Dedicated Ink (3 page)

That only left one other person the gold earring could’ve belonged to. All traces of his arousal suddenly gone, he rose and walked to the bathroom, where he dropped the piece of jewelry into the trash. The damn thing really had been lying there forever. Too bad it hadn’t been swept up or otherwise lost – the discovery had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He didn’t get into the shower – not yet. Instead, he returned to his bedroom and picked up his phone. Would Abby be ready to set a date and time for the dinner she’d agreed to have with him, or had he fucked up by showing up at Hot Ink without revealing who he was beforehand?

He had to know. As a familiar ache flared again in his groin, he dialed the number she’d given him in the Hot Ink parking lot, the remembered taste of her making his mouth water, a sweet phantom flavor.

The ultrasound room was unexpectedly atmospheric. The lights were dimmed, and a vase of lavender asters rested on a table next to a decorative wooden dressing screen. All that was missing was a flickering candle. Instead, a TV-like screen was mounted on the wall, giving off a soft glow.

The ultrasound technician led Abby around the screen to where an exam table rested beside a machine with another, smaller screen. Any hints of ambiance the laid-back room had given off faded as Abby was left alone to disrobe and cloak herself in a couple of flimsy paper sheets. Naked from the waist down against the crinkly table cover, she waited for the tech to return.

There was enough room behind the screen for someone to stand beside the table and hold the hand of the woman lying on top of it. It was hard to resist imagining what it would be like to feel another hand wrapped around one of her sweaty ones, to share her anxiety with another person who was just as wrapped up in the pregnancy as she was.

True, she could’ve called her sister and asked her to come. But she hadn’t told anyone about her pregnancy yet, not even Natalie. She just wasn’t ready – she wanted to be sure before she shared the news, needed to know that everything was going okay. She’d researched pregnancy briefly online, desperate for information, and fifteen minutes of reading was all it had taken to convince her that there were a million and one things that could go wrong.

That realization had sparked real fear. Only a couple days had passed since she’d held her positive test in shaking hands, and already she felt a primal sort of attachment, a sense of protectiveness that felt as natural as drawing her next breath.

“Ready?” The tech reentered the room after knocking.

“Yes.”

The woman explained what a trans-vaginal ultrasound was as she prepared for the procedure. Abby had already read about it, but it was still weird when the tech produced a wand and covered it with a disposable condom-like sheath for hygiene’s sake. Still, she could easily endure the invasive procedure if it meant certainty and answers.

Was the baby in the right place? Was it developing normally? Was its heart beating at a healthy pace? What if, what if, what if…

Questions raced through Abby’s mind, the same ones she’d been asking herself over and over during the past three days, ever since she’d laid eyes on those three blue lines. She’d called up her OB-GYN, requested the first available appointment and then anxiously awaited the initial ultrasound exam.

“The purpose of this procedure is mainly to determine how far along you are,” the tech said as she prepared the wand with gel.

Abby nodded, even though she knew exactly
when she’d conceived. The ultrasound would be required regardless, and she wanted – needed – to see a healthily developing baby on the screen that loomed on the wall opposite the exam table.

She did her best to relax as she reclined, balancing her heels on the table’s edge as the procedure began. The mild discomfort caused by the wand was quickly overshadowed by nerves as a sound filled the room – a heartbeat. It was faster than she’d expected, but then, hadn’t she read on the internet that fetal heartbeats were much quicker than adults’?

Still, it sounded like a tiny construction crew was at work in her belly, and each beat drove home the reality of her condition a little further. With the noise of new life ringing in her ears, she watched the screen, straining to make sense of the black and white portrait the ultrasound had painted of her insides.

“Two heartbeats,” the tech said. “And there are the two fetuses. See?”

“Two?” The word leapt from Abby’s suddenly-dry mouth. “You mean…”

“Twins. Do you see them?”

Abby was still, dumbstruck for what felt like the millionth time since she’d read her positive pregnancy test. The tech pointed out two round little heads that dwarfed the bodies below and even tiny nubs that marked developing limbs.

A small eternity seemed to pass, and by the time she could bring herself to speak, it felt like her heart was beating as quickly as the babies’. “I can’t believe I’m having twins,” she said, more to herself than the tech. “Does everything look okay?”

“I’m not really supposed to say,” the tech replied, pursing her lips. “But yeah…” She broke into a smile and gave Abby the tiniest of winks, “everything looks normal to me.”

She would’ve sighed in relief, but her lungs didn’t seem to be working properly. It was all she could do to breathe, to lie still while the tech concluded the exam by taking images of her ovaries.

When the other woman left, Abby shed her fragile paper coverings and slid shaky limbs back into the clothing she’d left folded on a chair. The tech had given her a strip of black and white images, along with a due date – April 21. It was just past mid-September now, which made her about two and a half months pregnant. The tech had explained to her that the doctors started counting pregnancy at the first day of her last period, which meant that by the time conception occurred, a woman was already considered to be two weeks along.

Tucking the black and white photos into her purse, she took a deep breath and reached for the door. She tried not to think of the night that had led to her current situation, but the memories were intense and offered a tempting distraction from the sense of shock that had settled over her in the exam room. Still, she had something much more pertinent to contemplate – the upcoming evening, and her date with Sam.

He’d called her the night before and asked if she was available. She’d said yes, knowing that by the time they met, she’d already have answers from her doctor visit – answers and proof that she was pregnant and that her conception lined up with the night they’d spent together.

