Page 77 of Strike Zone

“I love you.” I know he’s already heard it tonight, but it feels really great to say it, like I want to shout it from rooftops.

“I was right about you all along. You’re a fluffy pink unicorn, girly girl with glitter and tutus and a soft squishy center.”

“Our little secret. Dee Lex isn’t a girlie girl.”

“You’ve never been Dee Lex to me, but you’ll always be my Diana.”

Chapter Seventeen

LINC

It would sound ridiculous if I said it out loud—I’m nervous about tonight. After the insane path Diana and I have taken to find each other, tonight will be our first official date. I don’t know whether to be excited or drop to my knees and say a hundred Hail Marys. I’m taking my girlfriend—it’s still odd calling her that—on our first date, and she’s currently six months pregnant with our baby girl.

We’ve exchanged the words ‘I love you’ and are a few months away from welcoming our name-yet-to-be-agreed-upon baby. Why am I so anxious? I’ve been on a million first dates, but none of them mattered, not like this. I want everything to be perfect for Diana. She deserves the quintessential romantic first date we never had. A drunken text message and going down on her in a Vegas hotel room was hot, but the version of her I have now is so much more.

I went all out with the fancy restaurant and a quiet table in the corner. I didn’t book out the whole place because Anders said it was a dick move, and thinking about it now, she’d have hated it. If I’m honest, this isn’t what I envisaged for a first date with Diana, but nothing about our relationship has been conventional, so I wanted her to have one night of being treated like the lady she is—a breathtaking beauty. Anders and Brooke will be meeting us at the restaurant at Diana’s insistence. Now that everything’s out in the open, they’re making an effort not to kill me, and I’m letting them.

I arrive at her apartment with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, and as I wait for her to open the door, I know I must look like a big Hallmark card asshole. That’s exactly how I feel right now. When the familiar clunk of her deadbolt echoes in the hallway, my insides cringe to the point of hiding my face with the flowers. I can sense the death blow before it’s delivered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, you must have the wrong apartment. You’re looking for 1945 Cheesy Rom-Com Avenue, two blocks south of Have You Lost Your Mind Boulevard. If you end up at Cliché Road, you’ve gone too far.”

I literally crumple against the doorjamb as side-splitting laughter overflows. “I knew it!”

“Lincoln Nash, what were you thinking?” I love her laugh—so melodic and infectious.

“I wanted to do one thing right. The first-date stuff.”

“The flowers are beautiful.”

I hand them over, completely unprepared for the sight of her tonight.

“Forget the date, we’re staying home. You look good enough to eat. Wow… just… wow.”

“You like?” she asks before leaning in for a soft, welcoming kiss.

“You look incredible.” I throw the box of chocolates on the nearest surface and take her hand, encouraging her to give me a three-sixty angle on this dress. “Fuck me, I’m hard already. You only wear this dress from now on.” My cock is straining against my pants, she looks so damn hot.

“I wasn’t so sure about the figure-hugging maternity clothes, but I’m feeling pretty sexy in this one, even though my pantyhose are so big they cover my bra.”

“Shut the fuck up. Are you serious? I need to see this.”

“No, it’ll ruin the sex appeal.”

“Then you shouldn’t have told me. And let’s face it, the anaconda is stiff as a board right now. I don’t care what those pantyhose look like on you, they’ll be sexy as fuck.”

Her dress is so tight it could’ve been sprayed on at the local body shop—black, sleeveless, and clinging to that gorgeous baby bump of hers that’s really starting to pop now. The neckline slashes straight across, giving no eyes on cleavage, but those puppies are hugged so tight, I could cry. I’ve been reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting, and it warned me to expect her breasts to ‘enlarge.’ They really need to change it up a little for us scared dads—give us the positives to take our mind off the responsibility coming our way. Something like:

As pregnancy progresses, your partner will grow weapons of mass consumption and consumer world power. Don’t try to fight any argument that may come your way‚ she will win. One glance at those perfectly plump breasts, and you’ll sell a kidney for one squeeze of the fun bags.

Also, keep in mind when out in public, other men will look, but if you slaughter every one of them and dispose of the bodies, you’ll have a landfill in an undisclosed location before she gives birth. Don’t murder people. Always remember—she chose to make a baby with you. You are the only one who has permission to enjoy those watermelons of Aphrodite.

In conclusion, never forget the key element of pregnancy breasts for partners. Do not, under any circumstances, agree to any large purchases—minivans, new homes in the suburbs, an annex to your existing home for your in-laws to move in—during this crucial time. Your partner may seem sweet and ethereal as you gaze upon her radiant beauty, but she knows her superpower, and she’s not afraid to take her top off after planting the seeds of kicking the tires on a few cars. Once the top is off, it’s too late, you’re buying a minivan.

“Earth to Linc.” She stretches the neckline of her dress forward to let me see the pantyhose, but I take a step back.

“We’re not getting a minivan. Ever. You can’t make me.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Come and look at this, it’s funny, and you’re being weird.”

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