Page 22 of Tangled Desires

“We fucked in his car.”

Isla’s eyes pop. “Holy fuck! What was it like?”

“Intense. Like really intense, Isla. Rough, but the good kind. I’ve never been fucked like that. I’m talkingleg-shakingorgasm. Isquirtedon him. You know me—when have I ever told you I squirted on a guy’s dick?” I let it sink in, watching her eyes widen. “The man knows how to fuck, is all I’m saying.”

Isla stares at me. “Christ almighty! That’s wild.”

“Very wild. But it won’t happen again.”

“Why not?”

“Because… Isla, no. That was a one-time thing, to get rid of whatever sexual tension was there.”

“Did you use a condom?” Isla studies me for a moment. “Well, judging by the look on your face, I’m going to take that as a no,” she says, eyes narrowing.

I glance away, the knot in my stomach tightening. “No, we didn’t,” I admit. “But I took the morning-after pill. I went before work the next morning.” I groan, rubbing my temples. “It was mortifying. The woman who served me knows my dad. Fantastic.”

Isla sighs, shaking her head. “Alright, so you took the pill. Have you gotten your period yet?”

I hesitate, my heart racing. “They’re irregular, Isla. You know that.”

“I still think you should take a test.”

“No. The pill works. I’ll get my period any day now, probably.”

Isla tilts her head, unconvinced. “Maybe, but did you know the morning-after pill isn’t one hundred percent? It’s about eighty-five percent effective if taken within twenty-four hours. And it’s less effective if you were ovulating when you—”

“I wasn’t ovulating!” I cut her off. “And anyway, my chances are so slim. PCOS, low egg count—remember?”

“But there’s always a chance.”

“Very slim,” I counter.

“Maybe not so slim,” she says quietly. My mind races, flashing through the last few weeks, tripping over memories I’d rather forget. My stomach flips at the thought—not from desire this time. Pregnancy? That has never felt like a real possibility for me.

Irregular periods, screwed-up ovulation—same old shit. I ditched the pill a few months ago because I couldn’t stand the mood swings, fatigue, and weight gain. Did it fix anything? Of course not. My periods are still all over the place. My doctor at the time suggested that I’d probably need to freeze my eggs because my count’s so low.

Just like my mother. One of the two things I got from her: a low egg count and my blue eyes. Now I’m sitting here, wondering if I’ve just royally screwed myself over.

“Please, Isla. This is me we’re talking about. Imogen Whitley, the girl with the obstinate ovaries.”

“I think you should take a test, Imogen.” Isla pulls out her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering some. Our pharmacy does house deliveries, so I’m getting a few,” she says, typing away like a woman on a mission.

“Oh, God, this is getting way too real,” I mutter. “Wait. Why are you ordering them? We could just go out and get one.”

“And leave you now? Like this? Not a chance. It’ll take too long, and I’ve got Callie with me. They’ll be here in fifteen.” I pace the room, my mind spinning—Harrison, the last few weeks, and the sickening thought that my body might betray me in the one way I never saw coming.

In the bathroom, I’m practically hopping from foot to foot. Isla made me chug a whole glass of water, and now I’m busting to pee.

She’s lining up the tests like she’s preparing for some military operation. “Did you really need to buy all of these?” I pick up a box, squinting at the wordsTriple Check plus Date.

“Yes. One digital, two normal. You know, just in case,” Isla says, handing me the first test. “It’s better to have too many than not enough.”

I nod, already regretting everything. I crinkle the packaging, stalling, trying to delay what’s coming. Isla shoves one in my hand. “Is this the one that tells you straight up?”

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