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“You’ll get sick,” she said, already spreading her legs in anticipation.
In a move that surprised us both, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her neck. It was the closest we’d ever been to kissing. Despite everything we’d done with one another, we hadn’t actually pressed our lips together. It seemed silly now in the face of everything we had done, but something stopped me from doing it every time. Even now, rather than moving up her neck and across her jaw towards her lips, I found myself moving downwards, kissing and licking my way down her collarbone and across her chest. I clamped my lips over her pointed nipple and sucked.
Samantha winced.
I stopped and looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, forehead wrinkled in pain.
“Does that hurt?” I asked.
She opened her eyes and then blushed. “Yeah, they’ve been sensitive the last few days.”
“Is that normal?” I asked, an alarm bell beginning to ring in the back of my head.
She shrugged. “Not really, but I’m about to get my period, so I never know exactly how my body will react.”
The alarm bell quieted. “You’re about to?” I clarified. “So, you aren’t late yet?”
“I’m a little later than usual, but that isn’t unheard of.”
And it was ringing again. Shit, shit, shit.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Apparently, I’d been talking out loud. “I need to call the doctor.”
Her brows knitted together, but then suddenly she understood. Her entire faced opened in shock.
“No, I can’t be. I’m on the pill.”
“Stranger things have happened, Sam.”
Despite everything going on, I couldn’t help but notice the way she responded to my use of her nickname. I’d only called her that in my head, never out loud. But I couldn’t worry about that because, clearly, I had much bigger things to deal with.
I told Sam to lay down in my bed while I called the doctor. I didn’t have an OB on speed dial, so it took a few calls and a lot of money to get Dr. Eric Johnson in my house within the hour. He was in athletic pants and a dry-fit long-sleeved T-shirt, but he had a black medical bag in his hand.
“Sorry for the casual wear,” he said with a smile, shaking my hand with his free one. “I was at the gym when you called.”
“Thanks for coming.”
I led him upstairs to the bedroom. Sam was sitting up in bed now, wearing a pair of my flannel pajama bottoms and a plain gray T-shirt. In the back of my mind, I made a mental note to tell her she could wear my clothes whenever she wanted. It was sexy as hell.
“Hello, Ms. Conway,” Dr. Johnson said, sitting his bag at the end of the bed and shaking her hand as well. “What seems to be the problem today?”
“She is nauseous,” I said, interrupting whatever Sam was about to say. “And her breasts are sore, and she is a few days late for her period.”
Dr. Johnson narrowed his eyes and looked back at me. “So, you suspect she may be pregnant?”
I nodded.
“Well, I don’t have anything more high-tech than a pregnancy strip. It’s the same thing you could buy at a convenience store.”
I could tell he was annoyed with me for calling him to my home for something I could have tested myself, but I wasn’t paying him thousands of dollars to be annoyed.
“I bought you instead. Is that okay, doc?” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he immediately smoothed his features, turning back to Samantha with a new sense of urgency.
With her permission, he pulled back the covers, had her lay down, and began feeling around her abdomen. Then, he pulled out a scope and – holding up a sheet to give her a sense of privacy –gave her a rudimentary pelvic exam. Then, he turned away as she got dressed and handed her a pregnancy test on her way into the bathroom.
“I assume you know what to do?” he asked.
She nodded and gave him a nervous smile. Just as the door was closing, she shot one last look at me. When our eyes met, hers shot to the floor, and she closed the door.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Dr. Johnson’s warm bedside manner became a bit icier with me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the information he had.
“Her uterus feels enlarged, and her cervix was soft.”
I stared at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “And? What does that mean?”
“It means that it is possible.”
I let out a huff. “I knew it was possible when I called you. What good are you?”
“I can’t make a formal diagnosis without a blood test or a urine test, and she is taking the urine test now. I know just as much as you. We just have to wait.”
So, we waited. The three minutes seemed to pass in slow motion. Several times I thought the bathroom door was opening, and I jumped up to meet Samantha at the door, only to realize it was my own imagination.
