Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating - Christina Lauren Page 0,84

her jaw.

I glance over her shoulder to the illuminated clock dial on the front of the stove. It’s 7:18. I take a breath, silencing the need to make up for lost time.

My mouth settles on hers and lingers. She smiles.

“Good morning, Josh Im.”

I kiss her chaotic hair. “I’ll say.”

I let myself savor this, the simple joy of standing in the bright light of her kitchen, arms wrapped around each other, and knowing that I don’t have to hold back now. But it’s the way she’s holding me—the way she clings with her face pressed to my neck—that gives me pause. She’s not playfully gnawing on my shoulder, or threatening to suck giant hickeys into my skin. She’s not asking if I want to go roller-skating to the bagel shop before work. She’s just so quiet.

Of course, it’s okay for Hazel to be quiet sometimes, but this feels different. It feels like a silence that’s full of something—a worry, a question, maybe an uncertainty.

I search my brain for something to say. I want to ask her if she knows about Emily being pregnant. I want to ask her whether she’ll stay at my house tonight, and every night after. I want to ask her to say the words one more time before she leaves for work, the quiet I love you too, you know.

She turns her luminous brown eyes up to my face. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering what you’re thinking,” I say with a grin.

“We have big things to discuss,” she says quietly. “Remember?”

“Still? I thought the ‘I love you’ covered it. What else is there?”

She stretches, kissing me. “You love me?”

“I do.”

“And you’re free tonight?”

I run my hands down her body. “You don’t want to talk now, while you get ready?”

She shakes her head and it drags her lips across mine, back and forth. “Tonight.” With a smile, she steps back and turns to walk to her bedroom.

There’s a stack of mail on the counter, a Harry Potter coloring book, and a receipt under a pile of change. Three letters stand out to me.

e.p.t.

Nothing sinks in right away, but the letters are like a dissonant chime. Almost distractedly, I lean in, pushing aside a quarter to read the entire line.

e.p.t. first respo . . . 5 @ $8.99 ea

Pregnancy tests? Did Hazel buy the tests for Emily?

Confusion laces my thoughts together, but my heart starts pounding pounding pounding as the row of dominoes tumbles.

The blood last night. Hazel’s panic. Big things we need to discuss tonight.

My eyes snag on the dark corner of a photo under her keys. I’ve never held one of these, but I know what it is.

When I pull the ultrasound photo free, I already know what I’m going to see, but it knocks the breath out of my chest anyway.

Bradford, Hazel

November 12

9w3d

And, in the very center, a round body, a head, two tiny buds for arms, two tiny buds for legs.

My own legs nearly give out and I sit heavily on the barstool, staring at the photo in my hand. I know Hazel hasn’t slept with anyone but me in . . . well, a long time. And the first night we had sex—drunk sex, floor sex, I might be falling for you sex—was two months ago.

Emily isn’t pregnant—Hazel is. She’s been pregnant this entire time, and we had no idea.

I stand, unsteady, and put the photo back beneath her keys, tilting my face to the ceiling. It isn’t panic. It isn’t dread. It’s shock—yes, definitely this is a surprise—but . . . I close my eyes and I can see it. I can see Hazel pregnant. Can see how it would feel to crawl into bed next to her, put my head on her belly and listen. I can see my parents losing their minds, Emily going overboard with gifts. In this moment, with these thoughts running wild through my brain, I grow nearly light-headed. And I understand completely Hazel’s panic last night.

Holy shit, she was bleeding.

I come up behind her while she’s brushing her hair and balance my shaking hands on her hips.

“Hey, you.” She leans back into me and then turns in my arms, stretching to kiss me.

Shock has left a metallic tang in my mouth and numbs me, making me feel like my hands aren’t mine. “I want to go with you this morning.”

Her face furrows in confusion. “To school?”

“To the doctor.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to do that. I know you have a busy morning, too. It’s