Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Go.” I waddle over to her, careful not to make any sudden dress-ripping moves, and give her a quick squeeze. “Be the badass bitch First Lady I know you can be.”
“And here I was looking for a motto when you had that up your sleeve this whole time,” she says, the sarcasm thick, but still not eclipsing the concern when she pulls back from our hug. “Kimba, the dress—”
“It’s fine.” I force a smile. “I have a dozen dresses that should work.”
If I can fit any of them.
“You get outta here. I don’t want you to be late.”
“Okay.” She rushes to the office door and unlocks and opens it. Hal stands there, blocking our view of the lobby and Carla, who is probably on her fainting couch with all that broody testosterone in forced proximity.
“Love you,” Lennix offers as a final parting and closes the door behind her.
“Love you, too,” I mumble absently, staring down the length of my body with dismay. I’ve noticed a few lumps and rolls that stubbornly resisted four days a week of Orange Theory, but didn’t realize it had gotten this out of control. I’ve been busy strategizing how I’ll turn a swing state in an upcoming gubernatorial election. Lumps and rolls around my middle got back-burnered.
My cell rings and I grimace when Lotus pops up on FaceTime. I want to ignore it and call back audio only so she won’t see me.
I answer, being careful to keep the phone aimed above my shoulders.
“Hey, Lo.” I inject my voice with the enthusiasm the woman who has become a close friend would usually merit.
“Heyyyyyy.” Her pretty face, surrounded by a huge, curly afro, lights up. “My assistant just told me we got a delivery notification on the dress. How is it?”
“It’s…” I glance at the material pooled below my waist. “A little tight.”
“Tight?” Lotus’ sleek black brows snap into a frown. “It shouldn’t be. We finalized measurements not long ago.”
“It’s not you,” I rush to reassure her. “I’ve been gaining weight lately faster than I ever have in my life.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, but um…” I make sure the door is still closed. “I’ve also missed four periods.”
The reaction is instant and comes with a boom.
“What the hell, Kimba?” Lotus’ husky voice pops me on the head through the screen. “Did you take a pregnancy test?”
“Several.” I groan and tilt my head back to contemplate the ceiling. “All negative.”
“But could you be?”
I think back to my last hook-up. A unisex bathroom at the networking mixer off Fourteenth Street. It’s a blur of hand-blown chandeliers, bottomless mojitos, blond hair, hazel eyes, a medium-sized dick and a DIY orgasm, but I know we used protection. And I have IUD insurance.
“It shouldn’t be possible,” I say on a long exhale. “I took all the precautions, but nothing’s fail-proof, right?”
“Well, something must be up.”
“I have an appointment with my doctor. They drew blood a few days ago and are running several tests. I go in to discuss the results tomorrow.”
“Okay, we’ll figure it out, but first things first.” Lotus narrows dark eyes at me through the screen. “How much do we need to alter the dress so you can have it in time for the event?”
I reluctantly scroll the phone down my half-clothed figure to show her the poorly-fitting garment.
“Oh.” Lotus pastes on a smile. “I can work with that.”
“Lo, don’t play me.”
“No, I’m serious. Get Carla to take new measurements. Ship it to me next day. I’ll make the alterations myself with a little wiggle room and send it back immediately. Sound good?”
I swallow a lump in my throat, put there partially by her kindness and partially by the problem I’ve tried to shove to the back of my mind for weeks. It has pushed its way front and center today.
I paste on a smile of my own. “Thanks, Lo. Sounds great.”
Chapter Nine
Ezra
“Should we try to make love?”
Aiko presses her naked body to my back. She wasn’t nude when she came to bed last night, so I guess she stripped to enact this little scene. Her question feels clinical, premediated compared to how we first came together nearly a decade ago.
I was getting my Ed.D. at UCLA, and a classmate dragged me to a party in Sawtell, where I had off-campus housing. Outside, Aiko was running some kind of makeshift photo booth from a gazebo. We were instantly attracted, and I made a rare departure from my usually cautious coupling protocol. Within hours, we were in her tiny bedroom screwing loudly and raucously, trying our best between giggles and orgasms not to wake her ornery roommate.
Should we try to make love?
That urgent, passionate night feels like a millennium ago beside her tentative question this morning. For a moment, I consider faking a snore, but it’s that kind of avoidance behavior that has dragged this out for months.