My Anonymous Lover (Forbidden Fantasies 57)

“What? No! No way, I’m not pregnant,” is my vehement denial. “We always use protection.”

“You never forget? Like not even once?” my friend asks gently.

I gulp, shaking my head slowly. “Yes, always but … okay, oh shit.” After all, at the very start of our relationship, I let Jeremiah come inside me when we were at the glory hole. It was just a one time thing, but oh god, oh god. It only takes once, after all.

Vanessa can tell what I’m thinking and seizes my hand.

“It’s okay,” she says in a comforting voice. “Everyone slips up now and then, and if you and Jeremiah have been having as much sex as you say, then it was bound to happen.”

I can’t even speak, I’m so numb. But then I leap into action and dart over to my medicine cabinet, yanking it open before grabbing a pregnancy test.

“I have to know,” I say in a tight voice. “Holy shit.”

Vanessa nods.

“Of course,” she says in a quiet voice. “I’ll give you privacy, but let me know if you need anything, okay? Good luck, girlfriend.”

What good luck means in this context, I’m not sure, but as soon as Vanessa leaves, I pee on the indicator and then start stalking about my apartment. OMG, this is so crazy! What am I going to do if I’m pregnant? Soon enough, the timer on my phone goes off and I rush over to the counter to examine the results.

Two pink lines. Positive. I’m pregnant with Jeremiah’s baby.

I stand there for a moment, not even sure how I feel, or if I’m feeling anything at all. I just can’t believe it because it doesn’t seem real. I seem to be exactly the same, so is there really a baby in my body right now? Someone that Jeremiah and I made during our frenzied lovemaking? A million thoughts fly through my head at once, but only a few stand out.

What is my boyfriend going to think about this?

Can this really be possible?

And most importantly, what am I going to do now?

11

GINNY

I crawl underneath the covers, bone tired. My whole body is stiff and sore from being in the same position for so long because I’ve been at the wheel for ten hours today, ten hours yesterday, and twelve hours every day of the week prior. I’ve been driving nonstop because it’s a long-haul job, and that’s how I want it. I don’t care if I drive down to Mexico, back to Canada, and then criss-cross the United States several times because I need space to think and this is the best way to do it.

After all, I need time to mull over my pregnancy, and my relationship with Jeremiah. I need to sort out what I want, before charting next steps and figuring out what I should do. Most of all, I need space from Jeremiah, and this is the best way to go about getting it because my boyfriend doesn’t know that I’m pregnant yet. We talk and Skype, but I haven’t mustered up the courage to tell him.

But Jeremiah’s been incredibly supportive, even without knowing. He could tell I needed to get out on the road, and encouraged me to take this assignment. As a result, I’ve been driving with the wind in my hair, just thinking about the situation and what should be done.

But now, my job’s finished for the day, and I lie back on the double bed in the truck cab. It’s comfy back here, with a small entertainment center, a TV screen, a laptop port, and of course, a mini-fridge. A girl’s got to get her food, especially seeing that I’m pregnant now. I’ve already put on a comfortable pair of flannel pajamas, and snuggle deep into my duvet before letting out a bone-tired sigh. Maybe some TV before bed, and then it’s lights out.

I grab the remote and flick the screen on, aimlessly scrolling through a number of options. Hmm. I don’t feel like watching a movie or starting up a new show, nor do I feel like catching the news. But then, my thumb pauses and I freeze because Jeremiah’s handsome features flash on screen. He’s being interviewed for something, and I pause to watch. A mic is shoved in his face, and he frowns a bit while stepping back. But the reporter’s tenacious.

“Are the rumors true, Mr. Cooke? You know what they say: are you really dating a nude model during your candidacy?”

Oh no. My fingers tighten on the duvet, and I wish I could evaporate into thin air at this moment. Hot tears sting my eyes because obviously, my boyfriend’s going to disavow me. It’s his only option. What political hopeful can say with a straight face that yes, my girlfriend does nude photo shoots? Even worse, the reporter pulls out a copy of Truck Stop Sass at that very moment, and turns to the camera.