Some guy on the same aisle chuckles. “Pregnancy, man, it turns our wives into savages.”
I hiss at him … So, yeah, he’s right. Total savage.
I finish chewing the pickle in my mouth and then …
“No.”
I take off running, my eyes scanning for the restroom.
I manage to spot it at the front of the store and push a poor little old lady out of my way to get there.
I push open the swinging door and burst inside the bathroom.
Thankfully, there’s an empty stall. I make it just in time as the small amount of pickle I ate comes up. I’d felt fine and nausea came out of nowhere—like it usually does.
There’s not much in my stomach, so it’s not long until the heaving stops.
I stand and make my way to the sink, splashing some water on my face.
“Thea? Are you okay?” Xander pushes his way in the bathroom—not caring that it’s women only.
“Get out,” I hiss. “You’re not allowed in here.”
“You’re my wife, dammit, and you just took off, and I had to make sure you were okay. So people can just deal with it.”
A woman comes out of one of the stalls, she’s a little older, probably in her fifties and she smiles as she goes to wash her hands. “My husband was just like that,” she tells me. “They only get worse the further along you get.” She points to my stomach. “Good luck.” She offers us a smile before heading out.
I turn back to the sink and splash water on my face. Xander stands tall and imposing behind me, but he looks almost boyish the way he’s dressed and with the baseball cap.
I bite my lip, looking at him in the reflection.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns.
“Like what?” I ask breathlessly.
His dark eyes flash in the mirror. “Like you want me to fuck you.”
A little gasp escapes my throat. I can’t find the words to
remind him of the Swear Jar and our promise, because frankly, he’s right, that’s exactly what I want.
One minute I’m puking my guts up, and the next I want my husband to bend me over this counter and fuck me.
Pregnancy is weird, man.
My whole body tingles all over, my nipples tightening, and then the door to the bathroom opens and a girl squeaks when she sees Xander and the spell is broken.
“You can’t be in here,” she tells him, glaring at him like he’s personally offended her. “Wait … Oh, my God, you’re Xander Kincaid from the Colorado Rebels, right? Can I get a picture?”
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, because he’s too nice to say no, like I would.
She pulls out her phone from her pocket and holds it out for a selfie. “Eh,” she groans at the angle. “Would you mind?” She holds her phone out to me.
I raise a brow. “Excuse me?” I glare at her phone like it’s contaminated.
I know I’m being rude, but I just puked my guts up in a grocery store bathroom, I’m still hungry, and this bitch wants a picture with my husband, so I can’t seem to find it in myself to be agreeable.