my life, I’ve developed this sense of loneliness in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away. It’s crazy, because I’ve been alone for so long, and I was getting by. That is why my present situation doesn’t make sense.
When Oli drops me off after a night out, he kisses me chastely and I leave his car. It’s then the loneliness sets in. I’ve begun to crave him in a way I didn’t think was humanly possible. My crush has turned into something so much deeper, and I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want him kissing me goodnight. I want those beautiful eyes and sexy smile staring back at me when I wake up. Only that isn’t happening. He’s been home for weeks now, and we’re still on the same friendship path. It’s making me feel sick, depressed, nauseous.
My cell rings, pulling me out of my present funk. Flynn’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey, schnookums. I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination,” I joke.
“Oh my gosh. I know.” I hear the apology in her tone. I literally haven’t seen her in more than a month. I think that’s the longest we’ve gone in the decade I’ve known her. “Things have been so crazy.”
“You don’t need to explain. I should’ve come over to visit. I’ve just been in a weird funk.” I sigh.
“Does this have to do with my brother?” she asks. I can already hear the accusation in her tone. I don’t want her blaming Oli or giving him a lecture. It’s the last thing he needs.
“Nah, I just feel under the weather. Maybe I’m a little depressed. I don’t know.” I realize how worn out I truly feel as I speak with Flynn.
“What are you feeling exactly?” she asks in a motherly tone. I smile, happy for my friend. She truly does wear the parent uniform beautifully.
“Every bone in my body aches. I have a constant headache. I feel weak, tired . . . I’ve been feeling like this all week . . .” I don’t mention that I actually threw up this morning. My stomach just felt sour, like the acid from my stomach was making its way up my throat.
“Maybe you have the flu. I mean, it’s summer, and it’s highly unusual, but you never know. You should see a doctor and do it fast, because there’s a reason I’m calling you.” She pauses, and I hear one of the babies coo in the background. I walk over to the kettle in my kitchen, still wearing my pajamas. I don’t even feel like drinking coffee. I must really be sick.
“Which is?” I ask as I press the button on my kettle. Maybe some chamomile tea will soothe me.
“We decided to put together a last minute Fourth of July party at our place. The pool was finished last week, and well, the backyard looks like a dream. We thought we’d have a pool party and BBQ. Myles is inviting the team, and you’re more than welcome to bring Sierra along, or if you want to bring a date you can do that too,” she continues to mumble quickly. “Darn!” she shouts into the phone.
Her loud voice causes a piercing pain in my head. I don’t usually suffer from headaches. Maybe something is really wrong with me.
“What happened? You okay?” My voice remains monotone. I don’t even have the energy to react properly.
“Fine. Patty just spat up and it went all the way down my shirt, running down my back. I’m going to need to change her and me,” she snickers.
“I just hate when that happens,” I respond, trying to be funny, my tone still flat. Flynn guffaws. “You wanna call me later then?”
“No, I need . . .” There’s a long pause. “You need to come to our party this weekend, which means I need you healthy. Go to the doctor. Today!”
“I will. No joke. I feel like crap. I’m actually beginning to worry,” I admit, because I am way off my game.
“Me too, hon. Please call me when you’re finished with the doc.”
“I will.” I smile into the phone. Flynn and I may not talk as often as we used to, but she’s still family.
I end the call with Flynn and head into my room to change. I slip on a pair of capri leggings and a simple white T-shirt. I’m bloated, probably because I need to get my period any day now.
A good half hour later, I’m at the clinic waiting to see Dr. Patterson. She’s been my doctor since I moved to Chicago.
She walks into the room. Her light hair is tied in a bun, her stethoscope around her neck, her usual warm smile and her frameless glasses sitting high on her nose. She looks at my file and glances up to me.
“What brings you in today?” She smiles.
I let out a breath. “I think there is something wrong with me. At first, I thought I was a little depressed over this guy and that’s all it was.” I pause. “But then I started to have all these symptoms, and I think I’m sick.” I don’t say that I am afraid that I may have cancer because I feel like that would maybe sound crazy. But what if I’m like my aunt?
“Okay, what symptoms do you have?” Dr. Patterson asks, pinching her lips together.
“I’ve been having these intense headaches. My body hurts, like every bone feels tired and worn out. I’ve been having heartburn, and this morning, my stomach turned sour from what felt like too much acid and I threw up.”
“Hmm.” Her lips remain in a thin line. “Any fever or coughing?”
“No fever, no coughing,” I confirm.
