My mother would probably tell me when I kiss too many boys, I’m bound to catch something. I shake my head and feel the little food I’ve gotten down form a protest. It might turn into a full revolt soon.
Pixie slides closer. “Quick question. When was your last cycle? And don’t lie—I track the moon phases. I can track you.”
My cycle? Panic jolts in my chest, and I’m going to puke. I swear to Christ. There’s no way. Right? It’s only been a couple of weeks…
Can it happen that fast? Truly?
Pixie must see the micro-panic in my expression because she softens her tone. “Girl. I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out.”
“I’m going to busy myself somewhere not here, around the smoke.” I swallow hard. “And food.”
She pats my hand. “There’s a few loads of laundry waiting. If you think you can manage. Afterward, go grab some fresh air.”
I nod and slide off my stool.
For some reason, doing laundry calms my anxiety. The easy motion of setting the washer, moving the clothes over, and folding them in the same small squares soothes. It’s orderly and methodical.
It doesn’t take long, so I do as Pixie suggested and go outside. But I don’t go far. I’ve learned that lesson. Besides, I always have a shadow. Today, it’s Doc.
The back door opens at a five second delay, and there he is, gaze steady as he takes me in.
I run my hands through my hair and shake it out. The back of my neck is damp from sweat, but the fresh air fills my lungs and the breeze cools my skin. Still, a fluttering in my guts has me off. Usually, I would take a moment to tease Doc, and I simply don’t have the energy.
He leans against the club house behind me. I can feel him watching as I walk in small circles. I take another few deep breaths.
When I face him again, he’s more stern than a moment ago. His silence is unnerving. He’s always asking me questions, making small talk or teasing me. Has he noticed something’s wrong with me?
Is he suspecting the same thing as Pixie?
God, I hope not.
I lift my brow at him, and his look shifts again, curious or simply less worried.
My head clears enough for me to head back in, and I keep my head down for the rest of the day. Staying behind the bar, washing glasses, working the laundry, drinking soda water with a little lemon after the ginger ale Pixie poured me had me nearly retching.
I pour a couple of beers and wipe down a few tables when she goes on her break. It’s slow, but Doc switches out with Sin, who’s stationed at the corner table against the wall. His gaze never wavers from me, and you’d think I’d be used to it, but it builds a tingling heat along my spine nonetheless.
He follows me to the laundry room, hovering in the hall as I hum and fold.
The way his head tips forward makes his gaze more intense. I swear it’s more affectionate than I’ve ever seen it. Am I turning him into a softie?
That thought makes me smile. Sin, a softie, is a ridiculous notion, even if he’s soft with me.
I traipse my fingertips across his chest as I walk by, and his smirk turns deadly.
Pixie is back twenty minutes later, her bag shifting off her shoulder to a cubby behind the bar. She pulls a tiny paper bag from it and presses it into my hand before shooing me off to the bathroom. “Go. Pee. I’ll keep the wolves busy.”
She rounds the bar with me, blocking Sin from following me into the hall. I hear her knock into him.
“Why are you always making a mess on my floors?”
“I’m not making a mess on your floors.”
“What do you call that?”
I slip into the bathroom and lock the door, leaning against it to slow my breathing. No more panic.
Inside the package is a pregnancy test, and I actually have to read the directions before I take it. What a fucking joke. A twenty-six year old virgin turned the center of a three-man harem in a matter of weeks, and I might be pregnant.
