Page 26 of Not Ready

“Okay, that’s perfect. Did you pass your glucose screening?”

“I did. No gestational diabetes.”

“Great.” He hums again. “So, you’re having some swelling?”

“Yes, but I did drive for a few hours yesterday, and it was a really long day.”

“Let’s check the baby’s heart rate, and then I’ll give you a quick once-over.” Dr. Garza stands and heads over to fiddle with the exam table I’m sitting on. “Lean back for me.” I wiggle against the terrible crinkly paper, and he offers a hand for me to hold on to as I stretch back. He pulls out the part my legs rest on, and I exhale in pure relief when I don’t have to use my core to hold up my sore ankles.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He turns to grab the Doppler. “Go ahead and pull down your pants and lift your dress for me.”

I handle that, tucking my leggings just under the curve of my belly and pulling my dress up to just under my breasts.

My cheeks heat.

My stomach doesn’t look a damn thing like it did before this pregnancy started. The bottom curve is covered in flesh-colored stretch marks, and a couple of especially deep red ones have popped up recently. A few of my coworkers from the strip club gave me different creams and butters they swore would keep me from getting stretch marks, but I guess I’m genetically predisposed or something.

Holt is a gorgeous hunk of a man, who really has no reason to be here with me right now. It’s like I can feel his eyes burning into me as Dr. Garza positions the wand to check for Aurora’s heartbeat.

My eyes fly to Holt, and my head tilts when I spot him aiming his phone in my direction. “What are you doing?”

“I’m recording it for you.” His face breaks out into a killer smile as his dark curls fall over his forehead, but it’s the way his pale bluish-gray eyes sparkle that really gets me.

Damn, that makes my stomach all fluttery. It’s probably a good thing the doctor is checking the baby’s heart rate, not mine.

The whooshing sound fills the air as he locates her. I stay quiet, so he can keep track of everything. Once he’s done, he quickly measures my stomach and helps me get back to the original starting position.

“Well, I’m not too concerned with the swelling, since it’s predominantly in your lower extremities. That can happen when you spend time sitting or, for instance, riding in a car.” Dr. Garza pauses, grabbing his tablet.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Still no update to your file.” He turns to Holt. “It might not seem important, but don’t be lazy. Fill out the family medical history before your next visit.”

My jaw falls.

Oh no.

I guess I can see why he might make that assumption, but how completely mortifying.

“Yeah, you got it—” Holt starts.

“He’s not the father,” I say, staring at my lap. “If I had his medical information, then I would have?—”

The door opens and closes.

Bishop strides inside.

Dammit.

This is the one thing that could make that small misunderstanding even worse.

Chapter Eleven

Bishop

The office staff gives me hell on my way through, but I’m supposed to be in there. I’m fairly sure the nurse recognizes a feral alpha on the edge when she spots me because she shows me right to the room.

I hear Patrick Garza give Holt the third degree about his medical history, and my vision goes a little hazy.

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