Page 22 of My Girlfriend is Not the Father

Jade nodded and stood. ‘I have to go get my client.’

‘Oh, for sure. Sorry about the randomness. Talk to you later.’

‘Wait!’ Jade swallowed. Come on, it’s not that big of a deal. Breathe out the shakes. ‘Can I call you tonight?’

Too many moments passed. Jade scratched at the back of her neck.

‘I’d love that.’

And with those words, lobbed much softer than Jade expected, her heart soared.

Chapter 9

Lucy

‘Do you want me to grab a chunk of your fat and stick it in for you?’ Drew’s voice was kinder than his words. He cocked his head and gazed at Lucy’s bare belly before his eyes turned wide. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Such a jerk-hole.’ Lucy ground her elbow into his ribs. She brought the paper instructions up to her nose and reread. Again.

The past two weeks had flown by with a barrage of appointments, final stamps of approvals, and late-night chat sessions with Jade. All legal papers were finally signed, the egg donor prepped and now … shots.

And not the tequila kind.

The fluorescent light in Lucy’s bathroom radiated some sort of deep red heat that burned into Lucy’s chest. She grabbed the binder with the med schedule and fanned her face. ‘We got this, right? I mean, we really got this. This will be way less painful than when we got our tattoos.’

Drew dug an alcohol pad package from the box and laid it on the bathroom counter. ‘God, I hope so. I almost passed out.’

‘Oh stop! You so didn’t.’

Drew grinned, the skin around his light green eyes creasing. ‘I really did. I didn’t want to tell you, though, ’cause you were chatting it up the whole time like you were getting a mani-pedi, and I almost threw up. I couldn’t let you one-up me. But needles … I had no idea I feared them until I did.’

Chucky, excluded from the action, whined at the door, but Lucy couldn’t risk any floating dog fur settling into her skin and erupting into some kind of infection. Although with the amount of antibiotics the doctor put her on prior to the embryo transfer, she was probably good.

She picked up the tiny syringe and felt the weight in her fingers. In the doctor’s office, she’d practised on a silicone ball. But this was all real. So freaking real, and she released a shaky breath. Thank God the extra-duty butt ones didn’t start for a few weeks. She lifted her tank and saw Drew’s face go white. ‘You know – you don’t have to watch.’

He hooked his finger in his collar and tugged. ‘You’re having my baby. The least I can do is help you shoot up.’

‘That just sounds so wrong.’ She wiped the alcohol wipe across her belly, the cool tingle flushing her skin. Inhale, exhale. Now or never. She pinched her belly. The back of her throat moistened with a hot, metallic film, and she swallowed. She exhaled and … Bam!

‘Oh. Not bad. Here, let me stick you.’ She held the needle out. Drew flew back into the door, his hand slapping against his heart. His face turned as red as his hair, and she was sure his freckles were going to pop right out of his cheek skin. ‘I’m just kidding! Seriously. I would never stick you with a used needle. A new one … maybe. Just for solidarity purposes.’ She tossed the syringe into the sharps container. Not as bad as it could’ve been.

He chuckled and settled his gaze on Lucy. ‘Are you okay? Do you feel weird?’

She wobbled and gripped the side of the counter. ‘Actually Drew …’

‘Oh God, what? What?’

‘I’m sorry. That was so not funny. I’m fine.’ And she was, physically of course. The needle barely hurt. But it seemed every single step made everything more real, and this was no exception. God, she was so excited. All these years of talking and planning and prep, and they were so close. But – and she avoided Drew’s gaze even thinking through this because he’d pick up on it via some super freakish osmosis or something – she was scared. What if it worked? What if it didn’t? What if she was sick, or the baby got hurt, or she accidentally did something and destroyed her best friend’s dreams? ‘You’ve got to stop doing this. Please, make fun of my shoes. Or my hair, or wardrobe or something. My choice in music—’

‘Terrible. Truly.’

‘Nineties pop is not terrible.’ She opened the door and leaned down to scratch Chucky, who had resigned himself to lying on the floor, in the dog equivalent of a pout for leaving him out of the party.

Drew followed her into the kitchen. She pulled down a box of crackers and held them out.

He waved the snacks away. ‘It’s just so weird, right?’ He swung his hands in between the two of them. ‘Freaks me out a little bit.’

‘That I’m going to be housing your baby?’