Chapter 6

Stephanie

I sit on my couch, legs curled up under me, and stare out my apartment window. I don’t even know what to do today. Luc said he was flying back last night and he wanted to do something today. We haven’t talked again since his call after the Breakers game, but we have texted here and there. Last text I got was last night after I’d gone to sleep.

All it said was, Boarding plane. See you soon.

I know I should get up and get ready, because that “soon” could be anytime, I guess. But I’m groggy because I can’t drink coffee and it takes me longer to get going nowadays without my beloved caffeine. I also feel a little off. Not sick, but maybe more tired? I’m assuming this could be from the pregnancy, or perhaps it’s the fact I tossed and turned all night, having funky dreams about pregnancy. In one I remember I gave birth to a baby hippo and I was so proud of her, but my parents didn’t want anything to do with her. Not any type of surprise there, really.

A yawn overtakes me and I sit up on the couch, stretching my arms up high. I drop them and bring a hand to my belly, which is still completely flat at six weeks. I’ve been doing a lot of reading, obviously, and the baby is about the size of a peanut right now. I resist the urge to call him or her “peanut” as I lightly stroke my abdomen, wondering what gender it is.

And then an immediate wave of sadness hits me all at once and I have to rub my eyes with my knuckles so I don’t start crying. This has been happening on and off, where I’ll be giddy with excitement about the pregnancy, and then I’ll sink down into melancholy, telling myself I only want this baby because then I’ll have someone who loves me, and well…that’s just tragic.

The swinging moods, I’ve read, are also normal at this time because of fluctuating hormones. I haven’t actually felt hornier or anything, but I will admit, I do crave Luc with an intensity that scares me. He’s like an addictive drug, and not just because of his stellar moves between the sheets. I’ve been discovering that he’s actually easy to hang out with. Granted, there’s not an awful lot of talking, but when there is, it’s light and easy.

No pressure for us to do anything other than have some fun while we muddle through this crazy change in our lives.

A knock at the door startles me and I know it’s Luc, not because I don’t have any family or friends who would come knocking, but because I have an internal buzzing that just occurred and my body knows it’s him. The attraction we share is actually tangible, and I’ve never felt anything like this before.

I push up off the couch and pad to the door. I’m still wearing my pajamas—which consist of a flimsy camisole and boy-shorts panties—and my hair is wrapped up in a knot on top of my head. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet, and there’s a day’s worth of hair on my legs.

This is just great.

Just before I open the door, I scrub my hands over my face and take a deep breath. I’m both excited and ambivalent about him being here.

Fucking hormones.

Putting my eye to the peephole, I confirm it is indeed one hot hockey player holding a white paper bag. He’s wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt, track pants, and a Cold Fury hat. I bet he’d even look amazing wearing a leotard and leg warmers, bitterly thinking that soon I’m going to be fat and undesirable.

Even as those thoughts run through my head, I snort so hard at myself that I’m actually laughing when I open the door.

“There is nothing funny about you opening the door wearing that,” he says as his eyes go slowly down my body and then back up again.

I smirk at him.

“What were you laughing about?” he asks without making a move to come in.

“You do not want to be privy to my thoughts,” I tell him with a grimace. “I went through about forty emotions all in the last ten minutes, and while I’m laughing now, I’m pretty sure I’ll be crying soon. These hormones are making me a lunatic.”

Luc’s eyes turn soft with sympathy as his head tilts to the side. He gives me an understanding smile and my eyes immediately fill with tears.

Oh God.

Oh God, no!

“You asshole,” I say as I laugh, then sob once, then laugh again. I step back, rubbing my eyes, as he walks in. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jesus, you’re a mess,” he says softly, and then his arm hooks around my neck and he pulls me into him so he can press his lips against my forehead. “This will get better, though, right?”

I nod and mumble into his chest, amazed at how wonderful a comforting embrace can feel. “I think so.”

Luc releases me and I pull back to look up at him with a sheepish grin on my face.

“What are you doing here? I’m a lunatic and I didn’t shave my legs. Or brush my teeth,” I say with sudden memory and clap my hand over my mouth.

Luc just chucks me under the chin and says, “You’re cute.”

Then he brushes by me and takes the three steps to my tiny kitchen. He holds up the bag and shakes it. “I got breakfast.”

My stomach rumbles and now I suddenly feel jubilation so overwhelming I want to sing out loud like Julie Andrews on the top of an Austrian mountain. I just shake my internal head at myself and join him at my small table where he’s set the bag.

I lean over, peer inside, and take in two breakfast sandwiches wrapped in white paper soaked with grease. I inhale just on a normal breath, and take in the scent of egg, cheese, and…sausage?

My stomach rolls over and nausea hits me so hard I can feel something starting to rise up my throat without any provocation. I slap my hand over my mouth and lurch back into the living room. My head spinning, I walk quickly down the tiny hall that leads to the master bedroom. The nausea gets worse and I start to run, vaguely hearing Luc say, “What the fuck?”

I turn into my room, careen off the door jamb as my shoulder slams into it, and then right myself. I skid into the bathroom and drop to my knees at the toilet so hard I know there will be bruises there tomorrow.

Barely making it over the top, I open my mouth and vomit like I’m being exorcised. There goes my 3 A.M. snack of pretzels and ice cream as it hits the water with an echoing splash off the toilet bowl. After the first explosion is out, I take a deep breath, hear Luc’s footsteps in the bathroom, then heave again with so much force I think my stomach starts to come out. I also make the most horrific grunt-crying type of noise as I expel not as much, but enough it splashes again.

“Jesus, Stephy,” I hear Luc say, but he sounds like he’s in a box or something. Maybe I blew out my own eardrums with the violence of how I just vomited.

