We get our bags of food and park in a quiet spot, and I dig into my ice cream with a recyclable wooden spoon. It’s incredible. And they’re all staring at me.
“What?” I ask, halfway through another bite.
“Nothing,” Mason says too quickly, while, around me, they’re all diving into their food like starved raccoons.
“You’re just very focused,” Dylan adds, watching me like this is a nature documentary and I’m a rare species consuming frozen prey.
“It’s good ice cream,” I defend, pointing the spoon at him.
“Mm-hmm,” Jasper murmurs behind me, unconvinced.
I try to ignore them, but the easy familiarity of all four of them packed into this truck feels normal, as if I belong here.
And my body reacts.
It’s been doing so for days now, that low, constant awareness simmering under my skin, but today, it feels sharper and closer to the surface.
I curl in slightly, finishing the last of the ice cream faster than I should, like maybe outrunning it will help.
Jasper gathers the trash efficiently, and I drop my empty cup into the bag just as a sharp pain spears low in my abdomen.
I gasp before I can stop it, folding forward, grabbing my stomach. Everything freezes.
“What?” Mason demands immediately. “What is it?”
“Are you pregnant?” Slater blurts.
Everyone stares at him.
“What?” Dylan says. “Where did that come from?”
Slater throws his hands up. “Pain in her stomach! That’s a symptom!”
“Of, like, fifty things,” Dylan shoots back.
“I’m not pregnant,” I choke out, horrified.
“You’d be so beautiful pregnant,” Mason says thoughtfully from beside me, like he’s discussing weather patterns. “Sexy as hell carrying our?—”
“Stop,” I gasp, another wave hitting me harder.
“Jesus, Mason,” Jasper mutters.
“Too soon?” Mason asks, genuinely curious.
“Yes,” three voices say at once.
Because the pain isn’t just pain—it’s pressure, heat, and then the unmistakable sensation of slick warm between my thighs.
Oh God.
No.
No, no, no.
Not here.
Not now.
