Page 21 of Tangled Desires

“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” I mutter, gingerly taking the bowl. Her smug chuckle barely registers before the smell fully hits me.

Chicken. Spices. Death.

My stomach riots, flipping so hard I gag, barely managing to shove the bowl onto the table before bolting for the sink. Acid and saliva burn their way up, and the kitchen fills with the unholy sounds of my dry heaving. So gross. When I finally rinse out my mouth and stagger back, Isla’s leaning on the counter, arms crossed, head tilted. “That bad?”

“No fucking clue.” I collapse onto the couch. “Whatever it is, I’m not eating it.” Her eyes narrow slightly, the wheels in her head clearly spinning. “What now?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “Alright, don’t freak out, but hear me out… Should you… maybe take a pregnancy test?”

The room goes silent. I blink rapidly at her. “What? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know! Just ruling things out,” she says, hands up in mock surrender. She must be out of her mind. There is no way. But the seed of doubt is planted, and as much as I want to laugh it off, I feel heat creeping up my neck.

I start laughing, the sound more forced than I’d like. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Okay, fine. Out of curiosity, when was the last time you had sex?”

Her question sucker-punches me, dragging my brain straight back to that night with Harrison. My heart stumbles. The heat ofhis skin, his hands on me, the way he looked at me—damn it. No. I took the pill. Icannotbe pregnant.

That stuff works. It worked for Alana back in year twelve, when she had sex with her boyfriend for the first time, and the condom broke. She was a wreck, crying in the bathroom stall next to mine, but the pill did its job, and she was fine. It worked for Dianne, one of my clients at the salon. She told me the story while I touched up her roots, about the wild night she had after her divorce party, the condom mishap with the stranger she barely remembered, and how she didn’t breathe easy until her period came a month later.

So yeah, it works. I amnotpregnant. Absolutely not.

But why does my chest feel tight, and why can’t I seem to look Isla in the eye?

“Seriously, Isla?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re adults. Spill.”

Sighing, I slump into the cushions like they’ll swallow me whole. “A few weeks ago. Maybe.”

Her face lights up like it’s Christmas. “Wait. With who? Bitch, how have you not told me? We tell each othereverything.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

My teeth sink into my lip. No shame, right? Except swearing off him for so long only to fall face-first into his lap—is peak irony. Damn his charm. Damn his stupidly perfect everything.

“Harrison.”

“Get absolutely fucked! No way?” she exclaims, a little too loud, making Callie stir. She picks her up, holding her close while bouncing her gently. I try not to let the sight twist my gut.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not! Just... shocked. Actually, no. Not shocked at all.” Isla narrows her eyes with a knowing look. “It’s about time, honestly.” Sure, whatever.

“Anyway,” I wave her off, trying to erase the thought, “I’m not pregnant.”

Isla holds up a hand, still cradling Callie. “Hold on. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact you fucked Harrison.”

“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan, heat crawling up my neck.

“When was it? Where?!” Isla leans forward, grinning like a kid on Christmas. I roll my eyes.

“That night we were at yours for pizza. He drove me home.”

“Yeah? And?”