Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Let me get this straight. You got your girlfriend pregnant? How is that possible? You are always so careful.” The woman’s voice is strong and clipped. She sounds like a bitch.
“Hilary, she assured me that she was sterile. Her appendix burst when she was a kid and they said the bacteria spread to her tubes causing her not to be able to get pregnant,” Jason snaps.
Hilary? Not doctor something, but Hilary? Tossing aside my towel, I reach for one of the dresses in my bag. It’s powder blue and matches my eyes. I slip on some panties and go braless since it has a racerback. Tentatively I follow the voices.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself. I’ve known you since you were a kid. You never trust anyone. All the club sluts want to trap you.” I wince at her horrible, direct approach. Tiptoeing, I take a look at his house. It’s fucking amazing, like I never want to leave amazing. At the end of the small hallway, I gaze at the huge open floor plan. The house sits so that you have a view of the Valley and some palm trees. The morning traffic looks like ants crawling along the highway. Again, there’s barely anything in the house other than the view and a cherry-colored wooden deck. And one L-shaped black leather couch with a large flat screen. The hardwood floors are so clean and shiny I can see my reflection.
“She’s not a club slut.” He sighs. “Just find out for sure and don’t say anything until I decide what I’m doing.”
They must be in the kitchen because I don’t see them as I toss my wet hair back and walk into the great room. A large fireplace on the side of the room sends a tingle of excitement through me at the thought of sitting next to Jason watching the flames. I’ve never actually seen a real fireplace much less felt one, but that’s what it looks like on TV.
With a sigh, I turn and gasp, my stomach fluttering as I stare at a pair of piercing green eyes. His arms are crossed and he wears one of his dark T-shirts. My eyes travel down his body to his bare feet and I have to close my eyes so he doesn’t see how much he affects me.
“Hilary? Come meet Eve,” he bellows.
A dark-haired woman in her forties, I guess—although it’s hard to tell given her striking looks—steps forward. Tall and stylish, she wears a blouse with dark trousers and high-heeled pumps. Her hair is in a bun and she sports stylish librarian glasses. Everything about her reeks self-confidence and wealth.
We both stare at each other. As she drinks a cup of coffee, her gaze travels the length of me and back.
“Well.” She takes another sip, then sets it down. “I’m Dr. Hilary Gordon and I’m here to see why you haven’t been feeling well.”
I lift my head and straighten my shoulders as I watch Dr. Hilary smile and shake her head at Jason.
“So, tell me everything.” She turns toward the kitchen, her heels echoing on the hardwood floors.
I cross my arms and snap, “I’m not pregnant.” My face is on fire as I spin toward Jason. “I can’t have children. Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not going to be a father.” The woman walks back in carrying a cup and a plastic-looking stick, wand, whatever.
“Yes, Jason was telling me that. Your appendix burst at what age?”
“Twelve.” I roll my eyes and walk over to the window and look out at the city.
“I need you to pee in this cup.” She hands it to me and I see her wrist bearing the Disciples brand. My eyes jerk up to hers. What the fuck? If she notices, she doesn’t show it. In fact her pretty face is all business. I take the cup. Her perfume smells like flowers and I instantly back away.
“Where’s the bathroom? Or do you want me to squat?” That gets a finely waxed eyebrow raised at me and a snort from Jason.
“Angel, before you use the second door to your right, why don’t you tell the doctor what you think it is.” He’s behind me and heat radiates from his body into mine. He sweeps my hair onto my shoulder, his thumb lightly stroking my brand. He does this a lot. Whenever he feels I, or anyone else, need to be reminded.
I lean into him and his smell makes my stomach calm rather than churn.
“I’m worried it might be cancer,” I spit it out, hating that it sounds hollow and slightly echoes in the large empty white room.
Suddenly his arms are around me, pulling my back to his chest. His strong hands lie on my stomach.
“Yes, she thinks it might be that serious. So maybe you should take blood?” The doctor looks from me to him and rolls her eyes.