Page 68 of Hat Trick Daddies

I can’t help but laugh, even as I feel like death warmed over. Their sweetness is almost overwhelming.

>> Thanks guys, but I’m okay. Promise.

The emojis start flooding in, hearts, winks, and even a few random gifs. Each of them seems to be trying to outdo the others, vying for the title of “Sweetest Guy of the Year”.

I hug the blanket closer, letting their love wash over me. How did I get so lucky? Three incredible men, all so different, yet all so devoted in their own ways.

It’s almost too good to be true.

A soft chime interrupts my scrolling through their messages. I glance at the new notification and see an email from the pharmacy.

Your prescription has shipped! Apologies for the delay in fulfilling your order. Expect delivery in 2–3 business days.

My brow furrows. Prescription? Then it hits me, my birth control. The one I haven’t had on hand for…how long now?

My heart skips a beat as the realization sinks in.

I’ve always used birth control for practical reasons, managing acne, keeping my periods regular. It was never about contraception because, well, I wasn’t sexually active until…now.

The air feels heavy around me as my mind races. I open my pharmacy app, pulling up the refill history. Two weeks overdue. Two whole weeks without even realizing it.

My stomach flips again, but this time, it’s not just nausea, it’s full-blown panic.

I bolt to the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. Leaning against the sink, I grip the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are pale, my eyes wide with fear.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

My mind replays every moment from the past two weeks, every time I’ve been with the guys, every time all three of them indiscriminately came inside me.

The laughter, the intimacy, the heat of their touches, all of it flashing before me in vivid, overwhelming detail.

I sit on the edge of the tub, my knees pulled to my chest, as a wave of nausea rolls through me again. This can’t be happening.

Dragging myself to the toilet, I lean over, the cold porcelain pressing against my skin. My stomach clenches, and I get sick again, my body trembling.

Afterward, I slump back against the wall, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I press a hand to my forehead, willing myself to calm down.

Think, Ally. Think. It’s not guaranteed. It’s probably nothing.

But the gnawing fear won’t let go.

What have I done?

I pull myself together, wiping my eyes and splashing some cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, pale and shaky, but I force myself to move.

Throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, I tug the hood over my head and slip on my sneakers.

The walk to the car feels surreal. My heart pounds as I slide into the driver’s seat and pull out of the driveway. The streets blur past as I make my way to the local pharmacy, the neon "Open 24 Hours" sign indicating I’ve come to the right place.

Stepping inside, I’m hyperaware of everything, the fluorescent lights glaring overhead, the soft muzak playing, the occasional squeak of a cart wheel.

My hands tremble as I walk down the aisle, scanning the shelves until I find the pregnancy tests. Grabbing a box that has a bunch of tests in it, I clutch it to my chest, as if shielding it from view.

At the register, the cashier, a disinterested girl with chipped blue nail polish, lazily asks, “Anything else you need?” Her tone is indifferent, but my mind twists it into judgment. My cheeks burn as I stammer, “N-no, just this.”

Her lackadaisical movements only intensify my spiraling thoughts as she bags the test and hands me the receipt. I fumblemy way out, feeling like every pair of eyes in the store is boring into me, even though no one cares.

The drive home feels like a blur. By the time I pull into my driveway, my heart is racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.

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