Page 32 of Interception

“I…” I don’t know what to say. Silence hangs in the space between us.

“If you’re asking for my opinion because you think I don’t want to have a kid with you, I can answer that right now.”

“Okay.”

“I want it.” My heart is hammering in my chest. “I want you.”

“Coop…” He interrupts me with a slow, sensual, soul-shattering kiss.

“Just think about it. I won’t pressure you.” He pulls back, just enough to hold my gaze, his ice-blue eyes filled with compassion. “This could be great. We could be great, Zee.” His lips find mine, the soft flick of his tongue melting me from the inside out. Is he right? Could we make this work?

“You’re not going to want me when I’m all fat and hormonal. It’s not going to be sexy when I’m covered in baby vomit and changing diapers.”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to have a killer rack for the next eight-ish months. And I’ve heard that pregnant chicks get super horny. You’re already a dirty little minx. I can only imagine how filthy you’re going to be when those hormones really kick in.”

“Stop!” I say, shoving his shoulder playfully. He gestures a pair of huge breasts, giving me a sly wink and his trademark smile. “This is serious. We’re talking about being in each other’s lives, whether we’re together or not, for the rest of our lives.”

“I know it’s serious. Being a dad is serious. I should know, my dad was a deadbeat, and he split when I was in the seventh grade, never to be heard from again. I can do this, Zee. I can be a good dad. I can be a good husband.”

“Whoa, slow down there, sparky. Husband?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not marrying you because I got knocked up. I don’t expect anything from you, and I’m not asking for anything. I’m not that girl, the one who takes a Delorian back to 1955 and needs a ring on her finger.”

“You still haven’t said if you want to keep the baby… our baby.”

“I was an unwanted kid, the surprise my parents never wanted. I’ve always vowed that I’d never do that.”

“So you want to terminate?” As he voices the option without judgment or malice, I know my answer.

“No, I don’t want to get rid of it. I want it. Sure, this wasn’t planned, but life’s timing isn’t always what we expect. If you’re on board, then yes, I want to have our baby.”

He lifts me into his arms, spinning me around with a huge smile on his face. He’s genuinely happy. “Yes! I freaking love you, Zoey Porter.” A wave of nausea washes over me as he spins me one more time.

“Put me down!” Before my feet touch the ground, I lose the contents of my stomach, which wasn’t much to begin with. I run for the bathroom, but it’s like locking the barn door after the horses have bolted. There’s a trail of vomit from the living room to where I now kneel, retching up bile.

“What can I do?” Ugh. I hate that he’s seeing me like this.

“Nothing. Just go.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll go clean the floor. Shout if you need anything.”

“No. Do not clean up my vomit. See, this is what I was worried about. The sexy magic is gone already. We’ve descended into a puke-fest within minutes of you finding out. Just go home. I’ll be fine. I can clean up my own messes.” Instead of doing as I ask, Coop perches on the edge of the tub, the warmth of his hand tracing circles on my back. It feels so good, but with every gag, I grow more and more uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, baby. Deep breaths. I’ll go and get you some water.”

“Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t want you here. I don’t want you watching me puke. I don’t want you watching me hugging the toilet. Just go already.” Without another word, he leaves me to my pity party. If this is what I have to look forward to in the coming months, it’s going to be worse than I thought. I have a high tolerance for pain, and I don’t usually complain, but my Achilles heel is physically being sick. Nausea makes me wallow in self-pity. I don’t suppose anyone particularly enjoys it, but I’m a big baby when I puke.

I lay on the bathroom floor for a while, enjoying the cool tile beneath me. Closing my eyes, I try to make the nausea pass through sheer force of will, concentrating on my breathing. I’m not sure how long I lie there, eventually pulling a towel from the linen closet and using it as a pillow. Coop was right to leave when I told him to. I’m in no fit state for company, and I don’t want him seeing me like this.

It’s not until my stomach settles a little that I hear movement. Either I’m being burglarized, or Coop never left. I’m sort of hoping for the former. I’m a puke-covered mess—a burglar would leave me with a shred of dignity.

The door opens, and there he stands, looking as breathtaking as always.

“Enough is enough. I’m taking you to bed.”

“I told you to go.”

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