Too fucking long if you ask me. By the time I reach Ty’s apartment, I’ve sucked down three iced teas from Starbucks and had to stop to pee once every two hours. This weak bladder is killing me. I was ready to strangle the barista at the last stop because, apparently, it is too much to ask to brew some decaf tea and then pour it over ice. I feel her though. This decaf shit is going to get real old. I don’t know if I can hold out the entire nine months. As it is, I’m going through withdrawals without my glass—glasses—of wine. Not to mention, new flavors of Stella Rosa have popped up and I’m dying to head to the winery for a tasting. If it was still 1960, I’d be able to take a drink. Damn those doctors for figuring out alcohol and a growing fetus shouldn’t mix. I laugh to myself at my joke. Ty is waiting outside, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase that leads up to his place. He closes the distance to my car in a flash. My window glides down and he pokes his head in for a kiss before I can get out a hello.
