Chapter 12 Dani
Dani
“I’m just saying, if the kiss cam lands on us, we should totally make out,” June announced as we wove our way down the stadium steps.
Kaylani arched a brow, one hand clutching her protruding belly. “Need I remind you that I’m a soon-to-be married woman and this kid is due any day now?”
“Ryan will understand.” She tilted her beer toward us. “What about the rest of you?”
Nessa shrugged. “I have a boyfriend.”
“I have a husband,” Jo added.
“I am heterosexual,” Bella said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
June arched a brow. “Was that a question?”
Bella blinked at June’s expression. “Well, I’ve only ever kissed two men, so I’m not really sure if I’m attracted to women or not.”
I bit back a smile. Pink’s younger sister had moved to Rose City last fall after taking a leave of absence from college, and she had won us all over almost instantly. Even though she was a decade younger than I was, she had maturity and self-awareness that I admired.
I pitied the idiots who thought autism was anything less than a superpower.
Bella’s directness was something to be envied.
She processed everything in straightforward terms—no dancing around it, no dressing it up to make other people more comfortable.
Just pure honesty, like she was reading from her own internal rulebook.
June’s lips twitched like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or press for more details. “All the more reason for us to make out in front of thousands of strangers, don’t you think?”
Bella gave a little nod, clearly filing away June’s reasoning like it was useful data. “Excellent point.”
Nessa rolled her eyes. “Oh my god. If I promise to kiss you on camera, will you leave the poor girl alone?”
June smirked into her drink. “No promises.”
I snorted. “Lord, you guys are going to get banned before the first pitch.”
It was one of those picture-perfect game days at the Roasters’ stadium.
Bright blue sky, sunlight glinting off the upper deck, just enough wind to whip your hair into your beer and send stray napkins skittering across the concourse.
On the field, players jogged the warning track, worked through stretches along the foul lines, and snapped warm-up throws across the infield.
A couple of outfielders were tracking lazy pop flies under the sun, while the bullpen guys leaned against the railing, talking and spitting sunflower seeds like they had all the time in the world.
Today marked our second annual “Rose City Proud” day at the ballpark.
The event honored local businesses, including Nessa’s bookstore, Jo’s bakery, Would Smell as Sweet, and June’s vintage trailer resort, Bed of Roses, all of which would be featured on the jumbotron between innings.
The three of them had been invited down to the field pregame for photos, and they were still riding the buzz of having their logos splashed across a stadium full of fans.
Kaylani was just along for the ride . . . and ballpark snacks. Because where else could you enjoy a slice of deep-fried marionberry pie while watching men in too-tight pants play with balls?
By the time we reached our seats behind the dugout, the place was already humming.
Bella settled into hers crisscross applesauce style and pulled out her Loop earplugs, not that they were any match for the stadium noise.
Nessa, June, and Jo filed in beside her, their arms loaded with enough concessions that it made me wonder if they had all skipped breakfast and lunch.
The smell of melted cheese and fryer oil immediately drifted down the row, making my stomach growl despite the bag of boring ass trail mix in my fanny pack.
That left Kaylani on the aisle, who lowered herself into her seat with the air of a queen claiming her throne. Talk about a walking, talking example of pregnancy propaganda. She looked ten times better than I felt.
I had yet to experience that “pregnancy glow” I had heard so much about, but Kaylani was practically the poster girl for it.
Her warm golden-brown skin caught the afternoon light like she’d been airbrushed, and not a single strand of her glossy black hair dared to be out of place.
She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a maternity photoshoot in one of those chic, neutral-toned wrap dresses rather than someone waddling into a ballpark for deep-fried pie.
May we all be so lucky.
“Wow, we’re practically on the field,” Jo squealed. While Bella and Nessa had ties to the team through Pink, Jo was by far the biggest baseball fan of our friend group. “Thanks, Dani.”
June zeroed in on our backup catcher not ten yards away. “Incredible views.”
