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Imala
I'm living the longest two minutes of my life. I plod along, pacing our bathroom, waiting for the timer to go off because part of me feels like peeking at the result. Since we’ve been married, I’ve been doing my best to fulfill my part of the deal. Now, it isn’t about just having his child because he asked. I want him to be the father of my children.
My timer beeps and I grab the pregnancy test hoping this time I’ll get a different result. Negative.
“That’s the fourth one in a row,” I whine to myself in the empty bathroom.
Four months and no luck. It’s starting to weigh on my confidence. I’ve been doing my best to not overthink it. The overachiever inside of me wants to download apps and get special thermometers and stuff to test my fertility but we have sex regularly and have never used condoms. Those things should have been enough to get pregnant in a few months. I’m in the middle of my last semester and have decided to take the bar just because. Wyn has created quite a few erotic quizzes to test my knowledge. At this rate, reading the questions on the exam will be arousing.
“Speaking of which…” I grab my notepad since the mansion doesn’t have a digital mirror yet and got over the extremely busy day ahead of me.
I usually feel exhilarated working under pressure but I have a lot going on. I must maintain my usual status at the bank, I have to study for class and the bar exam, and I’m interning for a law firm since it’s a requirement to graduate and my professor was adamant that following my husband around didn’t count.
On top of that, I’m still new-to-sex horny and must jump Wyn when we’re alone. That won’t be happening anytime soon with him going off on business. I don’t know what it is and I didn’t ask since he went with Andres.
It will be a few days and although he’ll call, I will miss him.
My phone hops around on the counter as it vibrates to get my attention.
“Hey, Esme,” I answer after checking the display.
“Hey, heifer. Are you coming with me to finally meet our nephew tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I confirm while jumping into my clothes and rushing through the rest of my grooming. “I have a million things to do today, then I’ll have the morning free to get some squeezes.”
“Me first. I can’t believe mom applied the LeClaire baby ban to us as well. It’s been torture knowing the lil man has been here for six weeks and all he’s seen is his stupid momma and daddy. He needs his auntie in his life so he can see real beauty.”
I chuckle at her nonsense. “Shut up, Esme.”
“It’s true. Watch. Those little gray eyes are going to light up before I squeeze the hell out of his chubby behind.”
“If it’s like his namesake he’ll like it,” I joke.
“Ugh, don’t remind me of the only way Jagger was getting Oran’s last name. They make me sick,” she laughs.
“Now, he gets to hear his name twice as much.”
“Karessa told me Jagger calls him Junior,” Esme points out.
I roll my eyes in amusement just as I run into a hard chest in the hallway. My phone flies in one direction and my purse in the other. Some of the contents spill out. It’s not a big deal but it sends me further off schedule.
“I’ll call you back Esme!” I yell so she can hear wherever the phone landed.
Berke, who’s half-naked as usual - bends to assist me in picking up my stuff. We’ve fallen into an easy truce since the wedding but I still have him marooned on the island as Wyn’s charge. I would have assumed he’d side-step me and continue on his way. His inky hair is wet and slicked back. The faint hint of chlorine overpowering his usual clean, crisp scent wafts off his body to announce his time in the pool. His tattoos dance across his skin with each movement. He really is gorgeous when he’s not talking. Okay, his accent is sexy but the smug asshole still exists.
“I’m beginning to think you are allergic to clothes,” I quip to break the silence.
“I’m beginning to become concerned that you always notice,” he taunts as we rise.
“First, you have magazines and mirrors reminding you how you look. Second, I’ll ask you about your tats when you’re less full of yourself.” I begin to walk away but remember my manners and turn to where he’s still standing. “Third, thank you for your help.”
He shoots me a half
grin. “Did saying thank you burn your throat?”
I laugh at the unexpected reply. “A little, but not nearly as bad as yours will burn when you have to tell me I was right.”
He scoffs and walks away showing off his defined back and sculpted ass - he would be the kind to wear tiny swim trunks.