“Okay, well, let me have a look at you. Can you please lie back?” she asks, standing from her swivel chair. She checks my blood pressure, listens to my chest, checks my ea
rs and eyes, and then feels around my stomach, which feels very tender, and I flinch from her touch.
“Do you have any pain here?” she asks, pressing my abdomen.
“No, just tender.”
“And how about your breasts? Are you self-checking?”
“I do every month,” I respond. Every month since my mom’s sister was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away my senior year of high school.
“Oh no!” I gasp, and my hand flies up to my mouth. “Is that what this is? Do you think I’m . . .” I take a large gulp, unable to say those horrific words. When my Aunt Mirabelle got sick, it was the most awful thing. It was a catastrophe.
“Relax, Sloane. I don’t think that’s what it is, but given your family history, I would like to do a breast exam if that’s okay with you?”
I nod, and lie back on the bed as the doctor checks me. My chest is tight, making my breaths shallow.
“I also want to collect some blood and have you do a urine test. When did you say your last period was?” Dr. Patterson asks, still conducting the exam.
It takes a moment for me to think on that question. Then it takes another moment.
“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve been busy and preoccupied,” I continue to mumble. I never really paid attention to my cycle or recorded dates. It didn’t matter to me.
“Do your breasts feel extra tender?” she asks.
“Yes, they do,” I answer.
“Okay.” She smiles. “You can get dressed. I will send the nurse in to collect your blood, and I will need a urine test. Your breast exam was fine. Let’s do the bloodwork and urine, then I’ll come back to see you.” She smiles sweetly. If there was something seriously wrong, she wouldn’t be smiling that way. Right?
“Okay. Thank you.” I force a smile and let out a breath. At least the breast exam was okay. Still, my chest feels tight and my hands are clammy.
I get dressed and head over to the washroom to pee in a cup. Then I return to my room where a lab technician is waiting, ready to take my blood. I normally don’t feel queasy at all about having my blood taken, but for some reason, I now feel light-headed. Why didn’t Dr. Patterson mention the option that this may simply be the flu.
“All done.” The technician smirks. “You have yourself a good day. You may want to press the cotton on your arm for a minute to stop the bleeding,” she explains before packing up her equipment and leaving the room.
I’m sitting on pins and needles as I wait for Dr. Patterson to return. I scroll through my phone, careful not to touch my social media links because if I go there, I will definitely land on Oli’s pages, and they are definitely filled with things I don’t want to see. He’s already explained that most of the pictures posted are just the bunnies having fun, but I don’t actually need a visual of what that means. Even if it is in good fun, and I know I should trust him.
A few minutes later, Dr. Patterson enters the room. Her expression is unreadable. My heart speeds up in my chest, and my mouth turns dry.
She takes a seat on the swivel chair in front of the examining table. She peeks at me over the top of her rimless glasses, her lips set in a thin line. “The good news is you’re not sick. This isn’t a virus or a bacterial infection.” She pauses just long enough for me to take a cleansing breath.
“Okay, so what’s wrong with me?” I ask, my brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not crazy. I know when I’m not feeling right.” I worry she will tell me I’m depressed, or something worse.
“You’re pregnant, Sloane,” she replies.
A bubble of laughter erupts from deep in my chest. “You’re joking. I’ve only had sex three times in my life.” All on the same night. I continue to smile, as if at any moment, someone is going to pop out with a camera and tell me the joke’s on me.
She turns to look at her file. “Hmm, I do see on your file that we’ve had you on birth control for a year now due to your heavy periods,” she says, almost talking to herself.
“Yes, exactly. I’m on birth control,” I confirm.
“Well, you know birth control isn’t a hundred percent effective. Did you use another form when you engaged in intercourse?” she asks.
I don’t even need to think of the answer. We didn’t. Everything happened so fast; we were so sexually charged. I’ve known Oli well enough to know he wouldn’t put me in danger of giving me a sexually transmitted disease. I thought we were safe.
“We didn’t use anything.” Not the first, second, or third time we had sex that night.
“Okay, well, your urine test is confirmation enough. I should have the answers to your blood work tomorrow. That will give me a better idea, once I see your HCG levels, which are present only in pregnancy,” Dr. Patterson explains.
“I . . . uh . . . I . . . I . . .” I stutter.
“Take a breath, Sloane. I’m sure this is big news for you.”
“I . . . I had my period. I mean, after we had sex I had my period. It was on the light side, but I definitely had it,” I explain through shallow breathes.
“Yes, well it isn’t uncommon to have a period or two at the beginning of pregnancy. The urine test is a definite confirmation. But since you mentioned spotting, I would like to do an ultrasound. Are you okay with that?”
I nod, unable to speak.
