Page 91 of While We Waited

He sighs. “I guess I’m drowning in the shower. Or you could tell me what’s wrong.”

I giggle. “You think I’ll tell you what’s wrong rather than have sex with you? Have you met me?”

He sets me on my feet. My nipples harden as my breasts rub against the front of his shirt. My panties dampen as I imagine him sucking on my breasts. I love it when he lavishes my chest with attention.

“My sunshine is a sex fiend.”

“I’m not a sex fiend. I’m pregnant.”

Or, at least, I hope I’m still pregnant. What if there’s something wrong with the baby? Maybe I should call my doctor again. Dr. Katz is getting used to me. She didn’t even bother to yell at me the last time I phoned her after hours.

Hudson sits on the end of the bed and draws me near until I’m standing between his spread legs. He places his hands on my cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine? You look devastated.”

I nibble on my lip as I consider my answer.

“You’re going to think I’m a hypochondriac.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“Nova, my sunshine, you’re allowed to worry about your health. It’s natural you worry more than normal. Both of your parents died of cancer at young ages. Of course, you worry.”

“You don’t think I’m a worry wart?”

“You’re too beautiful to be a wart.”

I slap his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

He catches my hand and kisses my palm. “I know what you mean and I don’t give a shit. Worry as much as you want. Just don’t worry about worrying.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Nothing’s easy in this life.”

I don’t know. Loving Hudson is pretty easy. I nearly open my mouth to say as much but manage to clamp my lips shut before I admit I love him. He has enough to deal with without me blurting out how much I love him.

“Come on, Sunshine. Tell me why you’re worried. If I don’t know why you’re worried, I can’t handle it.”

“Handle it?” I scowl at him. “You don’t handle me.”

He snorts. “No one can handle you. I meant we can contact the doctor or get you medicine or consult a pregnancy book. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out and handle it.”

“You always know the right thing to say.”

He grunts.

“Except when you grunt.”

His fingers dig into my hips. “Tell me what’s wrong, Sunshine.”

“I’m nearly twenty-four weeks pregnant.”

He places a hand over my belly. “I’m aware.”

“But I haven’t felt the baby kick yet. I should have felt the baby kick by now. What if there’s something wrong with the baby? What if Sprog is in distress? What if—”

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