I shove aside the nerves and pop in to say hello, as I do every day.
“Hey.” I give a faint wave.
He swivels his chair around and smiles, a magnetic smile that nearly sends my stomach flipping once more. Maybe from butterflies this time, but I can’t tell anymore. Too much is happening in my body. “Hey. How are you doing today?”
“Fabulous.” I mime retching.
He grabs his waste bin and pretends to catch. “I’ve got barf bags from my last cross-country flight. Need one for the trip to your office?”
I manage a small laugh. “I think I’ll make it, but I can’t speak for whether I’ll need one for this assignment. I have to write a column today on how to tell if the guy you met online is catfishing you. Several readers shared their horror stories with me. I’ll probably retch from that.”
“I might join you in the yakking. Catfishing curdles my stomach.” He lifts his chin with a question. “Does Cal know yet?”
“About the column?”
Shaking his head, he swirls his finger in the direction of my belly.
“Not yet. I’m waiting till the first trimester ends before I share the news.”
He nods. “Makes sense. Gotta make it past that point. The doctor still says everything is good?”
I detect a hint of concern in his voice, and it’s endearing. So sweet, in fact, that I want to curl up in his lap and mope and whine and cry and then demand he bring me crackers and juice, and stroke my hair. Clearly, this pregnancy has warped my mind. My body is so out of whack that I’m picturing things I shouldn’t be picturing.
Instead, I hold my chin high. “I’m the spitting image of health, she tells me.”
Ryder smiles, though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. I wonder if he thinks of me differently now. Maybe that’s the reason his smile isn’t the same. Perhaps I’ve been sorted into some other class of woman now. I was once a sexual being; now I land squarely in the miserable pregnant woman section. I still see him the same way, though. When I look at him now, I think about how handsome he is with those jeans and that shirt. Other times, my mind wanders to how devastatingly gorgeous he looks without a stitch of clothing on.
But I can’t even hold on to those thoughts in my mind because my body is a rebel. My stomach yanks all dirty images from me and blends them up with toast and crackers.
“Gotta go.” I make it to the bathroom, and I’ve named this room Mercy because some sweet soul designed this building with single bathrooms, instead of stalls. It makes it that much easier to keep my little baby all mine.
When my stomach is empty, I dive into the tales of catfishing, and I want to throat-punch every man who ever did this.
I’m confident Rosemary’s Baby agrees.
At the end of the day, Ryder knocks on my office door. He stands in the doorway, looking cool and relaxed. I catalog his clothes this time, since I’m not about to heave. He wears dark jeans that fit him so damn well I bet they gossip to other jeans about how good it feels to hug his legs. The dark blue Henley makes his eyes look even more like the sky, and that damn black leather jacket reminds me how sexy he is. It’s such an edgy look for a man who’s so goddamn good. I want to stare at his beauty all night. Revel in his hotness. Freeze this moment when I feel good, and I can spend the night staring at him.
That’s not weird at all.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I say as I zip my bag and toss a scarf around my neck. December has fallen in Manhattan.
“Are you up for Ping-Pong tonight? Match against LGO.”
My eyes widen, and that oh shit I totally forgot feeling sweeps over me.
“You forgot,” he says, his lips twitching as if it’s cute I can’t remember anything.
I grab my coat from the back of the door. “Baby brain. I can start using that excuse already, right?”
“If you ask me, this is your chance to milk it. Use it for everything. For the next thirty-one weeks, right?”
I stop, with one arm in a sleeve. “You know exactly how far along I am?”
“I counted. Conception was mid-October, so that was two weeks. You were four weeks when you found out you were pregnant on November second. Now it’s five weeks later, and you’re nine weeks along.”
Endearing doesn’t cover it anymore.
Ryder steps behind me and finishes the job with the other sleeve, putting my coat on me. He faces me, adjusting the scarf and the collar. “Stay warm.”
“Wait! I’ll play tonight.”
His eyes twinkle. “You will?”
I hold up a hand. “Unless Rosemary attacks me again with another bout of nighttime sickness.”