“Go to sleep, love. I’ve got you.”
Yeah, he really does. He’s got me so bad I wonder if he’ll sound this happy when I say it and demand an answer in return.
What, you thought I’ve gone so soft I’ve lost the apples my mama raised me with?
Not freaking likely.
***
“Aw, but she don’t know nothing about soccer, Luc.”
I bang the frying pan of bacon onto the table and give them both a glare, just daring them to say another word about women and sports.
“What’s so hard about it, huh? There’s one ball and two goals. You either get it in there and score points, or you don’t and you lose. Seems pretty goddamned cut and dry to me, you little savage.”
See, here’s where Mary would probably tell me that I’m taking my own personal shit out on a helpless kid. She’d be right, but come on and give me a break.
I’ve just spent twenty minutes silently puking and retching into the toilet while Mo and Shmo over here slept blissfully. And now I’m frying bacon, my favorite food ever, wondering why I’ve never noticed that it smells like a zombie’s rotting nut sack.
“Uh, love, are you okay?”
No (I say this silently in a really high-pitched, crying whine). I’m not. I think you were right that time we had sex and you told me you were putting your son in me.
I’m pretty sure he’s in there right now and incubating like a savage, because I feel all grossly emotional and nauseated, and my boobs that were totally fine yesterday now feel like two lumps of bruised and beaten steak.
“I’m fine, Lucian. The two of you need to eat your breakfast and get outta here before I lose my shit all over the place,” I warn. “Not know anything about soccer…” I mutter, attempting a glass of orange juice. “I’ll have you know I played soccer for two years before the team captain started thinking I was into chicks and came on to me. I’m awesome.”
Okay, so I’d been a sub for two years, but that still counts because technically I had been on the team even if I hadn’t ever really played.
They’re looking at me like I’ve lost my freaking mind, which I probably have thanks to whatever messed up mix of hormones I currently have soaking into my previously perfect brain.
“Is there something wrong with the breakfast I just spent thirty minutes making?” I ask sweetly, giving them a feral grin that scares even me, though I can’t see it.
Their expressions are enough to tell me how nuts I look. The thought is enough to shift my vile mood to a degree less violent, and I smile again, pointing wordlessly at their food.
They eat every scrap and practically bolt out of the house.
“I need a favor,” I say five minutes later when Brit answers her phone with a huff and muffled male cursing.
“What’s up?”
See, this is why I’ll count these women as mine even though I’ve only known them a few short weeks. I can call any one of them at any hour and know that they’ll be up and fighting fit to help me.
“I need you to go to the pharmacy and get me a test.”
The squeal that echoes through the phone is shrill and unpleasant enough for the man in her bed to bark out a yell and maybe fall out of bed when I hear a thud and muttered cursing.
“I’m on my way, sugar!”
Chapter Twenty Four
“Congratulations, mama, you’re definitely knocked up,” Brit titters, waving the pee-laden stick like it’s a freaking trophy.
“Would you please stop touching that thing? It’s full of my pee,” I mutter before dropping my head onto my arms and staring sightlessly at the table beneath me.
“Oh, come on, Ash, this is good news. Here, eat a slice of dry bread. You’re green.”
“I’m not unhappy about this,” I say around a mouthful of bread, sighing when it hits my stomach and does something magical by calming the roiling acid. “I just feel really shitty right now is all. I didn’t know morning sickness could be this terrible.”
“You should have seen my sister Brianna when she was pregnant with my niece. She barfed at all times of the day and couldn’t keep a thing down. It got to where her doctor wanted to put her in hospital—oh, what am I saying! No, Ash, don’t cry!”
I laugh at her almost hysterical, frantic expression and pull my lip back in, giving her a droll stare.
“Get over yourself, loser. I know all about pregnancy. I’m not dumb. I was just hoping to be further along before I got this way. Shoulda known his sperm would be overachievers,” I mumble, feeling well enough to attempt the orange juice again.
When it slides down and stays there without killing me, I take another sip and look back at the two pink lines that say I’m officially knocked up and heading for motherhood.