Friday, January 23, 2015

So....what would you do...

If you were single, and found yourself pregnant.........then accidentally found yourself falling in love with your obstetrician...who also happens to be dating your bestie?

Yeah. Quite a conundrum.

Look at the pretty new cover....isn't it delicious?


Lexie Baump went through that exact situation. Want to know what happened? Grab your copy of Baby & Bump for only 99 cents today!

Read this excerpt, then click the link below....

Bile filled my mouth, and I clamped my fingers down, trying to hold the vomit at bay as I charged through the living room. Frustrated cries of several men rang out when I temporarily blocked their view of the flat screen. I clambered up the stairs to the second floor bathroom, and was met by a commode tightly shut with a child lock. My body heaved forward as I fumbled with one hand to unlatch the lid, but it kept landing back down on the seat with a loud thunk. With each unsuccessful attempt, my stomach lurched, filling my mouth with vomit.
Lurch. Thunk. Lurch. Thunk.
This whole pregnancy thing was for the damn birds.
Finally the lid broke open, sending pieces of the plastic lock flying in all directions.
Woops. Guess I’ll be replacing that later.
I buried my face in the porcelain bowl and relieved myself of everything I’d either tasted or eaten since the third grade. The sound of the football game raging downstairs was drowned out by my coughing and sputtering.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I asked my little kidney bean, my voice echoing against the dirtied water.
“You okay?” A deep voice asked.
I felt a warm hand touch my back, and I nodded, my forehead bumping against the seat. “Yeah. Just feeling a bit under the weather. Sorry to ruin your party, Bri.”
“It’s not Brian.”
I lifted my head the tiniest bit. Crap on a stick, it was Dr. Fletcher Haybee—in all of his denim shirt wearing, tousled blond hair glory!
Fumbling to flush the toilet, I snatched a piece of toilet paper off the nearby roll to wipe my mouth. Leave it to Brian and Candace to invite the gorgeous obstetrician who just had his face in my junk over for a football game and cold cuts.
“I…uh…uh…” My mind was blank. Completely blank. I’d never been caught vomiting by a hot doctor before.
Fletcher knelt down and took hold of my wrist. “Having a lot of nausea?” He grew quiet and looked at his watch. It occurred to me that he was taking my pulse.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought my child hates me, and wants to slowly kill me from the inside out.” I leaned against the toilet and blew my hair off my forehead. It felt like I’d thrown up at least two major organs.
He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. It made my empty and twisted belly heat up like a fire pit. “Are you able to keep anything down at all?”
Sweat soaked the hair at the nape of my neck, and I suddenly realized how terrible I must have looked. Curse my ultra-white skin and freckles. Whenever I’d thrown up as a kid, I turned a pasty shade of gray, and my nose got splotchy and red.
I shook my head. “Not really. Although I ate a tic tac yesterday, and I don’t think that came back up.” I looked at the now clean water in the toilet wearily. “Though it may have just now.”
Again he laughed, then put his finger under my chin to raise it. Fletcher’s bright, aqua blue eyes searched mine for a few beats. “Your pulse seems all right, and your pupils aren’t dilated. I think you’re going to be fine.”
“Great.” Using another piece of toilet paper, I wiped the back of my neck off. “How long does this morning sickness last? And why do they call it morning sickness? Shouldn’t it be called ‘all damn day’ sickness?”
When he smiled, it showed a row of bright, white teeth. They were nearly perfect, with the exception of one of his canines, which was just slightly out of alignment. It was the most endearing flaw I’d ever seen. I was surprised at how squirmy he made me feel, considering I’d just finished puking my guts out.
“A lot of women get morning sickness all day long. The good news is, it should subside around twelve to fourteen weeks,” he said. “My ex wife got so mad at me when her morning sickness kicked in. She said it was a cruel joke from God.”
Ex wife? My ears perked up and I sat up straighter. Well, as straight as I could between the bathtub and the toilet. “You were married, Dr. Haybee?”
            He sat down Indian-style across the bathroom rug from me. “Come on. Call me Fletcher.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be disrespectful.” I looked down at my tee shirt and brushed at a wet spot on the chest. Dear Lord, I hoped it was water and not puke. I reached up to the countertop where the kid’s toothbrushes were set up, grabbed the tube of toothpaste, and squeezed a dollop onto my finger.
He shrugged. “What’s disrespectful about it? I’m going to deliver your baby. That’s pretty intimate. We may as well be on a first name basis.”
“Okay, then, Fletcher. Did anyone call you Fletch growing up?” I smiled before starting to scrub my teeth with my finger.
Rolling his eyes, he picked at a dark piece of lint on the fluffy white rug. “Yeah. It drove me crazy.”
I rose up onto my knees, spit the toothpaste into the sink, and quickly rinsed my mouth out. “I can relate. Everyone has called me Bump for as long as I can remember. Geez, even my high school principal called me that.”
“No kidding?” Fletcher grinned.
“Wish I were.” I pulled my knees to my chest, and leaned against the cool porcelain of the tub.
            “There’s a certain amount of irony in that, you know.” When I gave him a strange look, he nodded at my midsection. “Beings you’re pregnant, and will soon have a bump.”
            “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” he lamented cheerfully. “My last name is Haybee, and I went on to become an obstetrician. All my nurses call me Dr. Baby.”
I giggled. “Dr. Baby?”
He blushed. “It’s pretty stupid.”
“I won’t argue with that.” I blew at a stray strand of my red hair. “So how many kids do you have, Dr. Baby?”
            “Just one. A daughter. Martha.” Fletcher’s eyes sparkled when he said his daughter’s name.
            “Martha? That’s beautiful. You don’t hear that name very often anymore.”
            “Thanks. It’s my mother’s name. Have you thought of any names yet?”
            I shook my head. “Ugh, no. I’m still processing the fact that I’m going to be a single mom.” I chewed the inside of my cheek and hoped he wouldn’t ask the inevitable question, but no such luck.
            “Is the father involved? Will I be meeting him at one of your appointments?”
            My teeth came down on the soft inner skin of my left cheek. “No.” When his light eyes probed mine for a second, I added, “Let’s just call this immaculate conception, okay, doc?”

            His brow relaxed. “Hint taken.”



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