Chapter 10
Ten
Leo
I try to be as unobtrusive as possible as I follow Harper and the medical assistant through the bright hallways, the fluorescent lights overhead turning everything a sickly white, highlighting every ding and scratch, making me critically aware that I’m the interloper.
When Harper walked away from me, I figured I’d make myself comfortable, hang out until she was done then continue our discussion—cough, argument—in the parking lot.
But when she looked back at me…
Fuck if I hadn’t felt something.
Something I’m not focusing on too closely.
Instead, I keep my footsteps quiet as I trail the women around the corner.
“If you’ll just step on there,” the medical assistant says, indicating the scale and I back away, deliberately don’t look.
I used to hate it when my coaches would make us weigh in, announcing our weight aloud to whoever might be around to hear it.
Probably because I used to be a scrawny fuck and constantly heard I needed to put on muscle.
I know women deal with it the other way.
But both suck.
So…privacy.
“Okay, let’s move on down to room two and I’ll have you sit on the bed there.”
I follow, slipping inside and standing in the corner as Harper sits and the woman takes her temperature and blood pressure, puts that thing on her finger that measures who knows what.
Everything appears to be in order because it’s not long before the other woman is passing Harper a gown, telling her how to put it on, and stepping out, telling her the doctor will be in soon.
Harper shakes out what I realize is a folded paper-thin piece of…well, it looks like paper, I guess.
But when she reaches for the gown, she pauses, lifts her brows.
“What?” I ask, taking a step toward her. “Do you need help?”
“I’m about to get naked, Leo. I need you to look away.”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” I point out.
She stills, chin coming up, jaw clenching, cheeks going pink. But it’s the hurt that flashes across her eyes that has me realizing what my words sound like. “Harp—”
“Whatever,” she mutters, reaching for the hem of her shirt and tugging it up.
I spin around, giving her the privacy I shouldn’t have questioned.
I hung back from the scale but not when she’s about to get naked?
I’m an idiot.
But I’m also a perv.
Because there’s a mirror in front of me, and I should close my eyes or avert my gaze.
Instead, I’m fixated on the small square of reflective material…and what it’s showing me.
Harper quickly pulling her shirt up and over her head, revealing smooth skin and soft curves and a pale pink lacy bra.
My dick twitches.
See? Perv.
And even more so when she reaches for the buttons on her jeans, undoes it and tugs down the zipper. She pushes the material past her hips, doing a little shimmy that makes her tits jiggle and my dick isn’t just twitching.
It’s hard.
I shift slightly, trying to undo the pressure, even as my gaze is glued to the mirror.
Because she’s standing there like a goddess in a pair of floral panties and that lacy pink bra, folding her jeans.
Fucking beautiful.
She darts a look in my direction and I hold my breath, waiting for her to realize how much of a creep I am.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to see the mirror.
Or me staring at it like it’s going to tell me all the secrets of the universe.
And maybe it is.
Because Harper is there, quickly undoing her bra and, fuck, but her breasts are perfect.
So perfect I almost miss her stepping out of her underwear, giving me a glimpse of that lush ass, the blond curls, the pussy I’d buried my mouth in, unable to stop licking and sucking at because it was ambrosia to my fucking soul.
Then she’s grabbing the paper thing, climbing up onto the bed and draping it over her lap.
She smooths it down, tucks her hair behind her ear, and exhales. “Okay.”
I rotate to face her. “Okay if I sit?”
She nods, and I shift her clothes to the side so I can sit down. “So that’s really a thing, huh?”
“What’s a thing?”
“Girls hiding their underwear from doctors.” I look at her. “I saw a TikTok about it once—about women folding their clothes around their bra and panties.” I poke at the pile. “You did the same.”
She studies me closely for a long moment.
Then shrugs. “It’s just habit I guess.”
“Right,” I murmur.
“What?” she asks. “You just leave your underwear out, all free and loose, when you get your balls checked?”
I pause. Then shrug. “I guess I do.”
She snorts. “Heathen.”
My lips twitch. “Yeah, I am.”
Quiet falls, and I wrack my brain for something to say that won’t piss her off or send her puking or shatter the fragile peace that’s settled between us.
Before I can, there’s a knock at the door and then the doctor’s pushing into the room, smiling at us and settling in.
They talk about timing…and a due date—
Which sends my pulse fucking careening through my veins.
“What questions do you have?” she asks Harper.
“Oh, um...” Harp’s eyes come to mine, panic creeping into the edges.
“You need this?” I ask softly, holding up her journal. She’d been flipping through it when I first walked into the waiting room.
“Yes,” she says thankfully, taking it from me and opening it. She asks a lot of good questions—definitely more than I thought of myself—and I listen carefully to the answers, eventually pulling out my phone and jotting down a few important things.
But there’s one item of concern she isn’t asking about.
And maybe I shouldn’t interact, but I can’t stop thinking about how awful she clearly felt the other day.
And about how much of this she’s been shouldering alone.
“What about you being sick all the time?” I interject softly.
She nibbles at her bottom lip. “It’s fine. I’m sure it will pass after the first trimester.”
“Hmm. It looks like you’ve lost five pounds since your yearly appointment a few months back,” Dr. Harlow says, shifting over to the computer and clicking around. “Are you able to keep anything down?”
More nibbling. “Not really. And sometimes it’s waking me up at night.”
Fuck.
She can’t even sleep undisturbed?
No wonder the circles under her eyes are so dark.
Dr. Harlow winces. “I’m sorry to hear that.
” Then she recommends the ginger candies I bought in bulk, and I make a mental note to bring them to Harper’s place so she has them on hand.
And maybe to stash them in her purse, her car, her kitchen.
“But I want you to check in by the end of the week. If they don’t help in the next couple of days or so, we may need to talk about medication.
The last thing we need is for you to get dehydrated and end up in the hospital. ”
“Okay,” Harper says as I make another mental note.
“Great.” Dr. Harlow turns and heads for the box of gloves, pulling out a pair and tugging them on with an ominous snap.
“So, are you guys ready for the fun stuff?”