Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
But I do feel apprehension take root deep within me, because I don’t like this conversation happening with Bodie. He knows me carnally and he’s gotten me pregnant, two facts I do not want spread about. The pregnancy is going to come to light eventually, but I’d rather not have to explain the thing with Bodie to anyone.
I’m completely tense while I wait to see how Bodie handles this. Cage Murdock is his best friend, and they are tight. I know they talk about this shit because all guys do.
“Have some respect,” Bodie says in a low but neutral voice that barely carries through the door. “She’s our teammate.”
I’m warmed through to my core by his protectiveness of me.
“Come on,” Cage says teasingly, and I can almost imagine him nudging Bodie in the ribs with a knowing wink. “Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at her and—”
“I said have some fucking respect,” Bodie snarls, and I jump at the anger saturating his words.
“Jesus,” Cage mutters apologetically. “I’m sorry. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
I spin away from the doorway and walk quickly back the way I came. I don’t want to hear anymore, and I’ve heard enough. When I told Bodie I wanted to keep this secret, I trusted his word he wouldn’t tell anyone. What I just heard was affirmation that my trust was well placed. If he were going to tell anyone about us hooking up or about me being pregnant, it would be Cage.
Clearly, he hasn’t.
It also confirms we weren’t seen together that night at The Wicked Horse. I didn’t think we’d been, but if we had, the rumor mill would have been churning hard. Cage also would have said something.
I smile as I realize Bodie truly has my back. He’s always had it when we’re working together, but it’s nice to know he has it on the other side.
He had it when we were at Dr. Anchors’ office day before yesterday. No woman likes to get a pelvic exam. I hated myself when I flinched, because I don’t like showing weakness. But damn if Bodie didn’t see it, and then immediately started telling me all kinds of horse shit about me being beautiful and sexy. I didn’t give any credence to the actual words, but I did give him a hell of a lot of bonus points for trying to distract me.
God, did I need it, too. More than just during that pelvic exam, the entire visit I’d been strung tight. And my talk with Dr. Anchors went no differently than my talk with the doctor who’d treated me when I miscarried thirteen years ago.
After Bodie left, I just bluntly told the doctor, “I’ve been pregnant before, contrary to the history form I filled out. I miscarried at nine weeks, and I need to do things differently this time.”
He’d nodded at me in understanding, not asking why I’d left that information off the intake. I’m sure he figured out I didn’t want Bodie to know. Instead, he replied, “What do you mean ‘do things differently’? What did you do the last time that you think might have attributed to you losing the baby?”
It was obvious what the good doctor was thinking. Perhaps drugs. Maybe alcohol.
Not exactly, but not all that far from the truth.
“I was not good to my body for many years,” I told him. I explained briefly about the brutal training I went through from my early teens through my retirement from the Olympics at twenty-one. After that, I hadn’t been any better to my body. I channeled my need for thrills by moving from Olympic competition to the rush of adrenaline-pumping activities like skydiving, base jumping, and extreme climbing.
For almost a full four years after I left the Olympics, I traveled the world and lived like a bohemian bum, moving from one thrill to the next. I slept in cheap hotels or on friend’s couches. I only had with me what I could carry in a duffel bag, always seeking bigger thrills, more dangerous adventure. I ate poorly and slept even shittier. In fact, it’s how I met Kynan… base jumping off Angel Falls in Venezuela. I was jumping with a parachute. He went before me and jumped with a wingsuit. I saw him zip away, knowing jumping with a parachute was going to be way too boring for me.
What started then was a friendship that spanned many years, and is still going strong to this day. We were friends first because I was involved with someone else. Later, when I was unattached, we screwed around. When we could, we’d meet up to experience death-defying jumps or swimming uncaged with Great Whites. We’d fuck like crazed animals, and then we’d go on our way. We’d keep in touch with periodic emails or calls. It was a good friendship with a great benefits package while it lasted, but it was never exclusive.