Page 77 of How to Catch a Rockstar

Jett chuckles as he leads me into the building. I check in for my appointment and we find seats in the corner.

The other women stare at Jett but there are no signs of recognition. This crowd apparently doesn’t know what the drummer of Cash & the Sinners looks like. Good. Because he’s mine and I’m not sharing.

“Ow.” Jett removes my nails from his thigh.

“Oops.”

He leans close to whisper in my ear. “Don’t be jealous. You’re the only woman I want.”

I ignore the shiver his breath on my skin causes. I refuse to get all hot and bothered before a doctor’s appointment.

“Aurora Sharpe!” A woman calls and I stand.

To my surprise, Jett stands with me. “All in.”

I nod. All in.

The nurse leaves us in the room after instructing me to strip and put on a gown.

“I didn’t know I’d get a strip tease today.”

I glare at Jett. “Turn around.”

He chuckles but he does as he’s told. Once I’m wearing the gown, he helps me onto the table. The doctor enters a few moments later.

“Good morning, I’m Dr. Edwards. And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe.”

Jett growls but I slap him before he can respond. “I’m Ms. Sharpe and this is Mr. Peterson, but you can call us Aurora and Jett.”

“Aurora and Jett.” She smiles. “Are you ready for your first ultrasound?”

Jett’s eyes light with excitement. “Yes.”

“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?”

“I don’t know.” I bite my lip as I consider the question. “What do you think?”

Jett bobs his head. “Yes. I want to know.”

I giggle. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“What?” He shrugs. “I’m excited.”

“I love an excited Daddy,” Dr. Edwards says as she preps the ultrasound machine. “What does Mom want?”

I love the sound of her calling me Mom. I can’t wait for our child to say it.

Jett squeezes my hand. “If we know the sex, it’ll help us figure out what clothes to buy and how to decorate the nursery.”

“We’re not doing pink for a girl and blue for a boy. We’re sticking to gender neutral colors and clothes.”

“I’ll need a second to come up with another excuse why we need to know the sex of the child,” Jett tells the doctor.

“How about names?” she suggests.

I groan. “You’re not supposed to be helping him.”

She snorts. “Can you blame me? I’m over sixty and I want to have his babies.”

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