Page 109 of (Not) The One
I’d like that. I just have so much to sort out before I full commit to becoming one of those pregnant women who float around the place on a cloud of blissful happiness.
We have time.I sometimes think he has the patience of a saint. But then again, I’ve heard the way he speaks to his staff over the phone. He’s very exacting and not exactly what I’d call Zen. Tyrannical, maybe?
Three more weeks and the books say you’ll have a definitive bump.His arms tightened.
I’ll start getting fat, you mean.
I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. But.He paused.This pregnancy porn you were talking about?Something inside me twisted a little as his hand slipped from my belly, dipping under the elastic of my knickers.How would you feel about watching a little of it on my flat screen mirror?
I smiled. And I’m still smiling now.
‘I guess you don’t want to share what’s tickling your metaphoric pickle this fine London summer’s morning.’
Oh, fiddlesticks. This zoning out business if becoming a professional hazard.
But I certainly don’t want to share. And I’m pretty sure, as wife of James’s best friend, she also doesn’t want to hear how my metaphoric pickle was well and truly ticked just a few days ago, bent over the bathroom vanity, and that since, both my metaphoric pickle and the rest of my body has been focussing on a recovery. Let’s just say preparation for nightspent with James should include more than washing my hair and shaving all pertinent bits. It should also include stretches. Lots ofstretches.
I should learn to limber up before we limbo if you know what I mean.
I’m not at all sure I can blame baby brain on the way my mind seems to drift to him continually, snapshots of him playing through my mind on a loop. Those eyes, those brilliant blues that speak of so many naughty things, laughter lines denoting a wealth of experience. It’s amazing to me how his gaze can go from laughter to smouldering suggestion in a beat, and how one glance from him can ignite a million tiny fires under my skin. Sometimes, when he looks at me, I feel literally pierced in place.
God, who knew sex could consume your thoughts? I find myself thinking about it, about him, all the time. And when I’m with him, I’m literally putty in his hands, soft and malleable, moulding to the touch of those long-fingered hands, melting at the sound of his pleasure breathed in my ear.
‘Miranda, are you unwell?’ My spine snaps straight as I realise I’ve zoned out, possibly in the middle of a conversation with Olivia again, who’s staring at me now with her head tilted to the side like a redheaded terrier.
‘I’m fine!’ Why do I sound like I’m auditioning for a part inGlee? ‘Just spiffy!’
Or just losing my mind. One of those things, anyway.
‘Are you sure? You just did this whole spaced-out thing. And you’re a little pale. And I thought I heard someone vomiting in the bathroom this morning.’ She glances over her shoulder to where Heather sits at her desk, quite wisely paying supreme attention to her laptop.
‘Vomiting?’ Guilty as charged. ‘It wasn’t me.’
And in the bathroom? I should be so lucky.
I’d barely made it up the stairs this morning before needing to barf so badly I’d pulled out the plastic bag I’ve taken to carrying around in my purse—not the same bag, obviously—because it’s almost like something, or someone—naming no names because we’re nowhere near that stage yet—pulls on my intestines at random intervals during the day, causing me to puke almost immediately.
Anyway, I thought I was alone in the office when the urge to purge struck.
How the jiggery-pokery am I going to hide this for the next couple of months?
I realise Olivia is still staring at me. And that I’ve spaced out again.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeat, fixing a smile on my face as I do one of thoseyou’re crazydismissive waves.
‘If you need time off—’
‘Did you just say it’s a fine summer’s morning?’ I exhale a relieved breath at Heather’s interjection. ‘Ols, it’s chucking it down out there.’
Olivia’s gaze moves to Heather before gliding to the grimy windows. Outside, the sky is a thunderous grey, sheets of water slapping the window as though offended to be on that side of the pane.
‘Oh, so it is. I guess I never noticed.’ With the same kind of secretive smile she’s been wearing all week, she turns and takes her steaming coffee cup back in the direction she came.
‘Did she just float across the floor?’ Heather sounds almost perturbed as Olivia begins to climb the stairs.
‘She seems happy,’ I respond with a shrug. ‘Happy works for me.’
‘She seems weird, more like,’ she says, coming to stand next to my desk. ‘How long does the honeymoon period last, do you think?’
