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Damn it. I was supposed to ask her that. “I have one while I’m in the city. Here.” I jotted the number down on the notepad next to the bed. “Text me and I’ll have your number.”
She reached up on her toes to kiss me. “Got it. Good luck at the pool.”
I opened the door. “Good luck with your articles today.”
She wrapped a sheet around her chest. “Go, get your world record. I’ll see you later.”
I closed the door and headed for the village, ready to kick some Olympic ass today.
16
Ava
Blaine closed the door and I ran to the bathroom. Holy shit. The wave of nausea launched inside me and I grabbed the counter. I splashed water on my face, trying to cool down. I was certain I was going to throw up, but it passed.
I was suddenly hot and dizzy. My head spun and I couldn’t think of what I had eaten last that might have made me sick. I walked back to the bed and unplugged my phone from the charger.
I pulled up my calendar and counted back to my trip to Sydney. Five weeks.
Holy shit. I counted again and checked the dates for my last period before I let the impossible hit me.
It couldn’t be. No way. We weren’t careful in Sydney. But there was no way. I couldn’t be pregnant. I grabbed my stomach. There had to be a rational explanation like jet lag or food poisoning. But I knew I didn’t have much reason to have jet lag from one time-zone change and I had been in Rio long enough to adjust. I had convinced myself over the past few days that it was the cause of my fatigue and dizziness.
I didn’t have dinner last night. I tried to think if there was anything else, and I remembered how I turned down the drink yesterday in the bar. I had heard pregnant women had a sixth sense about alcohol.
My hands rose to my breasts. I thought it was the epic sex, but my breasts had never felt so tender and my nipples were electric to Blaine’s touch, not to mention my clit. And holy hell, I’d never had orgasms like I did last night. One of my pregnant friends told me pregnancy sex was more intense than anything in her life.
I stood up. This couldn
’t be happening. No way.
I was not having Blaine Crews’s baby. No.
I paced in front of the window and threw open the blinds. Rio was waking up. The games started in six days. The city was alive with game preparation. Tourists were flocking, in along with vendors trying to make money off the countries who had come to cheer on their athletes.
Blaine had more pressure on him than anyone here. The world was watching him. There were expectations on him that no one else could understand. The world records. The gold medals.
His entire life was swimming. I knew what winning here would mean for his future. It was his future.
A baby would distract him. I couldn’t tell him any of this.
First, I had to make sure I was pregnant, but before I ever saw those two pink lines on the white stick I knew.
I took two more before I admitted the truth.
I was pregnant, and Blaine was the father.
***
I sat in another meeting while Vic rolled his sleeves to his elbows. The heatwave that hit Rio last week was starting to let up. I could walk outside and breathe now. I didn’t mind the extra ice in my drinks when I could get it.
I heard a few locals say that this was more typical of a real Rio winter. Even the girl at my favorite juice bar seemed happier with the temperature change.
“Tonight is Opening Ceremonies,” Vic announced. “You all have credentials to get in. I do expect to read quality work after this event. Find something that’s a real tear-jerker.”
Last week he wanted feel-good stories, and now he wanted the kind that made everyone need to stock up on tissues. But I kept my mouth shut. Keeping this job was more important than ever.
I was six weeks pregnant. I couldn’t be an unemployed single mom.
