She says goodbye to her dad and mom across the room, and I notice the way her mom feels Gracie’s forehead as if she is a child, and it causes her to step back, humorously annoyed, then she leaves.
Hopefully, she feels better.
Sighing a deep breath, I decide that I’m not in the mood for dessert, even though my eyes are now fixed on the pies. Maybe it’s more to give me something to look at while I cool my thoughts.
Has it really been almost a month since I saw her?
It sticks in my mind and not because I’m pining for her. No, it sticks in my mind for a reason I can’t figure out.
It feels reckless.
Then it clicks.
Gracie isn’t feeling well, and it’s been a month. I’m confident we were careful—wait, maybe that part is a little hazy. Well, actually, we might’ve been lax somewhere on the birth control front during our many rounds.
Shit. Is she? No. Nope. She’s not feeling well, and it’s been a month.
There is only one thought in my mind, and it fills me with a rage that I didn’t know possible. It’s not even from fury, only fear.
I’m not going to wait. Whether she’s already aware or not, I want an answer if she is pregnant today.
CHAPTER 6
GRACIE
Who the hell decided cranberry sauce goes well with stuffing? I mean, sure, every year until this one it’s been a great combo, but this year someone really must have gone off the recipe card. Maybe the can of sauce was out of date. I don’t know, but my stomach is not happy.
Looking in the mirror of my bathroom, my dark blue cotton pajama jumpsuit with snowflakes on it seems to complement the gray tint on my face, and I look as though I haven’t slept for days, which makes zero sense, as all I’ve been is tired. I even managed to throw in a nap yesterday after taking the holiday decorations out of my closet. But I’m just waiting for my period. It can be wacky on dates sometimes.
Opening the door to my bedroom, I yelp in fright, my hand going straight to my chest. My heart is racing, shocked to find Asher sitting on the edge of my bed.
“What the hell?” I lean over with my hand on my chest to settle my nerves.
Although I’m relieved it’s only him, I don’t quiteunderstand how he got into my home or why he has a hardened look and his icy eyes are spearing into me. He’s in a suit which tells me that he must have come straight from the party. If his mood wasn’t so disconcerting, then I would drink in the sight of him a little more. He has the ability to mesmerize me into a trance.
“How did you get in here?”
He glances to his side on the mattress before driving his gaze straight back at me. “Take the test.” He’s direct and stern. His whole demeanor makes me want to slap him as much as kiss him. He’s bossy and sexy and… my eyes drift to the mattress where he seems to have brought a pile of pregnancy tests.
“Excuse me?” I blink a few times, half-pissed off at his authoritarian attitude and angry because he, well… won’t let me not confront what might have slipped into my mind a time or two the last few days.
“Take the test,” he repeats, this time gritting out the words.
I rest my hand against the door frame to my bathroom, forgetting that my pajamas barely make it halfway down my thighs but his eyes appraising me for a few seconds remind me.
“You have some audacity to storm on in here, which how the hell did you? And then demand that I take a pregnancy test.” I’m a bit offended—or I’m just buying myself time.
Asher taps a long finger on one of the test boxes. “Don’t leave your key under the pot no matter if the town’s biggest worry is a wild deer. And take the damn test.”
“It was a goat gone rogue,” I correct him.
He contritely lifts the edges of his mouth into a closed smile. “Test. Now.”
My jaw lowers, and my mouth goes dry. My voice seems to be lost.
His face remains icy. “I’m not blind. I noticed how you nearly threw up at the buffet a few times. Or the fact that your sass was a little less tonight. No matter how beautiful you are, it can’t be denied that you look like you have sea sickness, even though we are on fucking land. Then, funny thing, I’m great with numbers.” Inhaling a sharp breath, I listen to him. “Need those numbers for penalty kills and power play percentages, and I also need numbers when looking at a calendar and counting back. So, take the fucking test, maybe three while we are at it,” he bites out.
My lips roll in as I accept his facts, and my breath picked up already when he mentioned throwing up. I scoff a sound and propel my body away from the bathroom to the chair in the corner that has a robe that matches my pajamas, and I slide it on and tie the belt. “Don’t be ridiculous. There are flus going around.”
