Nixon (Raleigh Raptors 1)

“Sure,” Nixon said, his tone polite and accepting.

I chewed on my lip as I watched him take several selfies with the guys, and wondered what kind of face he’d wear when no one was watching.

“Guys,” I said when Tyler and Shane had started spouting off past Raptor stats.

“Oh, right,” Shane said, blinking the stardust out of his eyes. He shuffled back to the couch, Tyler on his heels after saying a quick thank you to Nixon.

I jerked my head toward my room, waiting for Nixon to follow.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” he said as we walked down the hallway. “But—”

“Oh, God!” I groaned, covering my nose and mouth with my palm. Julie’s damn fresh-water fish tank sat on a pillar tucked into a decorative alcove in the hallway just outside my room, and the metallic-fishy smell had been unbearable recently.

I bolted down the hallway, rushing for the one and only bathroom in our place, and thanked God no one occupied it as I hurried through the door. I barely made it to the toilet in time before the little breakfast of saltines I’d eaten made a comeback.

Warm hands touched my back, smoothing circles near my spine. For a second, I figured they were Heather’s, but then I realized just how big and strong they felt against me. I jolted a little as I turned my head to find Nixon hovering behind me, a concerned look in those dark eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

I turned back to the toilet and retched again.

Brilliant. Just what I needed—a side of mortification to go with my overwhelming uncertainty of life right now.

Taking deep, slow breaths, I concentrated on soothing the nausea rolling my stomach. Once I felt we’d reached the safe zone, I flushed and pushed off the porcelain, instantly heading to the sink to brush my teeth. Nixon watched me, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

“Okay,” I said before covering my mouth and nose with my palm. I motioned for him to follow me again and hurried into my bedroom while holding my breath. Nixon shut the door so fast behind him you’d think a defensive end snapped at our heels, and I may have melted just a bit for him in that moment. I dropped my hand, inhaling the fish-free scent of my room.

Nixon’s gaze darted over my bed tucked into the corner and covered with psychology books, and then Heather’s across the room, blankets crumpled in one big ball atop it. He surveyed the laundry, and the cluttered desk between our beds and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

I bit back a laugh. He’d been just as uncomfortable as the first time he’d seen it.

“Has it gotten worse since the ultrasound?” Nixon finally asked, gesturing behind him toward the closed door.

I shrugged, sinking onto my bed. “Only every other hour or so.”

His eyes widened, and he raked his fingers through his hair.

“It’s normal,” I said, my tone reassuring. “The doctor told me a ton of women get this sick in the first two trimesters—”

“It can last that long?”

I nodded. “Some women get better after the first trimester ends, others take longer.” God, I hoped it wouldn’t last the whole nine months, but even if it did, I would endure it. I smoothed my hand over my still flat belly, warmth filling my chest.

“Did the doctor give you anything for it?”

I furrowed my brow. “No, of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t take anything unless I absolutely had to, anyway.”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to risk anything unnecessarily.”

“You throwing up your guts every hour doesn’t constitute as necessary?” he grumbled. “Pretty sure the baby needs food just as much as you do.”

I stood off the bed, adrenaline fueling my need to move. “Hey,” I snapped. “I’m doing the best I can! I want to eat. Trust me. And I try. It’s just the baby is disagreeing with literally everything right now. And triggers don’t help—”

“Triggers?” He gaped down at me, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Yeah,” I said, pointing toward the closed door. “Smells, loud noises.” I shrugged. “Anything like that sets me off. But the damn fish tank…” A shiver ran the length of my spine, and my stomach wobbled. “It’s…” I took a deep breath. God, I couldn’t even think about the smell without feeling ill.

“Ask her to get rid of it.”

I had to arch my neck to meet his gaze, he was that tall. “No, I would never do that!”

Nixon rubbed his hands over his face. “You have to. You can’t be around something that makes you that sick all the time.”

I choked on a laugh. “Well, then I’m pretty sure I’ll never walk into a grocery store again because I puked in the parking lot after shopping yesterday.”