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Ain't Your Bitch (Interracial Urban Erotica)(146)

By:Asia Marquis


"I'm trying." Max helps her down from the examining table and hands her  the pink purse she stuffed her phone and wallet into before following  her back out to the lobby. They schedule another appointment a month  from now and then pay for the visit with Jared's plastic.         

     



 



Max makes himself busy cooking chicken breasts and macaroni while  Tiffany calls her job. As the phone rings, Tiffany fidgets with a  hangnail on her right hand. Am I really going to do this? Am I really  going to quit without any notice? Is this absolutely necessary?

She knows the doctor wouldn't tell her to do something if it wasn't. She  tells her manager the bad news as quickly as possible, a stream of  apologies. Tiffany hates letting people down, and she's never quit a job  on such short notice before.

Can I rely on Max to support me? She sets her phone down and flops down  onto the bed. He's doing an okay job now. He complains about sleeping on  the couch, sure, but I know that Max really cares about this baby.

Max steps into the room and the smell of tarragon swirls around the room. "Lunch is ready. Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just..." She sits up, looking as if the whole world were supported by her shoulders. "I'm just stressed."

Max looks at Tiffany's eyes, the green bright against the strands of red  hair covering her forehead. A twitchy, burning feeling grows within  him. I want to feel her lips. I need to...

He sits down next to her and pulls her in for a soft kiss. Tiffany  freezes, then melts into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and  pulling him close, feeling the kiss grow deeper. They kiss so long that  Tiffany has to pull back to catch her breath, and when she does the  guilt comes crashing down on her again. "Oh, God. You can't do this. I  can't do this."

"Why?"

"Please, Max," she groans. "Please just go away."

Max wants to tell her no, to kiss her hard and convince her of... what  exactly? That he loves her? Does he love her? Even he can't be sure. He  loves the baby inside of her, but is that clouding his judgment?

Rather than figure this out right now, Max stands back up and slips out  of the bedroom, leaving Tiffany to think about her own feelings for him.



"Mrs. Van der Rohe?" The voice on the other end is the chipper secretary from Dr. Apfel's office.

"It's miss. I'm not married."

"Oh, sorry! I'm just calling to confirm your ultrasound for today at 3 PM."

Tiffany looks down at the toilet she was just puking in and wipes her mouth. "I don't know, I'm not feeling well."

"Oh, but you might get to find out the baby's gender today!"

Tiffany stops, and a slow smile creeps onto her face. Finally, after all  these weeks of not really being able to connect with the baby, she  might get to start picking out names and clothes and a crib. She rushes  to answer, "I'll be there!" The secretary giggles.

Bursting out of the bathroom, her sickness long forgotten, Tiffany runs over to Max. "Max! We're getting an ultrasound today!"

He turns away from the recorded football game. "We just got one of those like last week, didn't we?"

"We might find out if it's a boy or a girl!"

Seeing the joy and excitement on Tiffany's face proves to be infectious.  Max grins. He hasn't seen her in a good mood since the night he knocked  her up. "Now that does sound fun!"

"We have to go in an hour, so finish up watching the game! I'm going to  jump in the shower!" Tiffany can't quite pinpoint why she's so giddy.  Though it's true it hasn't really settled in that the baby in her tummy  is real, she hasn't felt angry about it since Max moved in. Sure, he's a  bit of a slob and his cooking still isn't great, but having a roommate  to hold back your hair isn't so bad.

When Tiffany steps out of the shower, she finds Max sitting on the edge  of the couch, one leg draped over the other and shaking like hell. "Are  you nervous?" She asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

He rubs the back of his head. "A little bit, I guess. I just can't wait  to pick out a name." He watches as Tiffany bends over to stuff her purse  full and, while observing her curves as they shift from side to side,  feels a stirring of something deep within him. Anxiety, or downright  fear? Maybe. But the emotion is warmer than those two.

Max has long since let Tiffany take over the radio in his car, her phone  perpetually hooked up to it and playing loud pop music. She sings under  her breath and Max can't help but smile at how sweet she is when she  doesn't know he's watching.

She looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing. I'm just glad to see you in a good mood again."

She blushes and looks out the window. The sign for the OBGYN is finally  visible, and the white sign with red lettering gets her blood pumping.  "Oh God, Max, I don't think I can go through with this." She grips the  door and his arm, squeezing both tight.

"Yes, you can." He takes the hand that's squeezing his arm and holds it,  turning to face her. "You're strong enough to take on any of this. And  whenever you feel weak, I'll be here with you."

Tiffany looks up into those gorgeous green eyes and just melts. His  hands are so warm against her skin and she finds herself wondering what  they might feel like against the rest of her body. Will it be similar to  how it was the first night they were together? Would his lips taste  salty again? Would his hands grip her hips the same way?

Her face flushing an even brighter shade of pink, Tiffany wrenches her  hand away from him. "Thanks," she mumbles, stepping out of the car and  into the open air.



The goop on her stomach was cold at first, but the tool being pressed  against her now is even colder. She winces and sucks in air as the  gynecologist glides it against her skin, trying to find the perfect  image of the baby within her.

Seeing her discomfort, Max fights the urge to take her hand again. She  didn't like it last time, but he the urge to support her is strong. He  takes her hand against his better judgment; instead of getting angry,  though, she looks at him with relief. Her shoulders relax.

"Everything seems to be okay. Your baby is the correct size for eighteen  weeks." She pauses and smiles. "Do you want to know the baby's gender?"

Max looks down at Tiffany, who looks up at him with an expression he  doesn't recognize. Without even asking, she says yes, but Max feels a  pang of uncertainty. Knowing the gender makes the baby real. There's no  taking this back.

Before he can protest, Dr. Apfel turns the screen towards them. There,  in black and white, is the outline of a beautiful baby. Not all of the  features can be made out, but even just this representation swells Max's  heart further than he could ever imagine. Love isn't just something he  feels. He is love, a burning love for this baby.

"Here's your daughter."

Tiffany chokes back tears, but Max is surprised to find that he is, too.  She squeezes his hand tight, smiling up at him as he watches the  screen. Now he knows what he was feeling earlier as he watches her hips  move. He was feeling love. But was it just love for his baby? Or for the  mother, too?



"Now that we know that the baby is a girl, we should go shopping." The  two parents have just gotten into the car when Tiffany blurts this out.  Max's heart jumps into his throat as he thinks about how much money he  has.

"I just paid for this appointment," he says, trying to keep his words calm. "I can't afford to go shopping right now."

Tiffany's Irish temper flares. Maybe it's the hormones from being  pregnant or just that he's been spending more time with her, but Max  never witnessed Tiffany get angry this often in high school. He  instinctively leans away from her.

"What do you mean you don't have any money? Why don't you have a job  yet, Max? You're smart, you've got connections, your family has  money – should be able to get a job. You know I can't work!"

Max frowns, worry accumulating in his forehead. "Yeah, I know, but no  one wants to hire some loser without a degree and without work  experience."

"Then go ask your brother for some money!"

Max throws his hands up in a huff. "He doesn't have anymore to give me!  He's focusing on his football career, he can't be spending his money on  keeping his older brother afloat!"

Tiffany glares at Max, crossing her arms. "Take me home."

They don't say anything for the rest of the car ride, but before Tiffany  gets out, she turns to Max. His stomach churns with dread. Pure hatred  swirls around her small frame. "You either come back home with a job, or  you go grovelling to your Dad. Do you understand?" She storms out of  the car.

Sighing, Max places his head on the steering wheel. What am I going to  do? Who can I call? Thumbing his cell phone on, he flips through his  contacts, looking at the names of high school friends who are mostly  doing worse than him.

Then one name stands out. Don Coleman, his rival for Prom King back in  high school. He's working for his father's company now, and could no  doubt find a position for him. They were never very friendly, but Max  got him a few dates that might be worth a favor.