Someone to Love(77)
“Kenny…” His forehead wrinkles, with deep concern. Cruise pulls me in. He wraps his arms around my waist with a strong, hearty embrace. “Is this what you thought I would hate you for?” He huffs a laugh. “I could never hate you. And something like this—you didn’t do anything wrong.” He pulls back, and his lips twist as he considers this. “Besides, you can’t be pregnant. You’re on the pill.” His face swells with relief. “All that puking messed with your brain. You must have forgot.”
My mouth opens to correct him, and nothing but air comes out.
“You’re not on the pill?” He says it pressured, his face flooding with panic.
God, he’s going to think I’m a liar—that I’m one of those girls who feels the need to fill a void in her life by “planning” a pregnancy. Right about now he’s probably thinking that whole virgin thing was a ruse, too.
“Kenny? What’s going on? Talk to me.” He’s got a frightened look on his face that suggests he just realized he’s been drilling without hardware.
The nurse comes in and instructs me to follow her—so I do.
When I finally make my way back to the tiny white room, Cruise has long since defected. I bet he’s clearing all my crap out of his house right this minute—ransacking his wallet for the receipt on that coat he bought.
I should have known it would be my own stupidity that would ruin things between the two of us and not some fictitious inclination in him to “cheat.” If anything, that night at the restaurant proved Cruise doesn’t give a rat’s ass about other girls. That waitress could have qualified as a bona fide supermodel on seven different planets. You could see the invitation she was giving him, plain as the boob job wedging out of her blouse. But it was me Cruise hauled to the back. It was me he thrust all of his affection into until I thought my spine would snap from the pressure—me he pleasured until I gave a heated scream. Now, the only one screaming will be Cruise as he runs the other way when he sees me coming.
Face it. We’re over. And now we’re going to have a baby of all things to remind us both for the next eighteen years what a complete idiot I am.
My brother, Morgan, was an accident. My dad hung out just long enough to produce me then made a beeline for the state line before I hit preschool. That would paint a rosy picture for Cruise and me. I would give anything to have him love me with that body just one more time.
The nurse walks in and jolts me back to reality.
“Kendall Jordan?” She gives a knowing smile. “I have your results.”
After the nurse breaks the news, I speed out of the bowels of the medical facility and through the waiting room, hoping to chase down Cruise’s truck, but it’s still safely parked in the lot sans its drop dead gorgeous owner.
I spin around, and there he is with that sexy, devilish grin. He wraps his arms around my waist and plants a full kiss on my lips that neither feels like a felony in the making, nor angry in the least.
“So tell me”—his breath evokes a plume of fog, round as a halo—“am I going to be a father?” He expels it with such peace, such wonder and beauty, that for a fleeting moment I wish it were true.
“Not this time.” I give a wry smile. “But you just might get the flu.”
“The flu?” He touches his forehead to mine as he breathes a sigh of relief. “I was sort of rooting for the baby.”
I let out a laugh, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl a lung.
“You’re off the hook,” I say, slipping my hands into his sweatshirt to keep from shivering.
“I can deal with that for now, but one day we’re going to have an entire tribe of gorgeous dark-haired children.”
“A tribe?” I take in a breath at the thought.
“With those genes? You owe it to humanity.”
Cruise and I get into the truck, and he runs the heater while I tell him about my misunderstanding with the little magic pill. Turns out, putting a “hat” on it was simply a precautionary measure for the first cycle.
“That, and it helps prevent STDs.” He nods into his knowledge of all things prophylactic.
Oh shit!
I didn’t even think of STDs. Gah!
Having sex with Cruise means I’ve technically had sex with hundreds of girls—wait, that doesn’t sound right, but I think it totally is.
His eyes round out in horror at my silent, yet terrified, reaction.
“I swear to you”—Cruise gently picks up my hand—“I’m clean. I just had a physical before school let out for winter break. I’m free and clear, and I’ve never had a single thing.”