Page 44 of How to Catch a Rockstar

“And you have eggs?”

Normally, I ensure the refrigerators of all the members of the band are full when they arrive home from a concert tour but since all but Jett now have partners, I’ve stopped.

He opens the refrigerator and gasps.

“What? What’s wrong? Do I need to phone a cleaner?” I dig my phone out of my bag.

“No cleaner needed. The refrigerator is stocked.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t thank me. I was too busy getting railroaded into moving into a house with you last night to worry about filling the refrigerator.”

And crying my eyes out over my parents’ death but I am never discussing how I melted into Jett while sobbing. Never ever.

“The refrigerator fairy strikes again.” He grabs some butter and eggs.

While he cooks, I settle at the table. I set up my laptop, my tablet, and my phone and begin writing a to-do list for the day. I haven’t managed to finish the list when Jett sets a plate down in front of me.

“Order’s up!”

“Thanks,” I murmur before I inhale the scent of eggs. My stomach clenches and gurgles. Uh oh. I slap a hand over my mouth and jump from my chair before sprinting toward the bathroom.

I barely manage to flip the toilet seat up before I’m losing the contents of my stomach. Jett pulls my hair away from my face and gathers it on my neck as he rubs a hand up and down my back.

I finally finish throwing up and lean my head against the toilet. “Ugh.” Jett places a warm wet washcloth on my neck and I moan. “Feels good.”

“Are you done?”

“Good god, I hope so.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

“A doctor? Why would I need a doctor? Throwing up is perfectly normal when you’re pregnant. Not a fun normal but normal nonetheless.”

“You threw up a lot. And you haven’t eaten. Maybe we should go to the doctor anyway. Just to be certain nothing’s wrong.” His words jumble together as his eyes fill with panic.

I grasp his hand and squeeze. “Jett, I promise throwing up is perfectly normal. There’s no need for a doctor.”

He stares at me for a long moment. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He helps me to stand. “But you need to eat something.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

He escorts me back to the dining room. I halt before I get too close to the smelly eggs. He rushes forward and grabs the dish. He throws the eggs down the garbage disposal.

“How about some toast?” He twirls around the kitchen a few times. “We must have a toaster here somewhere.”

I giggle and point to the toaster next to the stove. “You mean that one?”

He blows out a breath. “There it is. One slice or two slices? Never mind. Two slices.”

He rushes around the kitchen finding bread and jam and making toast while I return to my work.

“Do you want to do a sniff test before the plate gets too close to you?” he asks as he approaches the table.

“Why?” I narrow my eyes on him. “Did you use egg butter?”

---