Yes, but I can be sexy and fun at th
e same time.
–Me: I’ll still be here when you come back.
–Emmett: Can’t wait. I wish I could move all the meetings to tomorrow so I could be in L.A. by Thursday morning.
–Me: Thursday would be tough, but I’ll go over to your place Friday after you land. How about that?
Hopefully, my period will have started by then, so we’ll be limited in what we can do, but I’m sure I’ll manage something. I’m a creative problem solver!
–Emmett: Deal. That’ll be the perfect incentive for slogging through this trip. Let me know if you need anything.
–Me: Will do. Don’t work too hard. Don’t want you all exhausted when we get together. ;)
I put my phone away. Maybe my period is late because Emmett isn’t around and I’m down about waiting until Friday to see him. Stress is a killer.
Still, it’ll start any day. Look how miserable Sasha is. All that cramping, and the hormonal rollercoaster. I’ll be joining her at Club Misery soon.
Wednesday goes by. Nothing.
Thursday. Nothing.
Friday. Still nothing.
I even wait until after lunch. But no. Not even a fleck of blood.
Good God. What does it take for my period to start? A virgin sacrifice?
Since I’m getting a decent amount of sleep and eating three squares a day, it can’t be that. Then again, maybe it’s because I’m getting decent sleep and nutrition for once. My body simply can’t adjust.
The only other explanation would be pregnancy, except that’s ludicrous. Emmet and I have been very careful. Neither of us wants to have a baby off a sex-only fling. We’ve always used condoms…
A shiver runs down my spine. Time slows; the air in my lungs thins.
We didn’t use one that first time. When I caught him masturbating in his office.
Oh shit.
But he pulled out. So… Um… The little swimmers couldn’t have wriggled across my skin, into my vag and squirmed their way up until they ran into my unguarded, foolishly welcoming egg.
Could they?
I glance around to make sure nobody’s watching and quickly Google “effectiveness of the pullout method.”
Say it’s one hundred percent. Say it’s one hundred percent!
But no. When done perfectly it’s only ninety-six percent effective. In real life it’s only about seventy-eight percent effective in preventing unwanted pregnancy.
I stare at the screen, frozen in horror. That’s basically one in five.
I look down at my belly with horrified shock.
Be positive! You could be one of the four in five who avoided pregnancy!
Emmett has to have had a lot of experience, I think, clenching and unclenching my trembling hands. It’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s doing in bed.
Experience with sex. Don’t know if he’s done a lot of pulling out, a contrary voice argues. How often could he have been taken by surprise while masturbating, then jumped by a horny—