or four hours a day when we have construction or environmental projects underway. Other times, not so much.”
“Any chance you could be pregnant? A woman’s basal temperature elevates during pregnancy, which makes her more prone to dehydration, heat exhaustion and heat cramps.”
“No, I...”
Swish stopped, her breath blocking her throat. An image of Gabe digging a crumpled foil package out of his wallet leaped into her head. How long did he say he’d been carrying the damned thing around? A year? And she’d been so tickled by the fact he hadn’t used it with Miss Priss.
“I guess I could be.”
The doc rolled back her stool. “Well, we’ll know soon enough. I’ll write an order for a lab test. You may want to cut back on your exposure to the heat until we get the results. And keep drinking plenty of water.”
Shock eddied into the first wavelets of panic. “Can’t I pee on a stick or something? Find out now?”
“Hang loose. I’ll get a kit.”
Swish edged off the exam table, her boots thudding on the floor. Too agitated to sit, she paced the tiny room. She couldn’t be pregnant. The odds couldn’t be that stacked against her and Gabe!
A chance meeting at a traffic light. One hot and heavy session between the sheets. Okay, two. Three? No, just two. She’d climaxed first. She was sure she had. Then she’d straddled Gabe’s hips and pumped him for all she was worth.
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