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SUMNER: Goddamnit
CHAPTER 11
SUMNER
Today’s the day.
Goldie’s supposed to take the test, and I don’t know what to do with myself. My skin feels too small for my body, and my phone has been permanently attached to my hand since I got out of bed.
I didn’t sleep last night, tossing and turning until eventually Colston ripped the blankets off and told me to get up sometime around one a.m.
He probably wanted to punch me from all the tossing and turning I did last night, but instead he sat up with me, distracting me with COD and videos of little kids cussing and talking shit.
Now I’m pacing the kitchen while he makes coffee that I’ll probably regret drinking with how buzzed I am on anxiety already.
I’ve got no idea what time Goldie’s taking the test, but the hours I spent on the internet over the last week reading about it said it should be in the morning.
But even if she tests this morning, that doesn’t mean she’ll text me or call me right away.
Fuck.
Colston smirks at me as he drops a Pop-Tart into the toaster and slides a mug of black coffee across the island. "Sit down before you give yourself a coronary, old man."
I flip him off.
“Okay, but really. I’m getting motion sickness watching you. Doing this”—he gestures at me—“isn't gonna magically make her text you.”
I stop to narrow my eyes at him. "Remind me of this next time you’re going through shit so I can comfort you the same way—"
Before I can finish my sentence, a rapid knock sounds at the front door.
Colston stops mid-chew, eyebrows furrowed as we look at each other. "Who the fuck is that?"
We both turn to look at the door. My pulse kicks up as I set my coffee on the counter, cross the living room, and pull the door open.
It’s Goldie. Standing on the doorstep looking so fucking beautiful it hurts.
It’s been two weeks since I walked out of that hotel room. Fourteen days of texting her every single day, trying to play it cool while I slowly went out of my fucking mind wondering if I got her pregnant. I've been agonizing over this morning. Over what would happen. Over waiting for a text message to tell me if my life was going to change.
But she's right here.
Seeing her again knocks the wind out of me. The ache in my chest that’s been there since I left her flares up, hot and demanding. God, I’m starving for her.
She’s wearing oversized grey sweatpants and a tight white tank top, the colorful tropical flowers and leaves inked into her bare arm bright against the white cotton. Her dark hair is piled in a messy knot, and she’s not wearing any makeup. She looks like she just rolled out of bed, which gives me all sorts of ideas until I notice the way she’s squirming.
She shifts from foot to foot, doing a little dance.
"I have to pee so bad," she blurts out, pushing right past me into the apartment. "I held my morning pee all the way from St. Pete because you shouldn't have to wait for a text message. We're doing this together."
She shoves a shiny pink gift bag against my bare chest and grabs my hand to pull me along behind her. Her fingers against my skin send little sparks straight down to my dick.
"The bathroom’s on the left," I tell her, letting her drag me down the hallway.
She drops my wrist, darts inside, and shuts the door right in my face.
I lean against the wall outside the door and blow out a breath. When my heart calms to a mostly normal rate, I glance down at the pink bag in my hands. Inside is the empty cardboard box for a pregnancy test. She must’ve already had it palmed in her hand, ready to go.
My throat dries out so much it’s hard to swallow. She could’ve taken the test in her own bathroom and kept me on the sidelines, texting me when she knew. But instead, she drove forty minutes in shitty morning traffic just to make sure I was a part of it.
