He grins, smug and glowing. “Yeah? I did pretty good?”
“You did…phenomenally.”
We start to untangle from each other, the warmth between us still electric. But then out of nowhere, a wave of nausea hits me.
I sit up so quickly that Colt nearly falls off the bed. “Whoa. Elena, you okay?”
“I have to puke,” I gasp, the urgent feeling churning in my stomach.
He freezes, concern flooding his features. “The sex was that bad, huh?”
I half laugh, half dry heave. “It’s not that! I just—oh God?—”
I run to the bathroom, Colt close behind, rubbing my back while I hang over the sink, trying to steady myself. When I finally straighten, I’m pale and shaky.
He frowns, searching my face. “Maybe you’re dehydrated? Or hungover?”
“I had one margarita,” I mutter, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over me. “This feels…different.”
“Different how?” he presses, his brow furrowing.
I hold my stomach, feeling the unease settle in. “I’m tired. And dizzy. And my boobs hurt.”
Colt bleeds concern, his eyes widening. “Elena.”
“What?” I snap, the urgency in his tone grating on my nerves.
He raises both eyebrows, taking my hands gently. “When was your last?—”
I gasp, realization hitting me like a freight train. “Oh my God.”
His mouth opens, and he goes still, the weight of understanding passing between us.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my heart racing. “Oh. My. God. No. It’s impossible.”
We’re out the door in two minutes—me in an oversized shirt and flip-flops, him in swim trunks and panic. The nearest pharmacy is five blocks away, in the humidity, at night, in Mexico.
Colt tries to ask the cashier for a pregnancy test in Spanish. It…does not go well. He says something that apparently means “test the baby now.” She looks horrified.
We pull out Google Translate like lunatics. Finally, she hands us a box.
Colt yells, “GRACIAS!” like he’s at a football game, and I can’t help but laugh despite the nerves.
Then we sprint back to the hotel like fugitives, laughter mingling with our adrenaline.
Back in the room, my hands shake as I take the test, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Colt sits on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, staring at me like it’s the two-minute warning in the fourth quarter.
We wait—the longest two minutes of my life.
Then…the line appears.
Clearly positive.
I cover my mouth in shock.
Colt stands so fast he nearly knocks over a towel rack. “Elena. Is this happening?”
I look up at him, tears filling my eyes. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper, the weight of the revelation settling in.
