Page 15 of Can't Win 'Em All
“You probably don’t want to touch me,” I explained when his eyebrows knit over my actions. “I might have the flu.”
“Did you go to the pharmacy for medicine?” He pointed toward my bag.
Internally, I thanked my lucky stars that I’d been cognizant enough to suggest the double bagging. “Yes,” I lied. “I got some stuff to help my stomach. I’m going to head up to my suite and rest. Hopefully, after a few hours of downtime, I’ll be bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
“I’ve never really understood that saying. Does one want to be bushy tailed?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.” I gave him a half wave and started for the elevators. “I’ll see you.”
“Do you want me to have one of the restaurants send anything up?” He looked legitimately concerned. “Like … how about some soup and bread? That should be bland enough for you to keep down.”
“I don’t want to risk trying to keep anything down right now,” I replied. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
I was quiet for the ride up to my floor, although I nodded at a few familiar faces. Once in the safety of my suite, I read the directions on the pregnancy test and then headed into the bathroom to take the first one.
I was just looking for peace of mind, I reminded myself. There was no way I was actually pregnant. I’d gotten four different types of tests, but I figured if the first one proved what I already knew, I would take the others to the front desk where they would be handy should a guest need them. There was just one little problem.
I’d selected Clearblue on a whim. According to the instructions, when the line showed up, it meant I was pregnant.
“Well, that’s not right.” I shook my head.
Next up was First Response. It was also positive.
It wasn’t until the Equate test came up positive too that I started to panic. What were the odds that I would go three-for-three on false positives? They couldn’t be good.
I took the house brand CVS test last. When it too was positive, I thought I might be sick again. Since my father wasn’t around to puke on, I managed to hold it together. Just barely. Then I placed a call to my primary care physician. I didn’t care that they were booked. I bulldozed my way to an appointment.
I was going to find out one way or another what was going on. Part of me knew of course. I wasn’t a delusional idiot. I just needed to hear it from a professional. Then I would decide how best to panic and freak out. I needed all the facts before I could do it properly. That’s simply who I was.
5
FIVE
Event nights at the casino were a nightmare. Not only was I responsible for the safety of our guests—Vegas was the sort of place where survival skills went right out the window—but I was also responsible for the safety of the people who were visiting simply because of the event. That’s why I was secretly glad when Zach and the others shot down Ryder’s idea regarding an amphitheater addition to the property. Eventually, it would probably happen. Right now, with everything going on within the Stone family, it was an unnecessary consideration.
Still, a concert might be more fun than what I was dealing with this evening.
“That’s quite the party you’ve got going on in the back there,” I noted as I regarded the gentleman standing with a clipboard at the entrance to the convention center. When I heard we were hosting a mullet and mustache convention, I was convinced I was being played. Apparently, that was not the case. “The business up front is nice too.”
Sam Sewell, the event chairman, didn’t have much of a sense of humor, especially for a guy who was checking in every mullet and mustache in the general vicinity. The look he gave me suggested he thought I was making fun of him—which I was—but he didn’t have to be such a butthead about it.
“I’ve been perfecting my mullet for twenty-five years,” he explained to me. “This isn’t some fad, son. It’s a way of life.”
It took everything I had to keep a straight face. “And this?” I pointed toward the pornstache he was so proudly putting on display. It looked as if a caterpillar had died on his lip. “How long did that take you to perfect?”
“Two weeks.”
I cocked my head. “Two weeks? I can’t grow a mustache like that in two years.”
“It all comes down to testosterone.” He looked smug as he went back to staring forward. “This is a lifestyle, kid, not a whim. When we commit, we commit. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
I was still debating what he’d said when Zach sidled over to me.
“Hey, man.” Zach grinned at Sam. “How’s it hanging?”
“Low and heavy,” Sam replied, not missing a beat.
Clearly amused, Zach turned his smile to me. “I told you it was a mullet and mustache convention.”
