Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“For realz? That’s what you’re wearing?” Amber says, throwing herself down on the bed with a script in hand.
“All the teachers are dressing up. What else am I supposed to go as? Sexy maid? Sexy kitten? Or beached whale?” I finish painting the square pink nose and the white stripe down my face. “What time is your audition?”
Stella, Mercedes’ daughter, did me a favor and got Amber an audition for a hot new television series that’s about time travel. Turns out, her best friend is Delia Law, the best selling romance author whose books the show has been adapted from, so she was able to pull some strings.
“Ten…I’m nervous. And I’m never nervous for these things.”
“Could be a good omen if this feels different.” She looks up at me, vulnerable and unsure––something Amber rarely is. “Ambs, you deserve it. You deserve something really wonderful to happen to you. It’s just a matter of time.” Just then the pressure that’s been steadily growing in my gut since I had breakfast spikes. I rub my tiny bulge in slow circles and measure my breathing.
Her delicate features twist into a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s probably nothing, but I’ve had this ache growing since breakfast. And I feel a lot of pressure…probably nothing.”
Twenty minutes later, as I’m about to leave for work, I can no longer ignore the pain. “Amber, I have to go to the hospital. Call the school and tell them I can’t make it in. And call Ange.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. Just make the calls. You have to go over your lines and get ready for the audition. Besides, the hospital is only five blocks away.”
Grabbing my purse and keys, I make my way outside and hail a cab.
“NYU Medical Center.” The cab driver cranes his neck and gives me a bright grin.
“Nice costume.”
“Thanks,” I squeak out because the pain and pressure have been growing exponentially since I left the apartment.
“Are you okay, lady?”
“Of course, not! Why do you think I’m headed to the hospital?” I shout while I’m doubled over, sweating bullets and scared out of my mind. That prompts him to drive at warp speed. Two minutes later, we pull up in front of the emergency room. Needless to say, it’s a miracle I’m still in one piece. Today is my lucky day apparently because the emergency room is empty––something that never ever happens in New York City. Let’s hope the winning streak continues.
After I check in and tell them who my OBGYN is, I’m whisked off for tests. For the first time since I left the apartment, I entertain the thought that I may be losing this baby and a terror, the dimensions of which I can’t even begin to measure, gets a hold of me.
Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breathe out. God, please, I’ll be good. I promise. Just don’t take this baby away from me.
“Abdominal distention, excessive flatus volume and smell…symptoms were clear,” says Dr. Levine, my OBGYN, a lovely man in his late sixties. He’s standing next to the emergency room doctor, who happens to be crazy hot. Holy Moses. Sharp cheekbones and sharper jaw, a mess of disheveled brown hair and sleeves of tattoos that travel up both his arms and disappear under his scrubs. Great. Why couldn’t I get some old toothless dude seeing me at my worst.
They’re both smirking. I’m feeling a ton better since they administered the medication.
“What did you eat this morning?” says Doctor Hotness.
“Cantaloupe and whole wheat toast.”
“How much cantaloupe?”
“A lot.”
He smirks again, his bright green eyes turning into crescents. “Cool costume.”
“Thanks…so you’re saying I had to fart?” No point in acting coy about it. Gotta face the embarrassment head on.
“I prefer the clinical term, but yes. The cantaloupe is the culprit. It ferments and turns into gas. That’s not uncommon in pregnant women.”
“Camilla!!!” The shout is so loud I can hear it over the chaos typical of emergency rooms. Then, a scuffling sound. “Get the fuck off of me!” More scuffling. Doctor Hotness scowls while my doctor pushes the curtain aside to see what the commotion is about. And that’s when I spot him.
His eyes are huge in his face. Even the dark scruff can’t hide the pallor of his skin. Without once breaking eye contact, he rushes toward me, two security officers fast on his heels. I glance around. The entire emergency room is watching this play out.
“I got here as soon as I could––” he rushes into. I can see that. He’s still wearing his entire practice uniform, cleats and all. He’s also soaked in sweat.
“Sir, you can’t leave your car in front of the emergency room like that,” says officer number one.
“Then tow it! Can’t you see my wife needs me!”
Wife? The fuck?
Calvin takes a step closer and Doctor Hotness steps in between us. “Whoa, buddy.”