Page 151 of Not Another Yesterday
And when he touches me? It’s like my body short-circuits. I come apart so fast now, like I’m primed for him, always on the cusp of falling.
I even asked Doctor Simmons about it at my last appointment. Half-embarrassed, half-desperate to understand what the hell was happening to me. She just smiled knowingly, like she’d heard it all before, and told me that, while some women don’t want to betouched at all during pregnancy, others experience increased arousal. Heightened sensitivity. Higher need.
“Increased blood flow,” she’d said, like that explained the way I’m constantly on fire.
I don’t think Ronan minds. I mean, he hasn’t complained once, always giving me exactly what I ask for and when. But sometimes it’s a little… inconvenient.
Like Sunday, when we went to the movies. I don’t even remember what we saw. Something loud and long and action-packed. All I remember is how I couldn’t stop staring at his hands, the shape of his mouth in the dim light. How, by the time the credits rolled, I was practically vibrating. I dragged him out by the arm, told him to drive us somewhere—anywhere—then climbed into the backseat of the Mustang before the car had even cooled. Then I rode him hard and fast until I found the release I had been craving.
Oh, the Mustang.
I swallow, my throat tightening a little. I tried to talk Ronan out of selling it, but it was already too late. He only told me after he had listed it. It was a sacrifice I didn’t want him to make. I know what that car meant to him. I saw it in his eyes yesterday, the way his jaw tensed when the middle-aged guy with the receding hairline showed up to take it. I watched Ronan hand over the keys, his fingers lingering just a second too long, like maybe he’d change his mind. Then the Mustang was loaded onto a transport truck and gone.
We stood there on the sidewalk for a long time afterward. I wrapped my arms around him from behind, held him while he stared down the street like he could still hear the rumble of the engine. I didn’t try to cheer him up or talk it away. I just stayed with him. Allowed him to feel the loss.
All for me. Forus.
My fingers brush the small swell of my belly, just barely a curve now, but real. Growing. Present. I exhale, my palm resting there a moment like I’m grounding myself.
I only entered my second trimester a few days ago, and already the changes feel impossibly fast. I didn’t expect toseeanything this soon, but my body’s doing its own thing, and I’m learning, slowly, stubbornly, to let it. Like I have a choice…
I slide out of bed and tug one of Ronan’s shirts over my head. It’s loose on my body, soft against my skin. Even better? It smells like him. I pull on a pair of his boxer briefs too. They’re stretchier and more forgiving than my own underwear. Comfort wins this round.
My bladder doesn’t wait. Another lovely pregnancy feature: everything on me is growing, including my libido, but my bladder has apparently decided to downsize. After I pee, I brush my teeth and run a brush through my hair, then shuffle into the living room where I find Ronan and Shane hunched over Ronan’s laptop like two overly serious CEOs. They’re so unlike what I’d expect other nineteen- and twenty-year-olds to be like. No video games. No sports. Just full-on business mode.
I settle on the couch beside Ronan and he immediately curls an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him like I’m just another part of him.
“Morning, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of my head.
“Hey, sweet boy,” I say, voice still raspy from sleep. “What are you guys working on?”
“Going paperless,” Shane says without looking up. “We’re updating our systems to make it easier for customers to order, close out, and pay. Ran and I are just talking through the strategy for the rollout.”
“Shane’s going all techy,” Ronan says with a small smirk. “Always messing around with something new.”
I smile, honestly impressed. “You two never stop. You’re already more responsible than most people I know.”
Shane scoffs. “Tell my parents that.”
Ronan squeezes me. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine, just… you know, busy growing a whole entire person inside me,” I say with a grin.
Ronan’s hand flies to his chest, eyes wide. “What? Why haven’t you told me? You’re pregnant?”
I roll my eyes, but the smile on my lips remains.
Shane grunts, unimpressed. “Not your best, man.”
Ronan shrugs, deadpan. “Like you’re so fucking funny.”
“Funnier than you,” Shane fires back.
“Sure, whatever keeps you from crying yourself to sleep at night,” Ronan mutters, then turns his attention back to me. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I’m good with some scrambled eggs and bacon. Oh, and can I get an English muffin with—”
“Strawberry jam,” Shane says, cutting me off. “Same.”
