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He lays down beside me, pulling me over so my head rests on his chest. His hands drift through my hair. I close my eyes, reveling in the peace between us. I missed this…the quiet moments after when he's holding me, touching me. He's so damn sweet.
Morning sickness catches up with me out of the blue. My stomach turns, bile crawling up my throat. I gasp and scramble up, nearly elbowing Cortez in the face in the process.
"Piper? Pretty baby?"
I clamp a hand over my mouth and take off for the bathroom, not even stopping to explain. If I try, I'm going to throw up all over him and the bed. Somehow, I make it to the bathroom in time, landing on my knees beside the toilet just as the dry heaves start.
"Piper?" Cortez says from the door, concern in his voice. "Jesus, pretty baby." He rushes toward me, sinking to his knees on the rug behind me.
"Go away," I groan, trying to bat him away as he picks me up and places me in his lap. It's a useless attempt, of course. He's too damn big to move and I'm still dry heaving. I don't want him to see me like this, though. Especially not right after we just did that. There's nothing sexy about throwing up.
"I'm not leaving you like this," he says, gathering my hair up to hold it back for me.
I whimper miserably and then dry heave again.
Cortez holds my hair, rubbing my back until the spell passes and I slump weakly against his chest. We stay just like that for several long moments. I hold my breath, waiting for him to demand answers. I owe him answers. But God, I've never been so freaking scared in my life.
"You should have told me you still weren't feeling well," he says, kissing my temple. "You should have been resting instead of letting me wring you out."
"I'm fine," I whisper.
"You're not fine," he argues, his voice firm. "This is more than simple exhaustion. You're obviously sick, Piper. Who is your doctor? I'll call and get you an appointment."
"I'm not sick, Cortez."
"I hate to break it to you, but you are, pretty baby." He tucks me up against his chest and rises to his feet in one fluid, graceful move. Once he flushes the toilet, he settles me on the vanity and then starts poking through my stuff in search of mouthwash and my toothbrush and toothpaste.
I watch him, surprised he hasn't already figured out what the issue is. I kind of expected him to immediately realize and flip out. A tiny part of me wants to run with the I'm sick story, but the rest of me knows I can't do that. My stomach twists itself into knots, my heart pounding like a drum.
"Cortez, I'm not sick," I say as he runs water over my toothbrush for me.
"I hate to break it to you, but you're definitely sick, Piper."
"No, I'm not. I'm pregnant, Cortez."
