The Knocked Up Plan

“That we were sexting?” I furrow my brow. “That hardly seems like something I need to issue a bulletin for.”

“Nicole,” Delaney says, admonishing, “this isn’t flirting with an ex. You’re flirting with the guy who knocked you up.”

They point in unison at my belly. I’m twenty weeks now. It’s no longer flat. My stomach is a crescent moon, and I love it.

Penny rests her arm on the silvery bar of a rack of tunics. “Is something happening between you guys?”

I drop my face to my hands momentarily, hiding behind my utter I-don’t-know-what’s-going-on-ness. But this isn’t my style. I don’t run from things. I don’t hide. I look up and meet the twin gazes of my best friends. “I like him so much,” I say, though that hardly feels like enough. It barely covers the way his kisses make me weak in the knees, how his touch is both reassuring and an absolute turn-on, how my stomach executes backflips when he stares at me like he wants to eat me up. And like doesn’t even skim the surface of how my heart soared when he took care of me a few weeks ago after my fall, treating me like I was the most precious thing in the universe.

My throat hitches. “He’s kind of amazing.”

Penny clasps a hand to her chest and sighs dreamily.

Delaney shoots her a look then turns to me. “It’s not that simple. Amazing isn’t what this is about. You gave me tough love when I was debating whether to give Tyler a second chance. It’s your turn to be the recipient.”

I back up to the mirror, lean against it, and beckon with a curl of my fingers. Bring it on. I can handle it.

Delaney talks into her fist. “He’s the father of your child.” She drops the imaginary mic.

“You’re falling for the father of your baby,” Penny says, stating the obvious because, evidently, it needs to be stated.

“I don’t know if it’s falling in love,” I say, trying to approach my feelings like a show topic. “How would I know, after all? I’ve never felt that before. It might just be pregnancy hormones. You’ve got to understand, everything feels good right now. In the second trimester, you’re like this gigantic walking endorphin. Every single thing is wonderful. I’m all happy hormones and love right now.”

“I know, but even so,” Delaney says, keeping on point, “what are you going to do?”

I’m a planner. I should have a plan, but I don’t. “I honestly don’t know.”

Delaney tries to provide one for me. “If you guys are spending time together, don’t you think that might mean he wants to be involved with the kid?”

I flash back to Ryder’s reaction to the heartbeat. To the magic I saw in his eyes. To his care and concern for the baby. And it hits me. He’s falling for his child.

Talk about endorphins.

I’m made of nothing else right now. I float to the ceiling of the store, and I don’t even need a bouquet of balloons to hold on to.

But I drop back down with Penny’s next words. “Are you going to amend your agreement?”

Right. We have a contract. We have no expectations. He has no parental rights.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll see how it goes.”

And later that night, it goes like this.

I slide into my new black, lacy bra. It makes my breasts rise even higher. The swells of flesh are visible against the lace. I take aim, snapping a few shots.

I send one to him.

His reply is instantaneous.

Ryder: You’re an angel. And I want to bury my face between those beauties.



More replies rain down, rapid fire, ping after ping on my phone.

Ryder: Kiss them, suck them, pinch them.



* * *



Ryder: Worship them.



* * *



Ryder: Kiss you everywhere.



* * *



Ryder: I want my tongue everywhere on you.



Flames lick my body, and I do the next logical thing. He doesn’t even ask for it. But I take off the bra. And I snap another photo. No nipples. But plenty of flesh. I hit send.

Ryder: If you don’t hear from me, assume I’ve died and gone to heaven.



And so have I, because minutes later, I’m starfished on my bed, my new vibrator playing his role, as I call out Ryder’s name when I come.

Attraction has always been the easy part. I’ll figure out the hard stuff some other night.





Thirty-One





Ryder

Time slows and speeds at once.

The trip is both amazing and frustrating.

I finally feel as if I have my groove back when it comes to work. The show is a blast, and the events Hanky Panky Love has set up in cities around the country energize me. We’re not talking Tony Robbins stadium-sized crowds, but a couple-dozen attendees soon turns into fifty, which turns into a cool grand. I do the radio shows live from the stage, taking questions from the audience, and everyone has a blast. Cal even sends an email telling me he’s pleased.

That’s all he says. Literally.



* * *



From: Cal Tomkin

To: Ryder Lockhart

Re: Your work



* * *



I’m pleased.





* * *



Honestly, that’s all a man needs from the guy who signs his paychecks. The next thing I know, my lit agent sends an email, too, and tells me sales for my book ticked up, and Got Your Back is going into another print run. It’s been ages since that’s happened. I tell my agent I’m thrilled, but we need to change the bio on the jacket. It takes me forever to write a new one, which is slightly embarrassing since it’s so short.



* * *



Ryder Lockhart loves his family, his dog, and spending time with good friends and good people.



* * *



It’s the truth, and it’s also true that my life now doesn't hurt like it used to.

One night in San Francisco, after a workout at the hotel gym and a hot shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and stride across the room to grab my buzzing cell phone.

A bead of water slides down my chest as I open a text from Nicole. Nerves tighten my gut. There’s this ever-present worry now that any message from her could bring bad news. I’m not a pessimist by nature, but I’ve accepted this worry.

I want good news from her. She had a doctor’s appointment at the end of her day, and I asked her to tell me how it went.



* * *



Nicole: Everything is good! The doctor says I’m officially fat.



* * *



Ryder: Ha. You’re not.



* * *



Nicole: No, I am. It’s the medical definition. She also said it’s totally normal that I ate spicy pumpkin curry, a jar of artichoke hearts, and a whole pineapple for dinner last night.





* * *



I laugh as I sink onto the edge of the mattress.



* * *



Ryder: Calling your bluff. You did not eat an entire pineapple.



* * *



Nicole: But a jar of artichoke hearts is plausible?



* * *



Ryder: Fair point. Plus, pineapples are delicious. I’ll believe your tropical fruit tales after all.



* * *



Nicole: I might also have fruit on the brain. She said the baby is the size of a papaya.



* * *



Ryder: How do they come up with this stuff? Anyway, got pics of the papaya?



* * *



Nicole: You really want to see them?



* * *



I’m smiling as I answer. How can she think I don’t want to see them?



* * *