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I’d just made it to needing a Tylenol for your achy jaw post BJ—and this reason was one I’d borrowed from Gabriela, because I’d never even given a blowjob—when the threat of puking again became a reality.
Once it was over, I wiped my mouth and rolled to my side on the floor.
Dear God, make it stop.
I laid there, clutching my belly, wondering if maybe this was actually a case of food poisoning. Not from my cooking. Absolutely not. But after my doctor’s appointment, I’d stopped off fo
r a sandwich at the café. Vee’s chicken salad on a croissant was delicious, and she was as skilled behind a cutting board as I was.
But maybe the chicken was bad. Maybe there was a salmonella outbreak.
Oh, God, yes, please.
Because if I was going to have to deal with this for months on end, I might as well off myself now.
Morning or evening sickness didn’t last the whole pregnancy, did it? Unless my child was an alien.
An Asher alien.
A cry sounded from another part of the house and I tried to get up. It took two tries—Asher’s bath mat was surprisingly comfy—but I gained my feet just as the door shook from the force of his knock.
“Hannah, you need to come out. Now. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
Still a little woozy, I held a hand to my head. “You didn’t?”
“No.” A pause. “Okay, yes, I did. You probably can tell I’m very attracted to you.”
The irony made me shake my head as I gazed down at my belly. So much for thinking my cooking had been the culprit for my tight jeans. More like Asher’s swimmers.
“Other than the fact we’ve already…” I cleared my throat. “Not particularly. But thank you.”
“Thank you?” he echoed. “Did you miss the part where I just tried to kiss you?”
“Huh. No kidding. Seriously?”
I wasn’t a complete moron. I’d been aware of his hair tucking and leaning in routine, but the kiss warning hadn’t gone off in my brain. Probably due to the more pressing concern in my stomach. And throat.
I wiped the sweat off the back of my neck. And all over.
“Hannah, you don’t sound like yourself. Please, come out here and we’ll talk.”
Rather than respond, I moved to the sink. I’d rinsed out my mouth half a dozen times, plus washed my hands a time or twenty with his spruce-scented bar soap, when I chanced a look at the mirror. Offhandedly. Just to make sure I didn’t look as bad as I felt.
There was no stopping my moan.
Dear God, did he need an eye exam? How could he be attracted to me right now? I looked hideous. Blotchy face. Red-rimmed eyes. My face even seemed puffy. Too much salt?
Too much baby?
“Hannah? I’m coming in.” He didn’t give me a chance to say no before he flung the door open. Because I hadn’t locked it. I’d been more focused on getting to know his toilet than worrying about potential interruptions.
Though now that I was thinking about it, I did need to pee. Badly.
Asher stepped inside and halted, his expression conveying everything I’d feared. Hot mess was an apt description for the look I was currently sporting.
“Are you okay? You groaned.”
I nodded weakly. “Sorry. Just a little bit ill.”
