Page 90 of Sideline Play

Scarlet

Can’t sleep without you

My Husband

On my way. I love you

Scarlet

I love you too but don’t rush. Take whatever time you need

My Husband

I’d rather be home with you, Scar

Scarlet

Good, because I need you here

My Husband

Twenty minutes tops

Scarlet

I’ll be waiting. Be safe ??

I must’ve dozed off while scrolling throughInstagramand taking screenshots of books I’ll later forget I wanted to read because I’m waking up again, this time to the feeling of my phone being slipped from my fingers and lips pressed to my forehead. Though it couldn’t have been long, my hands are heavy with sleep as I reach for Remington and try to pull him into bed with me. He comes easily, slipping under the blankets and wrapping an arm over me while another scoops under my pillow. For a brief moment, his hand that’s reached over my waist hovers where it normally rests low on my abdomen. Lacing my fingers over top of his, I bring it down the rest of the way, pushing up my cami just enough to feel his warm, calloused palm against my lower stomach.

“Sleep now; worry tomorrow,” I mumble, kissing him over my shoulder.

It’s not until I feel his lips return my affection that I close my eyes again. And when I finally feel his body relax around my mine, his thumb sweeping back and forth on my skin, I fall asleep.

“Take the test, please.”

“No,” I repeat, stepping back from him as if the tests he holds are a metal detector and can sense pregnancy if I get too close.

“Scar, you’re being impossible.”

“Me?I’mbeing impossible?You’rethe one who woke me up to have me go pee on a stick because the instructions say morning urine provides the most accurate results.”

As if he didn’t hear me, he continues, “Just take the test. Any of them, all of them.” He holds out four different pink ones, a purple one, and two blue ones.

“How many did you buy?”

“All of them. Name brand, storebrand, I didn’t care. I got one of each in case we get a false positive or false negative because apparently that’s a thing.” Digging around in the bag he also pulls out a package of specimen cups and says, “Here, I got you these too so you just have to pee one time and we can stick the tests in.”

Cupping his face, I enunciate, “You. Are. Insane.” Then, stomping into the bathroom, I snatch my useless birth control case from the drawer, open it up, and say, “See these?” pointing to the three remaining peach colored pills. “This is how many days are left until my period. Those tests are a waste if I’m not even late yet.”

“I thought you’d say that,” he rebuts, shuffling through the ones in his hand. Picking out one pink and one blue, he tries to put them in my hand as he says, “So I got you these. They’resupposed to detect pregnancy hormones six daysbeforeyour missed period.”

Circling back to my original argument from when he first woke me up, I say, “Remi, please listen to me. I do not want to know right now.”

“Why though?”

“Because I need to figure out how I feel first!” I scream, making him jerk back from my outburst. Taking a breath, I softly apologize. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be screaming at you. I just need to know how I feel first and prepare myself. I need time.”

Finally dropping everything, Remington takes my hands and backs me up to sit on the edge of the tub. Kneeling before me, he rubs his hands over my thighs several times before soothing, “Baby, you don’t need to apologize. You’re stressed out. I’m stressed out. This whole thing is a mess.”

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