I heave again but nothing comes out.

A cold cloth is then placed against the back of my neck as I hug the toilet, and Luc rubs my lower back as I heave again. My ribs actually hurt and I choke on some residual but highly acidic bile and I wait for it to happen again.

But to my immense relief, the nausea disappears just as suddenly. In fact, I’m in the post-vomit orgasmic-like bliss that overtakes you where you feel like you could run a marathon because that’s how good you feel after throwing up.

I push back from the toilet, one hand coming to hold the cloth at the back of my neck before flopping over onto my butt with a terrible groan. My bathroom is small, but I can lean back against the vanity cabinet and stretch my legs out. Rolling my head, I look at Luc, who is kneeling so close to me my thigh is pressed up against his knees.

My eyes drop to my legs, then back to him. “I didn’t shave and this close you can see the stubble. I’m gross.”

“You just filled a toilet with vomit,” he says with a smile, then sits beside me. “I’m pretty sure it’s not your legs that are gross.”

I snort, then we both start laughing. I move the wet cloth from the back of my neck to wipe my face as I move on to chuckles and then silence as we sit side by side.

“So that’s morning sickness, huh?” Luc hazards a damn good guess.

“I’m thinking sausage might not do it for me,” I mutter as I roll my head back and stare at the toilet. I then groan at the thought of having to go through this every day. “I can’t do this.”

My voice is extra whiny on purpose, so I’m assuming Luc knows I’m teasing about that as well, also because he chuckles as he brings a hand down to my bare thigh and squeezes. I was prepared for this, and while being nauseous is like the worst thing in the world, I’m pretty sure it’s not what I need to be worrying about. No, that would be pushing a bowling ball out of my vagina.

Rolling my head back left, I look at Luc again, and he’s smiling at me. “I’ve got your back.”

“You can’t hold my hair over the toilet each time I’m sick,” I point out.

“No, but you can call me if I’m not here and tell me all about it,” he says, and fuck…he’s serious. That’s not a joke. “I will totally commiserate with you.”

And that, right there.

That brutally honest offer of true empathy hits me straight in the middle of my chest, which squeezes to the point I can’t breathe. We stare at each other a moment, and my mind races to make a joke.

Talk about the weather.

Hell, I’d take another round of vomit to make this sensation go away.

If I was feeling okay, I’d distract him with sex, but that’s out.

But then my lungs sort of expand and I’m able to take a breath in. When I blow it out, the tension is gone and I feel back to normal.

Sort of.

I still know without a doubt that Luc is in this for the long haul with this pregnancy. Put what we have in bed aside, he wants to help me.

I don’t know what to do with that. I’m not sure I can handle the feelings that are being produced. Outside of Hilda, there’s never been anyone who looked out for me, and it’s incongruous to everything I’ve ever learned in life about people and relationships.

So I move past it until I can figure it out.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you that you aren’t getting any this morning,” I tell Luc sadly. Yes, I’m sad because I was very much looking forward to getting naked and carnal with him again. “I need to let my stomach settle a bit.”

“I don’t mind,” he assures me, because despite everything, Luc is a gentleman.

“Why don’t you head out and go enjoy your day,” I suggest kindly. “Salvage your Sunday. I’m going to lie on the couch and take it easy this morning.”

“Like I said…you’re cute,” he says with a smirk, and then pushes up off the floor. Staring down at me, he points to the sink. “Brush your teeth, because while I may not be fucking you, I will be kissing you at some point.”

I just blink at him in a daze, not really understanding. “Huh?”

“I’m going to hang out with you here,” he says, but then amends, “actually, I’m going to have you tell me what does sound good for breakfast and I’m going to get it for you, and then I’m going to hang out with you. We can watch movies on the couch, and if you’re feeling better later I can fondle you. It will be a great Sunday, trust me.”

It’s absolutely impossible for me not to smile, and he takes this as my assent as he holds his hand out to me. I clutch it hard and he pulls me up from the floor so quickly I stumble and fall into him. His hands go to my shoulders to steady me, but he pulls his head back from me with an exaggerated grimace.

“You are not kissing me until you brush the vomit out of your mouth,” he scolds as he turns me toward the sink.

I shrug his hands off me and growl as I snap up my toothbrush. “I wasn’t trying to kiss you, jackass. I stumbled into you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says as he slaps me on my ass.

I give a tiny yelp as I whip around to glare at him, and I consider kicking him in the nuts, but then I melt when I see the intense expression on his face. It’s filled with wonder and awe. “You are so fucking sexy when you get mad.”

I roll my eyes at him and turn to grab the toothpaste, putting a little too much on the brush before I jam it into my mouth. I look at my reflection above the sink and try to ignore Luc.

This becomes impossible when he steps up behind me.

I brush my teeth and try to ignore the goose bumps that break out when his hands come to my hips. He stands a good foot taller than me, so he simply looks at me in the mirror over my head.

With his eyes locked on mine, my brush goes still in my mouth when he squeezes me gently. “You are so fucking sexy all the time.”

I just stand there, almost hypnotized by the deep rumble of his voice and the way his eyes hold me with their intensity.

“Even with your vomit breath and hairy legs, I still have a hard-on for you.”

And to prove this, he steps into me, pressing his erection into my lower back. My eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when they open, his gaze has softened.

After pressing his lips to the back of my head, he says, “Now what do you want to eat for breakfast?”

I blink once, then again, mentally shaking myself out of my Luc-induced trance. Leaning over the sink, I spit out my toothpaste and look back up at his reflection.

I smile at him and say, “Plain oatmeal, I think. I have some in my cupboard.”

Luc grins at me and winks. “I’m on it.”

And then he’s gone and I don’t understand why I keenly feel the absence of him just now.