the one to fanboy over Nixon last time he was here.
The strained smile that had been on Nixon’s face moments before disappeared in the span of a breath, replaced by a charming, confident grin as he outstretched his hand. Tyler shook it, not bothering to try and hide his awestruck gaze. Shane, Julie’s boyfriend, quickly joined Tyler in fanboying all over the place.
“Dude,” Shane said. “That scramble play for the winning touchdown last year against the Titans was sick!”
Nixon nodded, his dark eyes calm, cool, calculated—you’d think there was a camera hidden somewhere in here.
My stomach tightened, and I blew out a breath. God, I guess there could be—I mean, we all had cell phones, right? Any one of my numerous roommates could whip one out and start recording—
“Is it cool if we get a picture?” Tyler interrupted my thoughts, proving exactly what I’d been thinking.
Poor Nixon, who could live like that? No wonder he had so many different faces—the one I’d seen when I’d dropped our baby bomb on him, the one he wore when he’d first heard his baby’s heartbeat, and the one he allowed the media to see.
“Sure,” Nixon said, his tone polite and accepting.
I chewed on my lip as I watched him take several selfies with the guys, and wondered what kind of face he’d wear when no one was watching.
“Guys,” I said when Tyler and Shane had started spouting off past Raptor stats.
“Oh, right,” Shane said, blinking the stardust out of his eyes. He shuffled back to the couch, Tyler on his heels after saying a quick thank you to Nixon.
I jerked my head toward my room, waiting for Nixon to follow.
“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” he said as we walked down the hallway. “But—”
“Oh, God!” I groaned, covering my nose and mouth with my palm. Julie’s damn fresh-water fish tank sat on a pillar tucked into a decorative alcove in the hallway just outside my room, and the metallic-fishy smell had been unbearable recently.
I bolted down the hallway, rushing for the one and only bathroom in our place, and thanked God no one occupied it as I hurried through the door. I barely made it to the toilet in time before the little breakfast of saltines I’d eaten made a comeback.
Warm hands touched my back, smoothing circles near my spine. For a second, I figured they were Heather’s, but then I realized just how big and strong they felt against me. I jolted a little as I turned my head to find Nixon hovering behind me, a concerned look in those dark eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked gently.
I turned back to the toilet and retched again.
Brilliant. Just what I needed—a side of mortification to go with my overwhelming uncertainty of life right now.
Taking deep, slow breaths, I concentrated on soothing the nausea rolling my stomach. Once I felt we’d reached the safe zone, I flushed and pushed off the porcelain, instantly heading to the sink to brush my teeth. Nixon watched me, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
“Okay,” I said before covering my mouth and nose with my palm. I motioned for him to follow me again and hurried into my bedroom while holding my breath. Nixon shut the door so fast behind him you’d think a defensive end snapped at our heels, and I may have melted just a bit for him in that moment. I dropped my hand, inhaling the fish-free scent of my room.
Nixon’s gaze darted over my bed tucked into the corner and covered with psychology books, and then Heather’s across the room, blankets crumpled in one big ball atop it. He surveyed the laundry, and the cluttered desk between our beds and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
I bit back a laugh. He’d been just as uncomfortable as the first time he’d seen it.
“Has it gotten worse since the ultrasound?” Nixon finally asked, gesturing behind him toward the closed door.
I shrugged, sinking onto my bed. “Only every other hour or so.”
His eyes widened, and he raked his fingers through his hair.
“It’s normal,” I said, my tone reassuring. “The doctor told me a ton of women get this sick in the first two trimesters—”
“It can last that long?”
I nodded. “Some women get better after the first trimester ends, others take longer.” God, I hoped it wouldn’t last the whole nine months, but even if it did, I would endure it. I smoothed my hand over my still flat belly, warmth filling my chest.
“Did the doctor give you anything