As she was shown to another exam room by a nurse, nagging worry ate away at the little bit of confidence the ultrasound photos and official due date had given her. What if Sam wasn’t willing to accept that he was the father without proof – what if he thought that she hit up bars for one night stands all the time, that the father could just as well be someone she’d slept with the night before, or the next night?

What if he demanded a paternity test, and what if he didn’t want anything to do with her or the babies in any case?

Chewing her inner lip as she undressed and covered herself in paper again, she conjured up the image of him standing inside Hot Ink, holding his badge aloft. Discovering that he was a police officer had boosted her hopes that he’d be interested in being involved in their children’s lives. At least now she knew that he wasn’t some deadbeat, wasn’t someone who shied away from responsibility. Still, just because he was responsible enough to enforce the law didn’t mean he’d want any part in raising not one but two children with a near stranger.

By the time the doctor knocked at the door and entered, the inside of Abby’s lower lip was torn and bleeding. She focused on the sting and the taste of copper, willing herself to hold it together at least until after her date with Sam that night. Then, if she needed to, she could come undone in the privacy of her apartment.

* * * * *

Sam wasn’t exactly the world’s sharpest dresser. When he’d been a kid, his older sister had often critiqued his sense of style – or lack thereof – and had relished correcting what she’d deemed his “fashion crimes”. As an adult, he still cared little what his clothing looked like – when he was out of uniform, anyway – but tonight was a different story.

He carefully selected an outfit from a closet full of deliberately neutral garments. He always avoided flashy stuff when he shopped, figuring the more basic he kept his wardrobe, the less likely he was to accidentally dress himself like a clown. The grey shirt and almost-new dark wash jeans he chose for the evening were so simple they had to be a safe choice. Besides, his sister had once advised him that grey was a good color for him – went well with his hair or something.

He never would’ve admitted to her that he remembered her advice, let alone that he was actually following it in hopes of impressing a woman, but that was exactly what he did as he ironed the shirt to perfection, then donned the outfit.

Was it too casual? He doubted his selection for a second as he glimpsed himself in the mirror mounted on the inside of his closet door. He’d made all the wrong impressions and done all the wrong things during his first night with Abby. He needed to set things straight now, couldn’t afford to fuck up and allow her to think that this was just another meaningless encounter – the last thing he intended the night to be was casual in the way their first had been.

And yet, it wasn’t like they were going to the damn opera or something. Dinner and a movie, if she’d agree to see one with him. Dinner, at the very least – she’d already said yes to that over the phone.

He shut the closet door before he could second-guess himself again. If he over-thought his clothes, he’d only end up wearing something asinine.

He made sure his house was locked up before climbing into his car, but instead of heading to her place, he drove straight to the restaurant they’d agreed to have a meal at. She’d turned down his offer to pick her up.

She was there when he arrived, sitting in the same car he’d walked her to in Hot Ink’s parking lot, a newish but modest little two-door. Her pale blonde hair shone from behind the driver’s side window like a beacon, and he abandoned his own vehicle at the sight of it, a small sense of satisfaction welling up inside him as he approached the coupe. At least they could walk into the restaurant together.

She almost looked surprised when she turned to face him, her blue eyes wide. She stepped out of the car quickly though, swinging stunning bare legs out onto the pavement and gripping a purse by its strap.

His heart rate picked up a little as his cock stiffened halfway, rendering his normally comfortable jeans too tight. Damn, she looked amazing in the little black dress she wore, one that hit high enough above the knee to remind him how it’d felt to have her legs wrapped around his waist. His excitement was potent, but edged with guilt. She hadn’t even wanted to ride in his car; she probably thought that all he wanted was to get in her pants again.

As much as he wanted it – wanted her – that wasn’t the case.

“Hi,” she said, smoothing her skirt and pulling on the hem.

“You look amazing,” he said, his gaze drawn to the colorful tattoos he could see peeking out from beneath the sleeves of her little jacket, which hit just above her elbows. The teasing preview brought back memories of a lithe body embellished here and there with ink, toned and tattooed.

She smiled, but the expression quickly flickered and disappeared. “Thanks. You look great too.”

They walked side by side to the restaurant, but he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. She seemed wary; obviously, she wasn’t nearly as comfortable around him as she’d been that single, sultry night in late July. That was understandable, to an extent – this wasn’t some alcohol-fueled, half-anonymous encounter. But still … she seemed edgier than he’d anticipated, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to be there with him.

The thought made him want to kick his own ass. Since that night, he’d thought about her often enough to want to see her again, even if it meant facing the embarrassment he felt over their initial time together. Now, he was faced with the momentous task of turning things around, of re-routing the course of their brief relationship off the path of nothingness it had begun on. He was willing to make the effort, to see if she wanted the same thing, because as casual as their first night had been, it had still been
that
memorable. He wanted more, and not just another few hours.

He wanted to know her, to have more than just a taste of the woman who’d been slipping into his dreams ever since July and causing him to wake up hard and aching, wondering if he’d ever see her again. Two months was a hell of a long time to exist off of hot memories and wet dreams.

“Have you eaten here before?” she asked when they were seated.

He nodded. “Too many times for my own good, probably.” Rotating shifts took a toll on his biological clock. Though he rarely felt like cooking when he got home, he’d been making an effort to do so more often over the past few months – before then, he’d had every reason to want to delay coming home, and had grabbed dinner out almost every day.