Page 61 of I Wish You Were Mine

. . .

Maren

Mistakes Were Made

My heart leapsinto my throat.

What is he doing here?

Why is he running? He sounds angry.

Very, very angry.

A terrible feeling takes root in my stomach. Does Tuck know? How could he? Unless he saw me leave the house not once, but twice, sobbing uncontrollably both times?

Even if that was the case, I doubt he’d automatically assume I just found out I’m pregnant. But why else would he chase me?

Does he actually give a shit about me?

I shove that dangerous, ridiculous thought aside. Yes, since we hooked up, I’ve gone to bed thinking about Tuck every night, and I wake up thinking about him every morning. I touch myself constantly because I think about him so much. Instead of getting Tuck “out of my system,” having sex with him has just made me want more sex.

More Tuck.

It was a one-time only thing, though, and I’ve acceptedthat. Accepted his coldness toward me, his formality. I get why it has to be this way, even if it hurts.

Then something hit me as I tried to drink my cocktail earlier. I’ve been feeling weird over the past few days. Since Monday, actually, when my breasts were so tender they woke me up when I rolled over in bed. Figuring my period was about to start, I dismissed it. Like I dismissed the bloating. The exhaustion too.

Then I sipped my whiskey tonight, and it has an astringent taste. It burned my mouth and immediately made me nauseous.

I’ve never, ever felt that way before. And then I realized it’s Friday, and I still hadn’t gotten my period.

My cycle has never been super regular. And I haven’t had to track it in a while because, well, I haven’t been having sex. And the sex I had with Tuck was safe sex. Protected sex.

Except for that one bit where he was inside me without a condom for a minute, maybe less. Just the proverbial tip. Not deep enough or long enough to get me pregnant, surely?

I still couldn’t shake the panic that gripped me, which is why I excused myself from dinner. I ran to my apartment and immediately panic-Googled my symptoms.

The diagnosis that came up again and again?

Pregnancy.

I was out the door and on my way to the Maritime Market two seconds later. I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests and zoomed back home, not even stopping to put my bag down before heading to the bathroom to pee on a stick.

Two very long minutes later, I got two pink lines. It’s the only test I didn’t want to ace.

I refused to believe it, so I tossed that test in the trash and took another one.

Same result. I knew it in my bones.

I’m pregnant.

There’s been no one else other than Tuck. The baby is his.

I burst into a fresh round of tears. Not knowing what else to do, I ran, hopping back in the golf cart and heading for the beach. I needed some air. Time to think. To process the fact that I’mpregnantwith myboss’s baby.

And now that man is running toward me, his handsome face a mask of stone. His eyes slice right through me. I begin to shake. Tears stream from my eyes. I don’t know how I’m going to face Tuck, but I can’t keep running.

The sand is warm against the bare soles of my feet as I brace for impact.

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