Page 138 of Puck Prince

My stomach is in knots, my insides swirling around like a drain when Owen rolls onto his side to face me.

“Hey there, roomie.” He kisses my shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

I respond by leaping out of bed and making it to his bathroom just in time to throw up.

“Well, maybe I won’t get used to that.” He knocks a knuckle against the bathroom door. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I manage between retches.

“Sure, you sound like the picture of health in there.”

Morning sickness is actually part of a healthy pregnancy. Not that I can tell him that. But it’s actually been a while since I’ve had morning sickness. And this doesn’t feel like that. Something feels different, off.

Owen pushes the bathroom door open. From my peripheral, I see him leaning against the door frame in only his boxer briefs. If I wasn’t busy heaving the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I might be enjoying this real-life Calvin Klein underwear ad. As it is…

“Go away.” I grab the door and give it a pathetic push closed, but it bounces off Owen’s body, opening even farther than it was before.

“Are you sick?”

“Obviously,” I let out before puking again.

God. When did this become my life?

A few months ago, I was living out a romcom on Owen’s balcony—and on his couch and in his bed—and now we’re domesticated to the point of walking around in our underwear and watching each other puke. Next, we’ll be picking out burial plots.

“Do you think it’s something you ate? Maybe something didn’t settle well?”

Now that you mention it, carrying your offspring has been a tough pill to swallow.

“I have no idea.” I lean back against the wall with a sigh. I’m still sweating bullets, but at least my stomach seems to be empty.

“I can take you to Urgent Care and have them check you?—”

“No!” I yell and it makes Owen jump.

He’d get a worse jump scare if he took me to Urgent Care. That’s not the way I want him to find out he’s the father of this stomach bug.

“You work in healthcare. Don’t tell me you’re scared of the doctor.”

“I just don’t want to waste anyone’s time. It was probably something I ate, like you said.” I pull myself to my feet, ignoring the way my knees wobble. “I need to go to work.”

He winces. “I’m probably not supposed to say this?—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but you look a little rough.”

I spear him with a glare before looking in the mirror. I do look like hell—pale and blotchy with dark circles under my eyes.

“I’m just tired,” I say, pushing past him.

I am exhausted, but it’s not from lack of sleep. For it being our first night as official roomies, I slept incredibly. Owen’s bed is a massive upgrade from Kennedy’s couch—luxury line or not.

“Your uncle will give you the day off. We’re just doing drills and some kind of class about the importance of hydration or some shit, anyway.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He’s still padding around in almost nothing, all tan, toned skin and distracting bulges. “I know what you said, but I’m looking at you, Cal.”

---