“We should make a list so we don’t forget to ask anything,” he suggests. “I’d rather both of our minds be at ease because I have a few questions of my own.”
“Do I want to know what those are?” I mirthfully inquire.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he wisecracks, smirking.
“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t embarrass easily,” I banter.
“Now you’ve given me a mission, darlin’,” he retorts.
“Did I just challenge your ego, Tanner?” I ask, puckering out my bottom lip in a pout.
“Nah, it’ll take more than a provocation from you to test my ego,” he replies, looking smug. “I’m solid, baby girl.”
“You’re something alright,” I say, taunting him. Just then, the room starts to spin and my tummy begins to churn which has me moaning.
I clamp my eyes shut and feel the room tilt, but soon I realize it’s Tanner carrying me from the room in large strides. “Almost there, darlin’,” he announces.
“Where?” I ask, breathing in through my nostrils and slowly exhaling it through my mouth. I repeat that routine until I hear a door open and shut and smell the disinfectant answering my earlier question.
He bends down and places me on the floor and I crawl my way up onto my knees before I lose the contents of my breakfast. I feel like I’m in the midst of an exorcism because just when I think I’m done, I get cramps that let me know I’m not.
A cold rag is placed on my forehead as Tanner coos at me, but I can’t decipher his words over the prayers I’m sending out, begging for relief.
A knock on the door has Tanner abandoning me. I turn my head long enough to see who the intruder is because I do not want anybody witnessing this. When I see it’s Indiana, the humiliation hits and I flush the toilet.
“Hey, man. Zoey wanted me to let y’all know there’s a stock of toothbrushes and toothpaste in the third drawer. She stocked it to the brim so she didn’t have to go to the house whenever she got sick. Also, in the fourth drawer, is some ginger candy, she swears it’ll help settle Britton’s nausea.”
“Thanks, Indiana, we appreciate that,” Tanner tells him.
“She also wanted me to hand you this,” Indiana states, passing over a business card. “It’s for her OB doc. We went through a few until we settled on this one. The others didn’t like that we belong to the Kings and were pretty snobbish and short with us. This one, she’s cool as shit and she gives as good as she gets. She’s not put off by the club and doesn’t come across as judgmental. She’s good people or we wouldn’t recommend her to you.”
“I’ll call and get her in once we’re done here,” Tanner assures.
I’m glad he’ll be making the call because at this point, I’m scared to open my mouth.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
LoneStar
The doctor had an openingthis morning, so I helped Britton get dressed since her sense of gravity seems to be off, brush out her hair because she’s feeling weak after her bout in the bathroom, and walk her to my truck. It doesn’t get much use since I prefer my bike when the weather permits, but with Britton carrying my kid, she won’t be riding on it again until after the baby is born. I’m adamant about that and there’ll be no changing my mind.
“Why is your truck so big?” Britton complains as I boost her into the seat.
“I’m a big guy,” I reply. “I need the extra room to stretch my legs. I can’t stand feeling cramped. If I had anything smaller, my knees would be up in my chest.”
“You’re going to need to invest in a step stool and keep it handy for me as I get bigger,” she warns. “Once I really start showing, I’m gonna blow up and you won’t be able to lift me, and I’ll be too top-heavy to help.”
“I bench two-fifty, babe. I don’t think getting you up and into the truck is going to be an issue,” I enlighten her.
“Then I’ll do everything I can not to get bigger than that so you don’t go outside of your weight class,” she groans. “If things keep going the way they are, I may be losing weight anyway.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I adamantly say. “Even if we have to hook you up to a drip twenty-four-seven, I’m going to make sure you get the nutrients you need to keep both of you healthy and thriving.”
“Hopefully it won’t come down to that,” she responds. “Having a needle in my arm each and every day doesn’t sit well with me.”
“It’s better than you hauling ass to the bathroom every ten to fifteen minutes when your belly recoils,” I remark.
