Page 30 of Nursing the Alpha
“Flynn—” Seth reached for me, but I pushed back my chair.
“I need to use the restroom,” I muttered.
I didn’t wait for his response. I ducked between tables, heart hammering, cheeks burning, hand clenched against my shirt like I could will the milk back into my body.
God. Of course. On tonight of all nights.
I should have worn the nursing pads. Vanity was a bitch.
The restroom was dim and luxurious, all dark tile and gold fixtures. I shoved open the door to the nearest stall and leaned against it.
I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the nursing pads I’d stuffed in there as backup. My hands were shaking. I unbuttoned my shirt, hissing as the cool air hit my chest, and pressed the pads against my already aching nipples.
Warmth bloomed almost instantly.
Too much.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered, eyes widening as milk leaked into the fabric. It was soaking fast, far too fast, and I didn’t have another set on me.
Why did I leak so much when I was around Seth? Was it his pheromones?
I leaned against the door, chest heaving, frustration andembarrassment thick in my throat. The evening had been going so well. Until it wasn’t.
My body had betrayed me. If I knew I would turn into this lactating monster, I wouldn’t have signed up to be a surrogate. My friends sure didn’t seem grateful, the way they’d packed up and moved away overnight without even a good-bye. Just a letter slipped into my letterbox that they wished me well but wanted to start over fresh.
My life should have returned to normal already.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Flynn?” Seth’s voice was low, careful. “You okay in there?”
I shut my eyes, willed the flush from my face.
“I’m fine,” I called back, which was the world’s biggest lie. “Just… wardrobe malfunction.”
“I don’t care about that. Open the door. Please. Let me help.”
Shit, what should I do? My shirt was ruined. There was a wet spot. My chest looked full and heavy and?—
God.
This was mortifying.
But I unlocked the stall anyway.
The door opened with a soft click. I couldn’t meet his eyes and hung my head, waiting for the comment. The joke. The awkward glance.
None came.
I looked up.
Seth wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t pitying me either.
He was staring.
His gaze lingered on my chest, wide and reverent, like I was some kind of art installation that left him speechless. His throat worked once in a hard swallow, and his fingers twitched by his sides.
“We should shut the door,” I whispered through the breath caught in my throat. “Someone might walk in.”
