“Of course they are.” Holden folds his hands under his chin. “Just like Matthew.”
“Nice way to avoid Bella there.” Nick huffs.
“With good reason.” Roman growls.
I turn to face him and his face gives nothing away. The corner of his mouth is turned down just a little bit, enough to raise questions and answer none. I try to stare him down, but he stares back, unflinching, unbothered.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“It’s not important. I handled it. It’s done.” So simple from his lips.
I shake my head. That’s not the battle I need to win … right now. “So, next weekend, Val can come Friday afternoon and we’ll have the party Saturday night with whoever can come, and I promise not to get wild drunk with Gunner as a babysitter again.”
Gunner gives me a thumbs up. “Don’t want to have to yell at people for trying to give you dollars.”
“Don’t want me making money?” I tease.
“Don’t like them disrespecting your sexy moves with anything less than hundreds, sweets.”
I giggle and we all end up agreeing. So I call Val and then text Tristan, inviting them both to come join us for the party. Tristan agrees happily and so does Val. I’m already excited to spend more time with friends from college. All two of them. Two good friends are worth two handfuls of convenient friends.
But I still feel a little off. I’m not sure how to place it.
Thursday, I feel disgusting again after eating fried chicken with Gunner. He insisted we do it with a good sriracha mayo and my chest feels like it’s burning and my stomach is lurching after just a few bites. I’m not sure why I was so excited about it.
Even the smell of it on my hands is gross.
I get up, apologizing to the guys, and hurry to the bathroom. After washing my hands and face, at least the smell is gone, but I brace myself on the cool counter while scouring my reflection. What is wrong with me?
Nibbling my bottom lip, I put a hand over my stomach and close my eyes as nausea rears up again. My stomach rolls and I take a slow breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.
I amnotgoing to throw up. After last week, I told myself I wasn’t doing it again. But I’m frustrated as hell. I grip the counter harder, watching my fingers turn white as I purse my lips. I willnotbe sick. I don’t give two fucks if that was old chicken or if I have a stomach bug. Throwing up – is not a fucking option.
And I don’t want to be around the chicken either.
Not because I’m ungrateful that the guys got it, but because I can’t fucking handle the smell.
“Soph?” Holden comes in and I take another slow breath. “Are you okay, baby?”
“Something’s up with my stomach. I have like …” I pat my chest. “Heartburn and nausea. Do we have more Pepto?”
Holden nods and goes to get it. I down it, even though I hate the chalky liquid, and force myself to relax. Holden washes his hands, thankfully, then rubs my shoulders. “Let it kick in, okay?”
“I don’t even like the smell of the chicken right now,” I admit. “It was yummy, but …”
“Why don’t we schedule a doctor’s appointment, just to make sure you’re okay? For Monday?” He offers.
“Sure.”
Mostly because I don’t want to admit how off I’ve been feeling. I know I’ve been bloated for the last week, these random bits of nausea, the cramps.I’m over it. Maybe I really am sick and getting worse?
Roman offers to join me in bed while the other guys finish eating. I nod and we lay together. He kisses me across my neck. “Are you stressed, Bambina?”
“A little,” I admit. “Being back at work, having all these piled up assignments begging for my attention. Trying to keep up with everything at home and at work has been a … challenge. And I’m worried about you guys and how much attention I’m giving and-”
Roman’s soft kiss soothes at least one of my worries. I sigh and kiss him back, stroking his chest. He rubs his nose along mine. “You don’t need to worry about us. It’s a little chaotic being back, but we’re going to get it under control and we’ll be okay.”
“Not quite as much fun as Paris.” I sigh.