The Big Bang by Linda Joffe Hull Read Free Book Online

nod to the parade of teddies and see-thru tank tops that now overflowed Hope’s lingerie drawer and had taken up residence in her sock drawer. Only when she’d worn his silk boxers and nothing else had his response resulted in the virile baby-making romp she’d hoped for.
    Of course, that was during the first month.
    Ten months later, could she blame him for his waning enthusiasm?
    With a dismissive snip of her nail scissors, Hope clipped the tags on this month’s ovulation day peach lace bra and g-string combo. As she fastened the bra hook, the phone rang.
    Before she could make it down the hall to her office where she’d left the handset, the message machine picked up.
    “You’ve reached the Jordans and Hope for Your Home Design. Please leave a—”
    “Hope, it’s Jim…”
    His message was partially blurred by the noise of a passing truck, but his last sentence was all she needed to hear.
    “Be there in ten.”
    She was being paranoid. Jim was on his way home. If not eager to make passionate love for the umpteenth time every other day in a row, he was certainly a willing participant in their shared goal. Before she got back into bed in preparation, she grabbed a few roses from the peach bouquet she’d picked up to match her lingerie and plucked the petals.
    Halfway down the curved staircase, she stopped and closed her eyes. Mid her monthly visualization of the onslaught of robust candidates all vying for her big, healthy, ripe egg, a chill came over her like she was being watched. Half-expecting to catch Will Pierce-Cohn gazing at her through her front door accent windows, she opened her eyes.
    No one was there, of course.
    Yet another example of paranoia.
    The Clomid was doing its job.
    Hope smiled.
    Everything was okay.
    More than okay.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Section 2.3. Miscellaneous Use Site: Miscellaneous Use Site shall mean any Privately Owned Site within the Community Association Area designated in the Supplemental Declaration covering that site for agricultural, mixed residential, and office or other uses.
    “H ow long have you been symptomatic?” the doctor, nerdy cute, but younger than Laney Estridge preferred, both medically and recreationally, asked.
    “Long enough to be sick of feeling sick.” If her utter lack of interest in flirting with him regardless was any indication, she was getting worse.
    “Any other symptoms besides sinus congestion?”
    “Headaches, cough, phlegm, intermittent body aches.” She shivered from the cold tip of the scope in her ear.
    “It’s been a rough cold and flu season.” The doctor looked up her left and then her right nostril. “Especially for you.”
    “I’ve gone from one virus to another since fall,” Laney said. “What do you think is going on with me?”
    “Your sinuses are definitely inflamed,” he said. “And your recent medical history indicates some mild immune-suppression.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “How would you characterize your recent stress levels?”
    “No worse than usual.”
    “Are you taking anything else besides Zoloft on a daily basis?”
    “A multi, calcium, vitamin D, fish oil, and B complex.”
    “Any herbal supplements?”
    “Juice Plus, which I sell, and have tremendous faith in.”
    He began to jot down a prescription. “In the absence of any underlying pathology, chronic low-grade illness is commonly brought on by the combination of stressors and increased anxiety levels.”
    “Stress?” Laney’s relieved sigh came out as a snort. “With the real estate and retail markets spiraling downward as fast as the cost of gas goes up—not to mention my husband’s job prospects, I’m lucky I haven’t been deathly ill.”
    “I think we all feel that way.” He smiled kindly. “Let’s try Augmentin this time and up your current dosage of Zoloft by twenty-five milligrams. I’d also like for you to focus on stress-reduction, happy thoughts, and activities that promote relaxation whenever possible.”
    The closest thing she had