“Fine,” she mutters, grabbing the food from my hand and hesitantly taking a small nibble. “If I throw this up, I’m gonna be so pissed at you.”
“Not the first time, probably won’t be the last,” I state, taking a seat on the mattress beside her. I wait until she has most of the cracker consumed before asking, “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she responds, reaching for the glass of water and sipping. “Yesterday’s morning sickness didn’t last too long.”
“You were throwing up yesterday too?” I ask, hating she not only endured that, but did it alone.
“Yes. Fortunately, after I got up and moving and then ate a piece of buttered toast, I felt much better. I had to give up my coffee drinks though,” she mutters, clearly unhappy about this development.
“Really?”
“Caffeine and sugar and all that,” she replies softly.
“Damn, how will you cope?” I tease, though I’m partially serious.
“No clue,” she mumbles, eating a second cracker. This time, not worrying about getting crumbs in her bed.
“Can you drink decaf?” I suggest, realizing I don’t know much about anything when it comes to pregnancy. I’m going to have to do a little research online later.
“Probably, but honestly, that doesn’t even sound good. Nothing sounds good right now.”
Noticing how positively stunning she is feels like a kick to the gut from a horse. Her blond hair is wild, matted down a bit from sleep and sweat, her face is void of makeup, and her coloring is a little chalky. Yet, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. Not to mention she’s wearing a thin little sleepshirt, and her tits are…wow. They seem bigger and firmer than before, which causes a slight situation below the waist. Considering I’m wearing regular athletic shorts, they don’t conceal anything in the moment.
“You’re not getting sick any other time of day?” I ask, trying to get my mind off the sexy woman before me and the fact she’s lying in bed.
“So far, no.”
“That’s good.”
She sighs and flops over on her pillow, second cracker already consumed. “Yes, it’s good, I’m only throwing up in the early mornings and not all day long,” she sasses with a lighthearted eye roll. “Maybe if you wouldn’t have gotten me into this situation, we wouldn’t be worrying about what time of day I’m throwing up.”
“I believe there were two people involved in the situationmaking,” I state playfully.
When her eyes meet mine, they’re lively and full of fire. It’s as if she’s remembering exactly what led us to our present situation. “I suppose you’re right, but I’m still going to hang this over your head, since I’m the one doing all the vomiting.”
I snicker at her comment and pull the blanket up around her neck. Partially to keep her warm, but also to cover her up. Seeingher in a sleepshirt starts to putthoughtsin my head. When she yawns and closes her eyes, I realize there’s nothing keeping me here except my own need. Need to protect her, to protect our baby.
But there’s nothing I can do except be there for her when she needs me most. If that means I have to show up every morning, hold her hair while she throws up, and give her water and crackers until she’s feeling human again, then so be it.
“Try and get some rest, Charli,” I murmur softly, pressing my lips to her forehead.
“Okay,” she mumbles, sleep already starting to claim her.
“Rest, sweetheart,” I add before practically tearing myself away from her bed when all I want to do is crawl beneath the covers with her.
“Quinn?” she murmurs softly when I reach the doorway to her bedroom.
I glance over my shoulder, my heart practically tripping over itself at the sight before me.
Her.
Fuck, this crush is going to get so much worse now that she’s having my baby.
“Thank you.”
I nod, unable to find the words.
Or trying to keep the ones I long to say to her from spilling out of my mouth.
