Page 3 of Pregnant in Plaid
What happens next is…
Well.
It's the kind of night that ruins you for other nights. The kind that makes you understand why people write songs and poems and terrible romance novels about passion. His hands map every inch of me like I'm territory worth exploring. He's playful and intense andsurprisingly tender, asking if I'm okay, if I like this, if I want more.
I want everything.
Afterward, we lie tangled in his sheets, both of us breathing hard, staring at the ceiling like we've just survived something.
"That was…" I start.
"Yeah," he agrees, grinning at me sideways. "It really was."
I fall asleep in his arms, warm and sated and thinking that maybe, maybe, this could be something.
When I wake up, it's barely dawn. Gray light filters through the curtains, and Trace is still asleep beside me, one arm thrown over his face, looking peaceful and unfairly handsome.
I should stay. I should wake him up, get his number, suggest breakfast. Make this more than just one perfect night.
But panic claws at my chest. What if he regrets this? What if I'm just another hookup, another tourist passing through? What if I stay and he gently but firmly shows me the door?
So I do what any rational, mature adult would do.
I grab my clothes, tiptoe out like a burglar, and leave without so muchas a note.
Back in the office bathroom, I press my forehead against the cool mirror and groan. "Stupid, Patrice. So incredibly stupid."
Because now I'm pregnant with the baby of a man I don't know how to contact. A man whose last name I never learned. A man who lives in the middle of nowhere Alaska and probably thinks I'm a flighty coward who uses people for sex and disappears into the night.
Which, to be fair, is exactly what I did.
My phone buzzes again. This time I look.
Tessa: OMG OMG OMG GUESS WHAT
Tessa: Gage proposed!!!
Tessa: We're getting married!!!!
Tessa: In Alaska! You HAVE to come!!!
My stomach drops. A wedding. In Alaska. Where Trace lives. Where I'll inevitably run into him.
While pregnant.
With his baby.
That he doesn't know about.
"Perfect," I mutter, typing back a series of congratulatoryemojis that feel deeply insincere given my current crisis. "This is just perfect."
Another text pops up.
Tessa: Also I have HUGE news for you but I'm saving it for when you visit. You're going to DIE.
I stare at my phone, then at the pregnancy test, then back at my phone.
"I'm already dying," I whisper to no one.
