Page 64 of Three Pucks and a Baby

“I did.”

Rolling my eyes, I countered, “Don’t tell me you caught feelings for her after one night?”

Grayson stopped walking. When I turned around, he cocked his head at me. “Don’t tell meyoudidn’t catch feelings for her.”

“I didn’t.”

“Seriously, T. You just kissed the woman goodbye.“

“Now you’re giving me shit for being nice?”

“I’m giving you shit because you’re not only lying to me but yourself.”

As I started power walking to the car, I called. “I will leave your ass here if you keep it up with the emotional bullshit.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

When Grayson got to the SUV, I cocked my head at him. “I think we both could use a night out.”

“The Dive?” he suggested.

Nodding, I replied, “With any luck, we just might find another available cougar.”

Although he should’ve been stoked, Grayson glumly replied, “But she won’t be Vivian.”

No, she wouldn’t.“I’m going to need to do some serious shots to get out from under your cloud of bullshit,” I replied, as I cranked up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: VIVIAN

One Month Later

Sitting before my laptop,I eyed the annoying blinking cursor. It taunted me mercilessly. The fact that it sat flashing itself in a field of white didn’t help matters. I was ridiculously behind on my newest nonfiction exploit–a deep dive into the mysterious Sweating Sickness that plagued, pun intended, Tudor England.

The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was writing about a plague when I felt I’d succumbed to one myself. Unlike the heavy sweats, intense aches, and fevers of the Sweating Sickness, mine was purely gastrointestinal. First several days of debilitating nausea. Then came the early morning stomach evacuations.

Two days ago, it had taken a serious turn, and I’d had to call out of work. Nothing seemed to quell it. This morning was the first time in forty-eight hours I was able to remain upright for more than ten minutes, which was why I’d cracked open my laptop.

Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I forced my fingers over the keys. “In 1528, the infamous nocturnaltendencies of Henry VIII went into overdrive as the randy king took to bed-hopping every night–”

As I gagged, it wasn’t at the thought of Henry VIII getting busy. After all, this was pre-obese Henry without the smelly, rotting leg. He was still somewhat hot. Instead, my reaction came from my churning stomach.

Soldiering on, I typed, “This time his actions weren’t part of his sexual proclivities. Instead, it was an extreme measure for the somewhat hypochondriac king to escape the rampant Sweating Sickness.”

I barely had time to grab the wastebasket before puking my guts out. After heaving over and over again, I realized there was no way I was going to be able to stay upright. As I started to rise out of my chair, I swiped the back of my mouth on the sleeve of my robe. While I contemplated emailing my editor, my gaze honed in on the circled red dates on the calendar above my desk.

“Fuck,” I muttered when I realized just how behind I was. Forget emailing, I was going to need to make a very apologetic call. Maybe even FaceTime so she could see how terrible I looked, therefore she would know I wasn’t lying.

Just as I rose to my feet, another date on the calendar caught my eye. The one circled for the day my period was supposed to arrive.

The one that was ten days ago.

My hand flew to my mouth. This time it wasn’t to stamp down the rising vomit. Instead, it was out of horror.

I wastendays late for my period.

I wasnauseated.

I was puking.Constantly.

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