What’s the most frequently cited nightmare that people have? That’s right. It’s the one where you’re speaking in front of a group, in your underwear and only your underwear. It doesn’t matter who’s in the audience, the implication is still there—nothing is more terrifying than this.

Except the nightmare had it all wrong.

Because I would’ve rather stood in my lacy black panties and bra in front of my peers than where I was currently sitting.

“You’re pregnant,” the woman in the white doctor’s coat repeated after I didn’t respond the first time.

Those two simple words were like lead cannonballs bouncing around in my stomach. I was going to be sick. As in, puking-out-my-guts sick. I eyed the trashcan, making sure it was within easy reach.

Dr. Sinclair studied me for a moment, possibly waiting for me to come out of my comatose state. After I’d decided five days ago the pregnancy test was indeed faulty, Erin had insisted I double-check with my physician. Better to be safe than sorry.

Of course, if I had done a better job being safe, I wouldn’t be sitting on the examining table feeling like I was standing in front of an execution squad. But unlike in the nightmare, there were no black lacy bra and panties involved.

My gaze dropped to the file in her hand. “Is there a chance the results are wrong?”

“There’s no doubt about it, Holly. You’re pregnant.” She wheeled the stool closer to me and sat on it. “I take it this wasn’t a planned pregnancy?”

I snorted a laugh. “It wasn’t even planned sex. It just kind of happened.” At least that had been the case the first time. Not so much while Josh and I were in Australia. And ever since then, my body had been whining about how much it craved an encore with Josh. All right, make that five or six hundred encores.

That was why I had agreed to go out with Brad the other night. How did it go?

Not bad at first. He picked me up at my apartment and took me to a restaurant. Nothing fancy, but it was still a nice place. Things had gone well at first—until something suddenly hit me. No, I don’t mean literally. Although a concussion might have gotten me out of the date sooner. It was just that Brad had been talking non-stop for the past fifteen minutes, and I had no idea what he was saying. I’d been smiling and nodding, but my mind had been somewhere else. Or more specifically, it had been thinking about how much fun I’d had with Josh in Australia—and I didn’t just mean the sex.

Not once did Brad realize I wasn’t even listening to him.

That was the first problem. The second one?

I was so aroused thinking about Josh, I had an even tougher time paying attention to Brad after that.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I was on a date with a good-looking guy and was super-aroused (even if it was because my thoughts were focused on the wrong guy), so I must have had sex. You would think so, right?

Wrong. My body threatened retaliation if I even considered having sex with Brad. Or more specifically, it threatened no more orgasms ever again—which when I thought about it, that pretty much summed up the one time I’d had sex with Brad.

And since I loved orgasms, I took the threat very seriously. But did that really matter? No—because I’d already decided there would be no second date this time around with Brad.

Which was probably just as well. What guy wanted to go out with a pregnant woman when the baby wasn’t his?

“You do have options,” Dr. Sinclair said, tone non-judgmental.

I did have options—I knew that. Choices I had to make for myself even though it took two to make a baby.

Some people would say that Josh had as much right as I did when it came to deciding the baby’s fate. Others would claim it was my body, my decision.

But given I knew Josh’s view on him having kids, the final decision was mine. The question was, if I decided not to terminate the pregnancy, would I be able to hand the baby off to another woman to raise?

If I had been an unwed teen, the question would’ve been easier to answer. But I was twenty-eight years old with a great-paying job. And how would my colleagues react to me going through nine months of pregnancy only to give away the baby in the end?

Did it even matter what they thought?

An image flashed in my mind of a little girl, smiling as we played on the beach together, searching for shells. A little girl who loved me unconditionally, the same way I loved her.

And I knew in that instant, while I might not have wanted kids, there was only one option that was right for me.

My hand went protectively to my stomach. “I’m going to keep it.”

It didn’t matter if the baby was a girl or a boy, I wanted this baby—even if I had to go it alone.

Even if I had no clue what I was doing.

“All right then,” Dr. Sinclair said. “Based on my calculations of your last menstrual cycle”—which I had roughly figured out at Erin’s insistence—“that puts you in your eleventh, almost twelfth week.”

Eleventh. Twelfth. Those were numbers. If there was one thing I understood, it was numbers. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re almost finished your first trimester. Second trimester begins at thirteen weeks.” Her smile was warm and reassuring—like a teddy bear to a young child. “Do you want to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

“Really? You can hear that now?”

Her smile widened at the awe in my voice. “Yes, you can.”

She helped me lie back on the exam table, adjusted my top to reveal my still-flat stomach, and squirted the cool gel onto my skin. She then moved a weird instrument around, searching…searching…searching.

“That’s my baby?” I asked once she had stopped moving the device at what sounded like a small panting puppy.

“Yes, it is.” Dr. Sinclair put the instrument away and wiped the gel from my stomach with a wad of tissues.

I really was having a baby. A pooping, crying, keep-you-up-all-night baby. A baby who would change my world.

The tears? Totally your imagination.

I blinked them away.

But for the first time since Erin suggested I might be pregnant, I no longer wanted to hide in an ocean of denial.

“I hope you don’t take it the wrong way, Holly, but do you know who the father is?”

I nodded. Shit. What was I going to tell Josh?

Or maybe I didn’t have to tell him anything.

Yes, because he’ll never notice you’re pregnant.

Although given we hadn’t seen each other since returning from Australia, there was a good chance he would never know.

Unless Kelsey told Trent.

And Trent told Josh.

Maybe I could bribe them to not say anything to him. I could bake them cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

But he has the right to know, the know-it-all voice pointed out.

Sure, he had the right to know, but that didn’t mean he wanted to know. By not telling him, I was doing him a favor.

The voice cackled. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night.

“It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I do recommend telling the father,” Dr. Sinclair said as if privy to the debate in my head.

After giving me samples of prenatal vitamins, a bunch of instructions on being pregnant, and follow up appointments for a physical and an ultrasound, I was sent on my merry way.

As I entered the busy waiting room, a nurse called the next patient’s name. A pregnant woman pushed herself up from her chair. The man with her smiled at her like she was his world. It was the same smile that she wore on her face.

My heart sighed a Wouldn’t-that-be-wonderful? sigh, while my hand settled on my stomach as if to block the baby’s view. He or she didn’t need to see what they were missing out on.

Oh, wait, could babies even see yet? What about hear? Ask me how to calculate derivatives for a company and I could show you. But I couldn’t tell you anything about having a baby.

Ignoring the pregnant couples in the room, I left to go on my first post-denial mission—to hit the bookstore. Once there, I wandered up and down the aisles, searching for what I needed.

At one point, I stumbled across the baby section, with onesies, baby blankets, and stuffed animals. Not quite what I was looking for.

A small floppy bear on the shelf caught my attention. It wasn’t a koala, but it was still adorable. It was the perfect present for the baby—to show him or her how much they were loved from the very beginning. I might’ve had no idea what I was doing when it came to being a mother, but I did know that much about this baby.

Taking the bear with me, I continued searching for the section I sorely needed. I eventually found it—and my eyes almost popped out of my head at the sheer number of books dealing with the topic of pregnancy and babies. Oh, boy.

Not knowing where to start or what was good, I randomly pulled out a book. What To Expect When You Are Expecting. Wasn’t that a movie?

I mentally added it to my list of movies to watch. Maybe it would be helpful.

Or not.

I found a few more books that looked interesting. Books about being pregnant and books about raising a healthy baby. If I was going to do this, I would do it right.

Turning around, I walked into a solid wall of male muscle that hadn’t been there before.

At the familiar deep and sinful male voice saying, “Hey,” I let out a startled shriek as the books and bear fell from my arms.