Page 87 of Strike Zone

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Stepping out onto the field tonight, the roar of the crowd is electric. My eyes go straight for Diana to where I know she’ll be sitting with her family and one security guard that she knows about. She’s flanked on either side by Brooke and her dad, just the way I like it. Even from here, I can tell she’s smiling, her hands resting on that big, beautiful bump of hers.

“You need to focus on the game first, bro.”

“I know. I’m laser-focused.”

“On your girlfriend.”

“Says the guy ogling his wife.”

“Touché. I can’t believe you’re the guy who’s going to make me an uncle. That’s so disturbing on so many levels and simultaneously fucking awesome.”

“It’s the magic sperm, bro.”

“Can you two stop staring at them for a few hours and play the game. We only have all of New York counting on us.” Coach is being a little dramatic, and I can’t pass up the chance to correct him.

“Technically, only half of New York. The rest are praying we crap out, or are we no longer counting Mets fans as New Yorkers anymore?”

“Always with the smart mouth. You’re lucky you have a good swing, Nash, and even luckier that woman agreed to go on a date with you, never mind spawning your young. What the hell is it about the Lexington women that has you both so strung out? Let’s play ball, fellas.”

As he walks away, we look at each other, then up at the stands.

“We’re attracted to women who have a propensity to vomit.” I cross my arms over my chest, puffed up like I’ve just solved a Rubik’s cube in under five seconds.

“Holy shit, you’re right. Brooke blew chunks on me the night I met her, and Dee does nothing but puke on you. Fuck, there’s something seriously wrong with us.”

“And yet, those two women up there are fucking perfect.”

“We must have done something right.”

“Are you guys here for decoration or what? Take off your bras and get to work.” Coach shouts from the dugout.

With the first swing of my bat tonight, I knock it out of the park, jogging an easy home run to warm me up. There’s nothing like the crack of a new ball against my bat—when I catch that sweet spot, guaranteeing a phenomenal hit—to make my cock feel as big as the bat itself. The Astros know I’m coming for them tonight.

Anders is on fire, throwing some of the best pitches of his career. I’ve been watching the screens from the dugout, my pulse racing every time Diana’s face appears, clapping and cheering. I’ve assumed the role of protective baby daddy with ease, and even in the middle of a game, I’m thinking to myself—she needs to stop bouncing around. Her bladder’s the size of a walnut now, and I really don’t want to explain to the media that she peed herself on the Jumbotron.

We take a few knocks, but as the innings come and go, we’re in the stronger position coming into the bottom of the ninth. We only need one run to break a tie and take the game, but I never count my chickens when it comes to baseball. I’m the last one up with no bases loaded. I shouldn’t feel this confident, but tonight, there’s something in the air. The atmosphere’s sizzling, Diana’s in the crowd, and I can taste the impending victory as I step up to the plate.

I look to where she’s sitting as my fingers flex the bat, finding a comfortable grip, hoping for one last beaming smile, but what I see is something else entirely. Diana is hunched over, clutching her stomach.

If I drop the bat and run out on the game, a rookie is going to be pulled off the bench and thrown to the wolves. It’s as good as ensuring a tie. But this is Diana.

I turn to Anders, who’s already getting on the phone and pointing up at the screens. Brooke is standing at Diana’s side, signally between her legs like a maniac. Fuck! Her water just broke. This can’t be happening right now.

The Astros pitcher is a friend of mine, and he steps back, giving me a moment to compose myself as the crowd becomes focused on what’s happening in the stands rather than on the field. I need to go to her. It’s one game. She’s everything.

Anders comes sprinting up to the plate.

“I’ve got to go, Anders. She’s in fucking labor.”

“I called her mom from the phone in the dugout. Her water broke.”

“I’m out. Tell the team I’ll make it up to them. I’ll buy them all Lamborghinis for Christmas.”

“Wait. Diana grabbed the phone out of Martha’s hand and screamed at me. Verbatim. Tell Lincoln Nash that if he even thinks about coming up here before winning this game, I will personally kick his fucking ass. I’m pushing a human out of my vagina tonight, so he better knock it out of the damn park. Then she hung up.”

“She’ll literally kick my ass.”

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