Dr. Patterson says she’ll meet me in the ultrasound room while a nurse asks me to get into another gown.
I’m wearing a blue gown that’s open at the back. I hold it shut with one hand while I use my other hand to hold my purse and clothes.
I’m shaking like a leaf as I enter the exam room. A technician explains everything, then conducts the exam. I remain quiet, looking at the computer. This can’t be happening. I’m not prepared. I’m not sure I want to have kids. I’m not even in a freakin relationship.
Thinking of Oli just makes my chest tighter. How can I break this news to him? He’s still so unsure about his life, let alone anything to do with me. Yes, he’s become a reliable friend, but you need more than friendship to raise a child. And my father . . . he’s going to be pissed about me getting pregnant out of wedlock. I will be an embarrassment to him. As my thoughts send me on a tailspin, I don’t even realize the technician has started conducting the exam.
“Everything looks great. According to the measurements, you are approximately eight weeks along. Do you want to see your baby?” she asks through a small smile, probably sensing my unease.
I nod without even thinking.
She turns the screen and points to a little circle on it. “That’s your baby right there, and this is the heartbeat.”
My heart unexpectedly flutters in my chest as I realize there is a real, live baby growing in my body. I want to be happy in this moment, but the uncertainty that plagues me wins out and I nod, forcing my lips to tilt on one side. It’s a poor attempt at a smile. There is a knock on the door.
“May I come in?” Dr. Patterson asks.
“Yes,” I say.
Her and the technician exchange a few words.
“I would like to send you to Dr. Lasky; she’s a great obstetrician. Nurse Kendall will provide you with a list of prenatal books you can read, and the clinic is affiliated with some prenatal classes you can choose from,” Dr. Patterson explains as I sit up and look at her. This is a lot to digest, and I feel the information is not really sinking in.
The technician leaves the room.
“Sloane, I’m guessing this pregnancy was unplanned. Whatever you decide, we can book another appointment and discuss things. If you have a partner, you can bring him or her along too.”
Her words finally register in my mind. “I’m not going to have an abortion. It’s not like I’m a teenager. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman with a job. I should be able to manage this,” I snap, but I feel like I’m mad at myself and taking it out on the poor doctor. I clap a hand over my mouth. I just lost my cool.
“Shoot! I’m sorry.” I bow my head.
“Don’t be. I can see you’r
e overwhelmed. Take some time to let it sink in. I wasn’t suggesting anything. I just have to present you with options.”
“Thanks, Dr. Patterson. You’re right; I just need some time to let this all sink in.” I hop off the exam bed.
“Of course. You take care of yourself. I’ll ask Nurse Kendall to come in. There are prenatal vitamins you should start taking right away.” She turns to leave, and I get dressed. As I lift my leggings over my stomach, my fingers graze my abdomen. It feels surreal to think that a baby is growing inside me. Panic grips me by the throat. I had sex three times in one night -how could this happen? I waited so long to even have intercourse, and on my first night out of the gates, this happens. I blow out a heavy breath, but it doesn’t relieve my tension. I collect my things and leave the doctor’s office.
Back in my apartment, I feel stir-crazy as I lift my top and stand in front of the mirror, analyzing my stomach. It looks flat to me. I stand and gaze endlessly in the mirror. I look tired, my green eyes vibrant against the pale color of my skin. How do I tell Flynn and Oli this news? Oli is so far off from even committing to a relationship, and a kid is a lifetime commitment. As much as I care for him, I can’t expect anything from him. That is what I will explain to him when I break the news: my expectations are low. And it would be great if I wasn’t lying to myself, because the thought of us being a family has entered my mind at least three times in the past hour. But other memories chase it away reminding me that our time on earth is a gift, that everything we have is subject to a larger power, and that sometimes, in the blink of an eye you can lose the ones you love. My last thought sends my emotions into high gear, or maybe that’s my whacked out hormones.
I spend the next five hours googling important things to know about pregnancy along with do’s and don’ts. In between, I allow myself to be sucked in to a week’s worth of General Hospital episodes. The soap-opera drama should be enough to pull my mind from my predicament, only it isn’t. I’m a fucking mess.
When Flynn calls to ask about the doctor’s appointment, I tell her everything is fine and that I just feel under the weather, which technically isn’t a lie because pregnancy isn’t an illness. Now I just need to avoid the Russell twins for the rest of the week and figure out a way to get out of the Fourth of July party Flynn is throwing. I take in a long breath. Who am I kidding? There’s no way I’m getting out of that party. I’m so screwed.
Butt Ending: A Big Stick Novel 2 (Standalone) Page 21
