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I scrub hard and reason that at least I’ll have clean teeth if this keeps up. As long as I don’t become one of those pregnant women who hates toothpaste. Then I’m really going to have some problems.
I rinse the brush and leave it on the back of the sink since there’s no holder. “I’m okay,” I reassure Tyler. “Let’s go in case it comes back.”
I precede him out of the bathroom. I sit in my chair again, secure my seatbelt, and lean forward on the table. Ty takes the seat next to me after talking to the pilot.
“I guess the blow job is off the cards,” he quips.
“Start a tally. I’ll make them up to you when the thought of something in my mouth doesn’t make me want to gouge out my stomach.”
“Well, it’s nice to know you’re so attracted to me.”
I smile, closing my eyes. “Any time you doubt it, all you have to do is ask, honey.”
“I think I’ll avoid it if I’m honest.” He reaches over and rubs my back again.
I hum at the soothing sensation. The pilot speaks over that we’re heading for the runway to take off and that the weather in California is sunny, clear skies, and eighty-six degrees.
Well, that’s just fantastic. Another fifteen or so degrees is just what my nausea-ridden body wants right now.
I sigh it off and relax into the feeling of Tyler’s hand trailing up and down my spine. The warmth from his palm seeps through my skin and eases the tension in my muscles, even as we lift off.
“Water?” he asks softly.
I shake my head.
“You need to try, Liv. It’s hotter in California. You’ll dehydrate.”
“Fine.”
This is going to be a long few months.
I climb out of the cushy hotel bed and open the balcony doors. We have an incredible view of the beach from our room. The only thing that interrupts it is a few palm trees, their leaves swaying in the gentle sea breeze.
My stomach has somewhat settled, and although I know it could come back at any moment, I call down for some toast and water.
My stomach might be settled, but it’s clawing at me for some kind of food.
I rifle through my suitcase and pull out a light, cotton dress. Today was supposed to be for us, but Tyler got dragged into another shoot almost the second we landed. Naturally, I did what any woman would do and headed straight to bed.
Well, any pregnant woman, that is.
If I’m sleeping, I don’t have to think about him being around half-naked models. I don’t have to consider him staring at them, even if it is through a camera lens.
It’s my number-one insecurity, something that’s now increased tenfold. So instead of thinking about him working, I’m going to sit here, aimlessly nibble on toast, and sip water while staring at the waves crashing on the beach.
How fucking romantic of me.
I twist my hair into a knot on top of my head and secure it with a tie. The door knocks, and I answer it. A cart is wheeled into the room for me and left by the table.
The toast is hot, and the scent of melted butter assaults my senses. My stomach growls and I breathe it in. For the first time in three days, I want to eat.
I grab the plate of toast and bottle of water and walk out onto the balcony. There are two chairs and a small table in the corner shaded by a large umbrella. I take a seat in one of the chairs, ensuring that I’m under the shade but leaving my legs in the sun.
I pick at the toast and look out at the beach. I’m not looking at anything in particular. I’m just letting the sounds roll over me and relax me.
Before I know it, I’ve eaten the whole slice of toast and am reaching for the second. I blink and shake my head. Eating a second slice is just asking for trouble. I reach for the water instead, sipping slowly, letting the coolness of the liquid soothe my throat.
No one ever tells you how raw your throat gets when they talk about morning sickness. Sure, they mention how horrible it is and whatever, but they never tell you the little bits.
