Page 132 of The Pucking Wrong Date

I’d been taking my birth control perfectly. I know I hadn’t fucked that up. But Walker probably had some kind of freakingsuper sperm. And he pushed it back inside me every single fucking time we had sex. Which was constantly.

There was a ringing sound in my ears. Monroe said something and I remembered I was supposed to be grabbing a tampon.

A useless tampon.

I handed it to her with a weak smile.

“Liv, are you alright?” Monroe asked sweetly, her gaze concerned.

“Fine,” I said in a voice that sounded strangely high pitched. “Just fine.”

Monroe looked like she wanted to say something else, but she must have decided otherwise because she went back into the bathroom with the tampon.

Blake and Monroe gave me surreptitious glances for the rest of the flight, and the drive to my house.

I did my best to keep my face blank, and I stayed quiet, inwardly freaking out.

When we got to the house, I moved to open the door and Blake softly touched my shoulder. “Did we do something?” she asked worriedly. “Because I’m sorry if we did.”

I tried to give her a smile, because these two women were the nicest girls I’d ever met. “I promise it’s not you. I just—I just realized something and I need to work through it for a little bit. You guys are the best, I promise you.”

She grinned at me, relieved, and I waved goodbye to both of them as I trudged to the door.

I couldn’t be pregnant…right?

And why didn’t that seem like the worst thing in the world?

CHAPTER 27

OLIVIA

Isat at the kitchen table, staring at the burrito in front of me. Walker had just left for weights, and I was still trying to convince myself that I was indeednotpregnant.

If I could eat Mrs. Bentley’s burrito, I wasn’t pregnant.

Or at least I was trying to convince myself of that.

The problem was, I couldn’t even pick the damn thing up. My stomach was churning at the smell, and wave after wave of nausea was hitting me.

And when I really thought about it…I’d been having weird food aversions for a while.

Like the eggs the other morning.

Denial, your name is Olivia.

Setting down my fork, I pushed my plate away and took a deep breath, willing the queasiness to pass. But it only intensified, twisting and turning in the pit of my stomach until I couldn’t ignore it.

I threw back my chair and hurried towards the bathroom, barely making it in time.

I doubled over the toilet, my body convulsing as I retched violently. Tears stung my eyes as I clung to the porcelain bowl, the bitter taste of bile lingering on my tongue.

As I sat there, trying to catch my breath, I was still trying to figure out any other reason for my sickness…and my sensitive breasts…and the headaches I’d been getting.

It was just a stomach bug, I tried to reason. Or maybe all those cookies I ate yesterday.

And the eggs the other day had been bad. I was sure of it.

But as I stumbled back into the kitchen, my hand pressed against my queasy stomach, I finally let myself admit the truth.

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