Page 115 of Faking the Pass
“What do you mean? What else could be going on?”
“I mean… Mia had morning sickness pretty bad for the first few months when she was pregnant with Lily,” he said. “And you twodidjust return from your honeymoon a few weeks ago. Sometimes morning sickness is the first sign of pregnancy.”
A flash of panic lit up my skin like a Jumbotron.
But after a minute, the panic morphed into something else. A distinct sense of pleasure. Happiness even. Which surprised me.
I’d never been interested in having a kid—babies were theultimatedistraction.
But there was something appealing about the thought of Rosie being pregnant with my baby.
It would certainly turn this temporary arrangement into something a little more permanent, even if that something was only co-parenting.
“Pres? You still there?” Dylan asked. “Or did you just pass out?”
“Nah. I’m here. I’m good. I don’t think it could be possible. I used a condom every time.”
“Really? With your wife?”
“Youknowthe situation,” I said.
“Do I?”
“The last thing either of us wants is for Rosie to get pregnant, okay? Listen, I’ve gotta go. I hear her getting up.”
“Okay, bro. Take care of her. And my offer still stands. You need anything, just call.”
By the time I got to the bedroom, Rosie was already halfway to the bathroom door.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “You’re supposed to call me when you need to get up.”
“Not for this,” she said, then for some reason, she blushed. “I want to take a shower. I don’t need your help.”
“Like hell you don’t. You don’t need a shower anyway. You’re fine.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes and then staggered to the side, careening against the wall.
I rushed to her side, immediately defying doctor’s orders by sweeping her legs from beneath her and lifting her, intending to take her back to bed.
“I believe my point has been made,” I said.
Rosie squirmed and kicked, trying to escape my hold.
“And I believe I have the right to take a shower when I want to,” she said in a stubborn tone. “I was out sweating on a fishing boat all day and then got sick who even knows how many times. Idefinitelyneed a shower, Presley. Let me go.”
For a long moment, I stood there halfway between the bed, where Ishouldhave taken her, and the bathroom, where she insisted on going.
Finally, I turned toward the bathroom. Rosie’s tense body relaxed.
Carrying her into the large glassed-in shower, I eased her down onto the teak bench at the back then went to turn on the water and make sure the temperature was comfortable.
I grabbed my bathrobe from its hook on the back of the door and set it on the chair just outside the shower along with a stack of clean towels.
“Thank you,” Rosie said. “I’ve got it from here. You can go.”
I blinked at her in shock, and a little laugh escaped me.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing but slippery, hard surfaces in here, and you’re about as steady as a lo mein noodle. You’d be on your ass in thirty seconds and probably wind up with a concussion.”
