One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(31)

My brows lift. “Just sore breasts and a bloated belly, which is nice to know it’s not just coming from the extra Oreos I’ve been eating.”

“All normal,” he states with a nod. “So first, we should talk about your options.”

“My…options?” I ask, really hoping he’s not about to say what I think he’s about to say.

He shoots me a serious look. “You don’t have to keep the baby. There’s adoption, abortion.”

“I’m not having an abortion,” I reply through clenched teeth, nowhere near interested in having that conversion. “After seeing that baby move during the ultrasound this week and staring at the peanut’s picture, I could never.”

Josh nods, his eyes softening around the edges. “Is adoption something you’ve considered?”

My hand instantly moves to my belly. “No.”

Josh stares at me with a blank look on his face that I hate.

I run my hand through my hair. “Look, I can handle this. I’m not some young teen mom. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m finished with my education. I’ll be fine. This baby and I will be fine. And I don’t expect anything from you, okay? I know I poured my heart out to you in the ER about how messed up my life is right now, but that was just the pain talking. My situation is temporary, so I don’t need anything from you.”

“Except of course a job and a place to live and probably money to live off until this baby is born.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“You made it pretty clear the other day your situation is dire. And since I’m a part of this now, your problems become my problems,” he deadpans, stopping in front of me to cross his arms over his chest and look down on me like some asshole dictator.

I stand, crushing the half-drunk water bottle in my hand as I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not a problem that needs fixing, okay? I am a person who’s in a transition and working things out.”

“Not very well from the looks of it.”

“Fuck you,” I snap.

Finally, his cold, calculated demeanor cracks.

“What is your problem?” He’s clearly confused by my emotional outburst.

“Stop using the word problem!” I exclaim angrily.

“Well, stop acting like living with your parents is a preferred option for you. That sad look on your face at the ER the other night is burned into my retinas.” I open my mouth to reply, but he cuts me off. “You can move in here until things sort themselves out.”

I cough a shocked laugh. “Move in with you? I don’t even know you!”

He pins me with a glower. “You knew me enough to fuck me.”

“Oh, my God.” I slam the water bottle onto the chair and storm toward him with my finger pointed at his face. “That’s a low blow even for you, Dr. Dick.”

He blanches, clearly not a fan of the nickname. “I’m just saying we spent the night together. We’re having a baby together. We should deal with this together. Plus, I’m a doctor who can take care of you. Surely, you moving in here is better than you finding random roommates while you’re in this state.”

“You went to medical school, right?” I ask, my eyes wide and wild on his. “You should be smart enough to realize that casual sex and living together are two very different things.”

“I barely live here,” he snaps. “My hours at the ER are insane, so I usually end up sleeping in the on-call rooms. It’s why I have no furniture. I only sleep when I’m home, so it’s not like we’d really be living together.”

I huff and cross my arms over my chest, the movement causing my sweater to fall off my shoulder.

Josh’s gaze moves from my face to my arm and darken ominously. “Where did that come from?” he asks, pointing at the long bruise just below my shoulder.

I pull my sweater up to cover myself. “I hit my arm when I was closing my car door yesterday.”

“Fuck.” He steps closer, moving faster than I have time to react. He pulls my very loose sweater down farther to inspect the bruise. A blast of cool air hits my sensitive flesh.

My right tit is literally hanging out for the world to see.

And that world, right now, is Josh.

My brain finally catches up, and I scramble to pull my sweater into place.

“What did you do that for?” I hiss, my cheeks heating.

“That bruise looks terrible,” he grumbles, agitation laced in his tone as his eyes remain glued to my chest. “The real question is why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

My nipples are rock hard at just this little bit of unintentional action. “I told you—my breasts are sore and extremely sensitive right now. Wearing a bra for any amount of time is pure torture.”

Not as torturous as having a moment like this with him, but it’s right up there.

His nostrils flare as he looks me in the eye, and then glances down again, settling on the bruise that’s still showing on my shoulder. My voice is trembling when I say, “It’s no big deal. I’m a klutz. I get bruises like this all the time.”

His hot breath fans my bare flesh and my body shivers under his intense scrutiny. “And you sprain your ankle, and cut your finger, and go into anaphylactic shock in restaurants.” His eyes lift to mine in challenge.