Page 100 of The Match Faker
Jasmine on the other hand almost seems relieved. She shakes out her hands and opens the door wider. “Come in and I’ll tell you.”
“You’re pregnant,” I say, testing the word. If I say it enough times maybe it won’t feel so bad.
“No.” She hugs herself. “Thank god,” she mutters.
“But I heard you – ”
“You were eavesdropping?” Rocco asks, aghast.
“Yeah, and I heard you colluding with my girlfriend to keep secrets from me.” I chuck my thumb over my shoulder. “Scram.”
They roll their eyes as we switch places, and I close the door behind them.
I’m mad. Or maybe sad. I’m hurt. It takes everything in me to turn and face her with a neutral expression.
“It’s not what it sounds like.” She takes my hands, but stays at arm’s length until I pull her into me, trapping her hands between my back and the door.
“Okay. What is it then?”
Her sigh presses her chest against mine. “I thought I was pregnant. The wine tasted absolutely awful and made me sick immediately. When I went home, I started Googling and I came across all these stories about women who’d gotten pregnant with IUDs and I panicked.”
“Cuz you don’t want to have a baby with me?” I ask, even though I am so fucking relieved.
She sighs again, kisses me hard and quick. “I don’t want to have a baby at all.”
“Great, neither do I.”
She smiles, kissing me again, slower, softer. “Yeah, but I didn’t know that. I’m not pregnant. I took a test. I think my stomach reacted poorly to drinking the wine on an empty stomach. But once I realized all that, I was so worried because we’d never talked about kids. And…” She looks away suddenly, biting her lip, her eyes welling with tears.
“Hey.” I cup her chin. “Don’t cry.”
“I didn’t want you to leave me,” she says in the quietest voice. “Because I didn’t want to give you a baby.” Her eyes are bright as the tears fall. “If I ever did want to have a baby, it would be with you though.”
I lean my head back against the door, laughing as she speaks my own thoughts back to me. I squeeze her closer to me.
“Me too. And I’m sorry we hadn’t discussed it sooner. Or that you felt like it was even an option that I would leave youbecause of that. Even if you were pregnant, we would deal with it together,” I say. I want her to know she’s never alone, especially in this. “We’d deal with it, whatever that looks like for us.”
She flushes, pressing her temple to my cheek to avoid looking me in the eye.
“Wait.” I lean into her, rubbing my stubbly chin into her neck until she squeals. “Why were you asking about Yasmin earlier?”
She huffs a quiet laugh into my shoulder. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.” Her hands slip beneath the back of my button-up plaid, a futile attempt at distraction.
“Now you have to tell me,” I whisper, my voice huskier. I won’t be distracted, but I am still just a man.
She glides her nails up and down my back, a tingle more than a scratch, before slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs. I suck her skin in retaliation.
“Nick.” She pushes me away, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the spot on her shoulder.
“I didn’t leave a mark.” I press my thumb over the spot, because I wish I did.
She sighs, crossing her arms over chest. “I was sad because I thought about how I couldn’t even keep a role play character alive, so I’d probably be a terrible mother to a baby I didn’t even want, and then you’d leave me,” she says, stern and matter of fact.
I wait for her to crack a smile. Because this has to be a joke. “Jazz.”