Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
And not when she cried my name with her eyes squeezed shut, clenching everywhere, milking my own orgasm out of me.
We went three rounds before we crashed, naked, limbs tangled together.
When I woke up at 5:25 a.m. for my morning run, I was alone.
One thing hadn’t changed.
Layla never stayed the night.
And this time was no different.
Chapter Six
Layla
Five weeks later
“This . . . can’t . . . be.”
The positive pregnancy test stared back at me defiantly. I was the first to blink.
“No. No, no, no, no, no.” I shook my head. “No,” I said more sternly, scowling at the small pee stick.
I stood up from the toilet seat and kicked aside a few pregnancy tests that were scattered on the floor. They all had two dark-blue lines. But since I couldn’t be pregnant, and this was all a big, fat misunderstanding, I had gone back down to Duane Reade and bought one of those tests that clearly stated “Pregnant” or “Not pregnant.” I’d read on the internet that sometimes the blue-dye tests were unreliable, especially if you left them out too long.
Well, this test left no place for error.
It said Pregnant.
In bold.
All that was missing were three exclamation points and a middle finger emoji.
As I paced back and forth in my shoebox-size bathroom, I rummaged in my memory box to five weeks ago. I was with Grant. We didn’t use a condom. We always had in the past, but not this time. I was raw from seeing Connor again. But I was on the pill. I hadn’t missed one in at least three years.
A strong déjà vu feeling wrapped around my neck, squeezing tightly.
No. This was wrong. I wasn’t pregnant. I couldn’t be. For one thing, I didn’t want any children. At all. Ever.
Ah, yes. An unwanted pregnancy, a voice inside me said, clucking its tongue. What a weird, new concept.
But I didn’t even have any symptoms. No nausea. No weakness. No exhaustion. None of the issues that had plagued Maddie the second Chase’s sperm had caught one of her eggs in a game of tag. My period was just abnormally late, so I’d decided to take a test.
Speaking of my best friend, I needed to see her. Now.
I took an Uber to Mad’s Upper East Side penthouse, which was about the size of the Museum of Natural History, and marginally more extravagant. It was Saturday morning, so I expected everyone to be home—including Chase, their son Ronan, and the hot Italian au pair, whom she swore she’d chosen because she needed someone to tumble around with her energetic toddler, not because he looked like Michele Morrone.
“Layla!” Maddie greeted me with a warm hug, pulling me into her vast loft. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m so happy to see you. You look—”
“Like hell,” her husband, Chase, finished for her, draping a protective arm over his wife’s shoulder as he kissed her temple. He was as rude as he was gorgeous. Which was very. But he wasn’t wrong in his assessment.
“Have you been crying?” He squinted.
“Oh, only since about six a.m.” I breezed past them, straight to the open-plan kitchen, where I opened the fridge and poured myself a glass of OJ. “I have some very disturbing news, actually.”
“CPS finally revoked your teaching license after searching your web history?” Chase deadpanned. We normally ping-ponged insults, but I really wasn’t in the mood today.
“Okay, Chase, I’m gonna need a temporary truce over here. This is serious.” I raised my palms in surrender.
He elevated an eyebrow, obviously skeptical. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be better when Maddie and I have some privacy, though.”
“All right. I’ll make myself scarce. Let me know if you need me, I’ll be in my office.” He kissed his wife one more time, this time on the crown of her head, then left.
I took a seat on the stool at the kitchen island opposite to Maddie. Even though my best friend felt horrible, she looked more radiant than ever, with her pretty, soft features, glossy chestnut hair cut trendily to shoulder length, and glittering eyes. I would’ve felt personally attacked by her beauty if not for the fact that I knew she was just as gorgeous on the inside.
“What’s going on?” Maddie frowned, palming her mug of green tea with both hands.
“I’m pregnant,” I announced.
Maddie cupped her mouth, gasping. “Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“Does Grant know?”
“I . . . wait, why do you assume it’s Grant’s?”
She rolled her eyes. “You sleep with each other exclusively. Have been for years. Only he has the decency to admit it, and you pretend to scroll through Tinder every week just to act disappointed with the selection.”
“The selection is disappointing.”
“Sure. When you compare it to a tall, chisel-jawed doctor with his own Manhattan apartment who gives you three orgasms a night.”
“This is not the time to hit me with the truth stick.” I pointed a finger at her. “How did it happen, Mads? I haven’t missed one pill in three years. Not even one.”