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My eyes flipped open justshy of seven a.m. It had taken me a few hours to wind down, and I hadn’t gone to bed until almost two. Jazz and I had agreed to open the bakery late, giving us both a chance to catch up on some much-needed sleep. We’d been burning the candle at both ends, preparing for Horace and Angie’s party while also running the bakery—not that there had been enough customers to even warrant being open so early in the morning.
I burrowed my head into the pillow and screamed.
One night.
That was all I asked. One night of good sleep where I wasn’t worried about money or being woken up because of construction outside my building.
I punched the mattress next to my face a few times for good measure and then sat up. It wouldn’t do any good to be pissed off. Not when I couldn’t do anything about it.
I stumbled toward the bathroom to do my business. I let out a hiss of pain.
Shit.
I had the start of a UTI.
After washing my hands, I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for an anti-inflammatory. I quickly took it before hopping into the shower.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my car driving to the clinic Slash had taken me to a few weeks ago.
Jeez, had it already been that long since our night together?
I parked close to the entrance and smiled at the two guards who were patrolling the front. They let me pass.
The receptionist at the desk hung up the phone. “Good morning,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah. I think I have a UTI and need to see someone.”
“Second floor. They’ll take care of you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I sat in an exam room, waiting to see the doctor.
The door opened, and Linden walked in. “Brooklyn,” she said with a smile.
“Hey,” I said in surprise. “You never came in for your slice of pie.”
“Ah, no, I didn’t. Things at the clinic have been crazy.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat. “So, what am I seeing you for today?”
“I think I might be getting a UTI,” I explained.
“Well, that’s no fun.” She turned and went to the cabinet over the counter and retracted a plastic cup. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
Nodding, I took the cup from her. “We’re getting all sorts of personal, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess we are. Speaking of personal, any chance you might be pregnant?”
“What? No!”
She held her hand up. “Just a standard question. I’m going to confirm it’s a UTI, but I’ll run a pregnancy test just to be on the safe side. I want to make sure any medication I’m giving you is safe.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I insisted.
“Okay.” She arched a brow. “Bathroom’s down the hallway to the right.”
I took the cup and headed for the restroom; my mind stuck on her question.
I wasn’t pregnant.
