One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,78

you moved in here.”

“God no.” she exclaims with a laugh. “Calm down, would you?”

My eyes narrow. “You told me you two used to date.”

“We never had sex though,” she replies with a scoff. “Chill out. You’re looking at me like I’m that crazy girl in the hospital cafeteria all over again.”

I purse my lips and relax as images of her working there day in and day out flood my mind. “I sometimes miss that crazy girl.”

Her brows lift. “She’s right here, reading smut to her belly.”

She angles her head and eyes me curiously. “What about your past relationships?”

“What about them?” I ask as her breasts bob in and out of the bubbles.

She watches me curiously. “Were you ever serious with anybody?”

“I was serious about medicine,” I reply honestly. “Anything beyond that was only a distraction.”

“Like me,” she replies with a Cheshire cat smile as she pulls her foot from my hand and hooks it around my hip to use as leverage. She glides across the bottom of the tub so she’s straddling my lap. “Only I got knocked up so now you’re stuck with me.”

“It’s not so bad being stuck here.” I wrap my hands around her and rub the sudsy water up and down her back in slow, sensual strokes. The tip of my cock nudges her belly as she dips her head to kiss me.

Suddenly, she gasps and pulls away. “Oh, my God!”

My face falls, at the shaken look on her face. “Lynsey, what is it? What’s the matter?” Through the soapy water, her hands clutch her twenty-two-week belly. Eighteen thousand nightmare scenarios go off in my mind.

If this is preterm labor, the baby isn’t gestationally developed enough to survive outside of the womb. And odds are meds couldn’t stop the contractions if that’s what’s even going on. Something else could be wrong with her entirely. She could have a kidney infection which could lead to sepsis, or she could have high blood pressure which can lead to a stroke. She could have an indirect infection from a fucking papercut. It could be placental abruption, a uterine tear, or fucking worse than anything, a blood clot in her brain that kills her instantly.

Her brown, watery eyes meet mine and her expression morphs into pure joy. “Josh, I just felt the baby move!”

My eyes drop to her belly accusingly. “What?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Seriously! I’ve been feeling little bubbles for the past week but I wasn’t sure if it was the little peanut or gas. But right now, there’s no doubt. The baby is moving!”

A shiver ripples through my whole body as I remove my hands from her back and wrap them firmly on the edges of the tub.

“You want to feel?” She smiles excitedly and reaches for my hand.

I tighten my grip on the tub. “That’s okay.”

“What do you mean?” Her smile falters.

“I don’t need to feel it,” I reply through clenched teeth, a sense of unease washing over me from this very intimate moment.

“What? Why not? It’s incredible.”

She smiles again, and it’s so big and genuine and heartfelt that I fucking hate myself for ruining this for her.

“I’ve been drinking and I’d just rather not.”

I make a move to get out of the tub. Her gaze heavy on me as I grab a towel out of the cupboard and wrap it around my waist. I turn to her, sitting on her knees in the tub still clutching her belly, hurt, confusion, and disappointment written all over her face.

I gesture toward the door. “I’m going to go check the food you put in the oven. We don’t need the smoke alarm going off again.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave, willfully ignoring that ache in my chest because it’s not the only thing that I’m not interested in feeling.

“How’s my knocked-up sister who’s bringing shame to the Jones family?” my sister peals into the phone, her judgmental voice coming through loud and clear.

“Hey to you too, Christine,” I drone, propping my cell against my shoulder as I make a pot of de-caffeinated coffee, wearing nothing but one of Josh’s white T-shirts.

“Good God, it’s been a month and Mom is still blubbering to me about your situation.”

“Yeah,” I reply flatly and sigh. “Our phone calls are not going well.”

“She really doesn’t want you living with that doctor,” she says, her voice clearly amused. “I mean, it’s hilarious actually because, in any other situation, you being with a doctor would be top of the fold news on her