Page 126 of Wicked Deceit
Finally, after a ten-minute walk, we stand in front of the ADM building, meeting up with Chase and Seger’s football friend, Alex.
“Hey man,” Chase says, leaning in with a grin to do that weird bro hug thing guys do when they clap each other’s backs.
Alex grins at him and respectfully nods his head at me. “Hey man,” he says back and then smiles at me. “Are you ready for this? I swear I’ve been studying for like four days straight and haven’t retained anything.” He shakes his head, wiping at his forehead.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with a nod. “See you after class,” I murmur, kissing Chase’s cheek.
“Good luck, Sunshine. Show that final exam who’s boss and kick some ass. You only have two hours, and then we'll officially be done! And this guy," he whispers, dropping to his knees without care. "Come soon, little man. But not too soon, maybe tomorrow." I run my fingers through his long blonde locks as he kisses my stomach, lingering for half a second. Finally climbing to his feet, he taps the end of my nose. "Be good, Sunshine." I snort when he salutes me, walking down the sidewalk toward a coffee shop on campus. It’s the one he always stops at when he walks me to class, and he doesn’t have one.
I blow out a breath, rubbing my hands over my enlarged stomach, following Alex through the building to our lecture hall. Everything aches despite the banana Chase shoved down my throat. My back aches, and my feet feel like a thousand knives stabbing me, and not to mention, I’m so fucking exhausted. Being pregnant is a miracle, one I'm happy to be. But I’d like not to pee every five seconds because my little dude is throwing a party against my bladder. Oh, and sleep would be wonderful, too.
The smell of those goldfish crackers makes me hurl. Seger's manly cologne I used to love makes me queasy. I can't walk without farting. And finally, I can't poop. Pregnancy sucks. The only upside? I've been so horny these past nine months. I'm glad I had four guys to keep up with me, and the plus is, they can’t knock me up again. So, we’ve been going at it like rabbits in heat for the past nine months and getting it out of our system.
Ouch. Shit.
I lean against the wall in the hallway leading to my classroom, letting the cold wall cool my overheated forehead. Ragged breaths pour from my nose as pain explodes in my stomach again. My muscles tense, and my belly hardens like a bowling ball, hard and heavy. And so fucking painful. Gah. How do women do this repeatedly? Seriously, this is only one contraction, and I already want to sedate myself. Two more hours and I can go to the hospital. Two more hours, and then this will be over. I just have to survive. And I will.
“Hey. You okay?” Alex asks with concern in his voice.
“I’m good,” I say, blowing out a breath, standing tall once the pain subsides. That was the first contraction to slow me down and make me stop.
How long ago was the last one? Shit, I should keep track. I pull my phone out, looking at the time. 12:25. Five minutes to get to my final.“Shit, we should go.” I nod toward the classroom urgently, and he nods, taking note of the time. His eyes narrow on me as we slowly walk toward the classroom, but he doesn’t say anything this time. I’m sure if it continues, he’ll be a good friend and text his besties to let them know their girlfriend is in labor.
I swallow hard, walking into the crowded classroom. Students wander around, finding their seats. Their low murmurs flitter through the large classroom. They smile and laugh—some grimace with nerves, including me. No matter how often I've done this, my anxiety still spikes in the middle of a crowded room.
They probably don't pay me any mind, but damn, this anxiety is brutal sometimes. I feel like a beacon for attention between the names I've been called years before and having a huge belly. My anxiety has only gotten worse since East Point. My therapist says I'm doing better, and the more I speak with her and do my exercises, the more I improve. Right now, I'm failing. And okay, it doesn't help that my son is trying to come out when he needs to stay put—two more hours, little man.
I blow out a breath, calming the nerves bursting inside me, and find a seat next to Alex, who stares at me. His eyebrows dip when I carefully lower myself into the seat beside him, and he watches my every move like a hawk. It’s almost like having an extra boyfriend when he’s around, minus the romantic feelings.
The professor emerges from a side door, scowling at the entire class while making his way to his desk, slams books down, and sinks into his seat. His shiny black dress shoes prop onto his desk. Peering up at the clock, he scowls more and utters one word.
"Begin."
Professor King—dick bag extraordinaire. Brilliant. Brutal. Hardass. Surprisingly young—he's only twenty-eight and in charge of several classes. The dude should probably smile more, though, and maybe he'd lose the wrinkles and the angry scowl. Or perhaps he needs to get laid or something, but I’d rather not think about that right now while I’m diving head first into my exam.
I cringe at 12:55 when another contraction squeezes my stomach into a sharper vice than before. I breathe in and out, gripping the sides of the desk with white knuckles, and praying to God I survive this contraction. Shit. I’m going to die a painful death if these get any worse than this.
Alex catches my eye with a frown, staring between my hands and expression. I offer a shrug, and he looks away. Thirty minutes. Okay. That's not too bad since the last one. It's the three minutes apart contractions I have to worry about. At this rate, I'll be fine.
Totally fine.
I'M NOT FINE. There should be an announcer somewhere narrating my life. Like Samuel L. Jackson or Ron Howard or.. mother fucker!!! AND SHE, IN FACT, ISN'T FINE.
I breathe through my mouth again, clinging to my desk. I’d choke it to death with my white-knuckled grip if it were alive. It's been ninety fucking minutes, and my contractions went from zero to sixty thousand. Fuck. Fuck. I need drugs—lots and lots of drugs to cure the ache in my gut. Jesus, help me! My stomach tightens every three God damn minutes, and I swear I'm about to have a baby in the middle of finals! FINALS! He's going to just pop out like a damn football and go splat on the ground. Ughhhhh.
"Kace, you don't look good at all," Alex whispers, touching my hand. I grab his fingers and squeeze them to my heart's content. "Oh fuck," he whispers, going pale, and scrambles for something in his pocket. "Holy shit! You're in labor, aren't you?" He hisses frantically, looking around the room.
"Gahhhh!" I throw my head back, taking deep breaths. "Shit, shit, shit!" I groan, tapping my foot against the floor.
My cheeks heat at the stares I'm receiving, but I don't care. Fuck them, and fuck this pain to hell and back. I close my eyes, trying to count inside my head. Go away, pain, shoo! I have two more questions left. Two. If I can make it through that, I'll be golden.
"Miss Cole?" I peek an eye open as the pain subsides for a few minutes, and I can finally breathe. But barely with Professor King looking down at me. His dark eyes take in my appearance, and he raises a brow.
"Yes?" I croak, taking another deep breath.
He sighs. "I take it, it's time?" He asks in a low voice.
"Yes," I say, taking another deep breath. "I have two more questions to go and then, the hospital." I squeak out the last part of my sentence as pain erupts through my abdomen, again taking my voice hostage. Stars swim in my vision, and I swear my eyes cross from the pain exploding through me. I need drugs.
