Chapter 30 Under the Weather
UNDER THE WEATHER
CASSIDY
One thing I was not at all prepared for was how bone tired I was going to be during the first trimester. I’ve witnessed how tiring late term pregnancy can be for the more obvious reasons, but the hidden exhaustion in the beginning is almost debilitating.
Because what the fuck.
I’m slowly coming around from an early afternoon nap, sipping the cup of peppermint herbal tea that Ren brought me. He’s going about getting ready for his game, not even requiring my help to find anything. Which makes me ridiculously annoyed.
Ren stops beside me, a teasing grin on his face as he braces his hands on the arm and back of the sofa, leans in. “I’ll let you help me when you’re feeling better.”
“You don’t have to pretend to need my help.”
His grin broadens, his eyes twinkling. “But I want you to help me, surely that counts for something?”
I sniff, turn my nose up as I retort, “Not really.”
He chuckles, kisses me on my nose before straightening. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been doing all this stuff on my own since I was a kid.”
“Your mom didn’t help you?”
“She helped me by making me do it myself until it became like muscle memory.”
He turns, walks toward the door, leaving me to my petulant inner monologue. I stick my tongue out at his retreating back then set the empty mug on the table next to me.
Slowly, I ease my tired body off the sofa, being careful to get my bearings before attempting to stand upright. I sway a bit, my hand moving to the arm of the sofa to steady myself.
“Is your appointment this week?” Ren asks from the doorway, a slight frown on his handsome face.
“No,” I reply. “I rescheduled it for next week.”
He raises his brows. “Why?”
“Because it was going to interfere with your game schedule. I called and they said moving it out a week was fine, so I changed it.”
He scowls and I put up a hand to stop his inevitable lecture on my health and wellbeing coming before hockey. “Seriously, Ren. The doctor said it was fine. If they’d said otherwise, I wouldn’t have moved it, I promise.”
He closed the distance between us as I was talking, and is now standing beside me, eyeing me. I meet his gaze head-on, barely managing to not squirm under his scrutiny.
A yawn catches me off guard, and I raise my hands over my head, stretching out as a cover for the fact my mouth is wide-open. My shirt lifts, baring my stomach and he reaches out, one had going to my back, the other my stomach, steadying me.
“I think you’re starting to show,” he states, his eyes focused on my bare stomach where his palm rests.
Glaring at him I lower my arms as I respond, “Pretty sure that’s all the late-night snacks you’ve been feeding me. It’s far too early for me to be showing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I snap, then remove his hand from my stomach. “I’m not even eight weeks along yet. Probably closer to six if I’m doing the conception math right.”
“Conception math?”
I smile. “You know, the date of my last period plus fourteen days gives an approximation on conception date.”
“Please, tell me I got it done on the first shot,” he retorts, the expression on his face about ten levels of smug.
“Are you that bad at math?”
“Not at all,” he responds in a playful tone. “Just overflowing with testosterone and dirty thoughts.”
“I’d strategically just gotten done with my period when I allowed you to seduce me.”
“Allowed?”
“That’s right.”
“Pretty sure,” he drawls, his hands moving to my hips. “I allowed you to seduce me.”
A low laugh escapes, but when I go to respond I sway slightly, suddenly becoming lightheaded. My bones seem to creak and I swallow a few times, then mutter, “Why don’t they tell you that everything hurts when you’re pregnant.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright,” he asks, pressing his palm against my forehead. “You seem pale.”
“I’m always pale.” He scowls and I laugh then add, “I’m just tired. No one tells you how exhausting the first trimester is. But at least I’m not puking. For now.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him. “You don’t have to go to the game.”
“I want to,” I respond as I rub my cheek on his chest. “I love watching you play.”
“Maybe you should sit up in the box.”
Shaking my head, I retort, “Not a fucking chance.”
“Come on, Cass,” he protests. “It may be more comfortable up there for you, and then, if you start feeling unwell, help will be right there.”
“I like where I sit. I have the best view there.”
“Would you at least sit with my parents?” I ask, wishing I could just tell her what she’s going to do, and she’d do it. “Otherwise, I’ll be distracted worrying about you all night.”
“Unfair.”
He smiles broadly. “So, it’s working?”
“I’ll sit with your parents on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I get to wear pants,” I reply. “And underpants.”
He frowns slightly then his eyes light up as if he’s just having some big epiphany. Then he says, “You can wear whatever you want, whenever you want. Consider that addendum fulfilled,” he pauses, leans in, brushes his lips against mine, “For now.”
I smile, and he pulls back, searching my eyes with a suspicious look on his face. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay home and rest?”
I roll my eyes, wave him off. “And have you spend the entire game worried because I’m not within sight?”
“That’s fair.”
“I’ll be okay,” I respond. “If not, your parents can bring me home and keep an eye on me until you get back.”
With a final squint he nods, then once again leaves the room, doing his final prep before having to leave for his game. I glance at my watch then plop back down on the sofa, pulling the blanket up over me, happy to have time for one last cat nap before game time.