Page 101 of Married to the Scottish Player
Pee on it.
Set it aside and wait, hoping nothing will have changed in five minutes’ time, when, in reality,everythingmight ...
Chapter 24
Maverick
I don’t always use the powder room in the hallway, but when I do, I notice things that aren’t supposed to be there.
Like: pregnancy test kinds of things, hidden in the trash.
Not hiddenwelleither. Tucked under crumpled tissue, as if that’s enough to keep someone from spotting it. White stick, blue cap, window clear as day.
What the fuck?
Where did this come from?
The cleaning ladies haven’t been here since Annabelle and I got back. I purposely asked them to skip the week—I wanted time with her. Just us. No schedule. No interruptions. No Polly or Fiona humming along with the vacuum while I try to make a move on my maybe-wife.
And if they had found this? They’d shit a solid gold brick and text me in a panic like they always do when they find random crap in my apartment.
I swallow, heart kicking into high gear.
I reach into the trash without thinking, grabbing the test by one end, completely ignoring the fact that it’s definitely been marinating in pee. My brain’s firing too fast to care.
I bring it closer, scanning the tiny window for that sadistic symbol that either detonates your future or lets you keep living in blissful ignorance. The key on the side shows two lines for pregnant.
My gaze flies to the actual result window.
One line.
Wait. Wait—just one? That means it’s negative! As in: no fucking baby.
I stare at that single line longer than necessary, brain tripping over the possibilities. Not pregnant. Which means I should feel what? Relief. Disappointment? Confusion’s definitely in the top three.
We were careless, fucking with no protection, sure. Reckless? Yeah, maybe too wrapped up in each other to bother with a condom the first few days. Perhaps too confident that we wouldn’t have to deal with any consequences ...
I exhale.
The pieces click into place from earlier. “This must have been in that bag from the store.”
Duh.Obviously.
Do I ask Annabelle about this?
And ... what do I fucking say? “Oh hey, noticed a negative pregnancy test when I was about to take a shit in the guest bathroom, know anything about it?”
Yeah, no. That sounds idiotic.
But unfortunately this is all I’m going to be able to think about. Annabelle doesn’t seem like the careless type—not that I’ve noticed so far in the short amount of time that we’ve been getting to know one another. And if she hadn’t wanted me to find this, wouldn’t she have hidden it in the trash can in my bathroom? Or thrown it in the bin under the kitchen counter?
Still, I can’t ignore it.
Do I wait for her to bring it up—and risk her never saying a damn thing about it?
She’s gonna say something,right? Even though the test is negative? She wouldn’t not tell me she thought she was pregnant. Seriously, what made her think to take a test?
Fuck. She must have been freaking out.
