Page 82 of Strike Zone

A ripple of laughter and camaraderie spreads throughout the room, and one by one, men and women stand from their tables, lining up to form a human cage around me. I may just have had a small moment of genius.

“Thank you, everyone. I really didn’t want to bail Linc out of jail tonight. The smell alone would have me hugging the toilet for a week right now.”

“She’s not even kidding.”

He signals to Anders to head out first. I know there’s no way he’s leaving my side, even for a second. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out who tipped the press off to our location. Anthony. He couldn’t even give me this as a parting gift after everything he put me through. So much for a quiet press release this week.

Brooke shrugs out of her cardigan and stuffs it under her dress, much to Anders’ horror. “What are you doing?”

“Giving them what they want. A pregnant Lexington.” She sticks her tongue out at us with a sly wink before going to her husband’s side. “This is going to be fun.” I may be the brawler of the family, but my little sister has never backed away from a fight, especially if someone she loves is threatened in any way. She takes more of a sneak attack approach, so I can only imagine what she’s cooking up.

“Okay, everyone, thirty seconds, and you can enjoy the rest of your night on us. Thanks again.”

And with that, the door opens, and mayhem ensues. We shuffle out slowly, Linc protecting my stomach as we’re jostled back and forth inside our little human cage. I don’t know why but I’m grinning ear to ear right now. This is so silly, so fun, and so completely Linc and me. Then, I hear Brooke, and my smile grows wider.

“Yes, you can all have pictures. Anders and I are very excited.” She’s rubbing her belly, overexaggerating every move. “I thought I was hiding it pretty well and that maybe you guys would just think I’d had one too many Twinkies recently.”

Anders has flagged down a cab, so we only need to get six feet forward and into the back seat.

I think Brooke is going for an Oscar performance. “There was a time when my devoted husband was concerned that I had betrayed him and was, in fact, carrying a Twinkie baby, but genetic testing confirmed that his tinkie-winkie is the culprit.”

Our human cage arrives at the cab, laughing and joking as everyone listens to Brooke’s insane ramblings.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going into labor.” She starts groaning and caterwauling as I slide into the back seat of the yellow cab.

We’re not leaving them in the lurch, waiting as Anders weaves through the crowd to Brooke, grabbing her hand to signal it’s time to go. She screams and lets her cardigan drop between her legs. “I’m so sorry, Anders, it’s not a Verbeck baby after all. It’s a Versace.” He swipes it off the ground and pulls her through the crowd. Linc jumps in next to me, followed quickly by Brooke.

Anders slams the door behind them and gets in up front, thanking our fellow diners for a job well done. “You guys are rock stars! Thank you. Enjoy your night.”

Paparazzi swarm around the cab, but this driver is a New York cabbie, he’s done this shit before, probably for us at some point in our checkered past of bad decisions and celebrations.

“Where to?”

“Let’s go home.” I rest my head on Linc’s shoulder, giving the driver the address for his apartment.

“Do you really want to live in my apartment? We can get a new place.”

“Why?” It’s sweet that he’d be willing to move for me, but I honestly don’t want to waste time looking for a new home just for the sake of a charade of equal footing. The balance in our relationship doesn’t hinge on where we sleep at night.

“Women like to nest.”

“You’re my home, not the place. I’ll nest just fine like this.” I wrap my arm around his waist and settle in for some wall-to-wall traffic for the ten blocks to his place—our place now.

“Brooke, you’re a goddess. What you did back there was amazing.” The sultry rasp of Linc’s voice almost lulls me to sleep, I’m so tired.

“Hey, she might be your baby mamma, but she’s my sister, and that’s my niece in there. No one messes with a Lexington girl.”

“Damn straight,” Anders heralds from the front seat.

They drop us at Linc’s place, seeing that I’m too drowsy for any continued celebrations, and I’m glad to have Linc to myself for a little while. The moment we’re in the door, I drag him to the bedroom—not in a rip-off-your-clothes-hot-sweaty-sex way—but he follows all the same. After we strip out of our clothes and get under the covers, I shuffle around to position myself tight against his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He sweeps a loose curl from my face, but I can barely look at him.

“About what?”

“Anything about the weirdest non-first first date in history.”

“I loved it because I was with you.” I lift his hand to my lips in a tender kiss, keeping my back to him. I’ve never been a cuddly sleeper, but pregnancy has changed everything about my sleep patterns. Apparently, that includes being the little spoon.

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