Page 59 of Creed

“I’m acting like an idiot.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to chastise her for talking or thinking about herself like that, but I hold back.

“I’m sure I’m not pregnant.” She stares out the window, playing with the seatbelt across her torso. “I’m religious about taking my pills at the same time every day. My cycle is probably just doing its irregular thing, even with the pill.”

“How late are you?”

“I missed it last month, but I was… stressed. And it’s a week late from when I should’ve gotten it this month.”

Stopping at a red light, and unable to resist, I cup Sophie’s chin and turn her to look at me. “We’ll figure this out.”

A tear beads on the bottom eyelashes of her left eye, and I catch it with my thumb. She closes her eyes, looking in pain. I feelher pain and misery right to the marrow of my bones because it matches and calls to my own.

We drive in silence the rest of the way to the hotel, and I pull into the underground parking rather than to the front valet. I text Abel, the head of hotel security, to tell him I’m on the premises as he’ll have my vehicle monitored. Like before, I’m not worried about theft. It’s someone planting something that could compromise my safety, but more importantly, Sophie’s safety as she’s with me.

Sophie exits the vehicle before I can get around to her door.

I miss all the other times she had been in my car: the first time, when she drove it while Iacquaintedthe two of us; the second time, as she lay stretched out, bare from the waist down, while I tormented us both; and the week of domesticated bliss of driving her to class before I went to work and picking her up at the end of the day.

She clutches the strap of her bag and is silent as I lead her to the elevator. I pull a card from my wallet and flash it on the reader, then enter a code, and the elevator bypasses all the floors as it lifts to the floor my private suite is on.

I rarely stay here, as I have my penthouse; however, I sometimes stay here as it’s closer to the business core. Or I used to bring the women I’d fuck here—not that I had brought any here since I met Sophie. I hadn’t been with another woman, even after she told me I needed to let her go.

The elevator doors open, and I stop Sophie from exiting. I check that there aren’t any threats before I beckon her to come out. Placing my hand on her back, I don’t process my action until I feel her tremble underneath my palm. I don’t remove my hand, though, because that’s like asking a man who’s being electrocuted to remove his hand from the power source.

I let us into the suite, and she cautiously walks in, scanning around. She doesn’t say anything as she takes in the elegant room with vaulted ceilings, tapestries around the large arched windows, the plush sofas and chaise lounge, and the wingback chairs on either side of a fireplace. One of the staff started a fire after I called and it gives a cozy feeling for the end-of-January.

Sophie's arms are wrapped around her middle as she turns to me. “You own this hotel?”

“I do.”

“Did you build it?”

“No. It was built in the 1920s building boom. Good solid bones, but I renovated it.”

She swivels her head around again. “If the rest of the place is like this suite, it’s beautiful.”

I hear the pride in her voice. And fuck, if that doesn’t mess with my head even more and adds a new layer to the tortured pain twisting in my chest.

There’s a knock on the door, and her face flashes with panic, which is like a mule kick to my gut.

She doesn’t want to be seen with me.

I walk to her instead of keeping my distance. She watches me with wide eyes filled with longing, pain, and wariness. That trifecta adds to my twisted insides.

“Maybe now’s a good time to take that test, yeah?” I suggest, giving her the solution to her desire to not be seen with me.

She bites her lip, looking up at me, then nods and goes to the bathroom, softly closing the door.

Once she’s inside, I open the suite door, pass the room service staff a hundred-dollar bill, and wave away his offer to bring the cart into the room. Closing the door, I roll the cart over to the table and park it beside it, but don’t lift any dome lids off, so everything stays warm. I put ice into our glasses, then make the half-ginger ale half-club with a squeeze of lime that Sophie likes.

She still hasn’t come out, and I frown at the bathroom door. Deciding to check, I knock on the door.

“Everything okay, angel?”

There’s no answer, so I knock again. If things hadn’t gone down the way they had between us, I would be in there with her as she peed on the stick. I can imagine her horror and embarrassment if I insisted on my presence in there tonight, though.

“I can’t pee,” she finally says, which makes me chuckle. “It’s not funny, Creed.”

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