I had pulled some strings with the ticket office to make sure they had prime behind-the-dugout seats, even blocking off an extra one for Clarke and me to tag-team between innings. It wasn’t exactly a hardship—especially when the view came with a side of eye candy in uniform.
And black-rimmed glasses.
“So,” Nessa said, twisting in her seat to look at me. “What was in your latest Triple D package?”
My brows scrunched together. “My what?”
“Triple D. Your daily Daddy delivery.”
I buried my face in my hands.
Kaylani leaned back, resting her hands on her belly. “Ooo, do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“She’s gotten, like, six care packages this week,” Bella said flatly, not even looking up from her phone. “Sometimes two in a day.”
I turned toward her slowly. “Traitor.”
Bella shrugged. “It’s not a secret. They’re usually sitting on the porch when I get home.”
June sighed wistfully. “God, he’s like the UPS guy, but hotter.”
That earned a round of knowing smirks from the group.
Bella wasn’t exaggerating. Brooks’s surprise packages—most of which he had delivered himself, usually in the dead of night—had started last week, after the team had gotten back from our series in Chicago.
It had been little things at first—a jar of overpriced pickles that was big enough to feed a defensive line, a bottle of bougie (and vegan) prenatal vitamins, a pair of ridiculously soft socks that I had taken to wearing to bed almost every night.
Because apparently, I was the one pregnant person who ran cold—more like freezing—instead of hot, shivering under layers while everyone else complained about hot flashes.
Then, the boxes had started getting bigger—a weighted blanket that I may or may not have napped under for two days straight, a heating pad shaped like a cat that had come in clutch after a particularly grueling bus ride. And then there was the night my phone buzzed with a text from him.
Brooks
Need me to grab you more avocadoes?
Me
I’m pregnant, Brooks. Not bedridden.
Brooks
Is that a no?
I’d been curled up on the couch, dressed in my rattiest pair of period-stained sweatpants, and watching reruns of Dateline. Without thinking, I shot him another message.
Me
You know what I really want? A slice of Jo’s maple pecan bread.
It had been an impossible ask. I’d known that. Would Smell as Sweet had already closed for the night; there wasn’t another bakery for forty miles. And yet, three hours later, there’d been a knock at my door—and a still-warm loaf waiting on the porch, wrapped in a tea towel.
It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t go outside without half expecting to find him there, arms loaded up with salty snacks and nipple balm like some kind of pregnancy-themed Santa Claus.
Mm, another bearded Daddy . . .
Damn, these hormones were getting out of hand. Two rounds with my go-to vibrator this morning weren’t cutting it.
“Don’t keep us hanging,” Nessa said around bites of popcorn. “Not to go full Brad Pitt, but ‘what’s in the box?’”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Oh, nothing too exciting. Just a seventy-two pack of cereal boxes.”
June blinked rapidly. “Seventy-two?”
“I kind of have a thing for Frosted Flakes right now,” I said, nodding.
Nessa smiled. “The man knows your love language.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was no hiding my smile. “My love language is ‘not having to cook dinner if I can help it.’”
Kaylani shifted in her seat, one hand flying to her belly. “Oh, there it is again.”
“Is he kicking?”
“More like tap dancing.” Her grin was soft and a little dazed as she looked at me. “Want to feel?”
I hesitated for half a second, unsure if I was intruding on something intimate, but curiosity won out. Leaning over, I placed my palm against the smooth curve of her stomach, the fabric of her wrap dress warm from the sun.
“Right there,” she whispered, guiding my hand a little lower.
A second later, a firm, fluttery thump pressed back into my palm, quick and certain, like a tiny knock from the inside. I glanced at her, eyes wide, but she was still watching me with that knowing, serene smile only pregnant people who were further along seemed to have.
It felt impossibly small and huge all at once, the kind of moment that didn’t just happen in passing. The kind you remembered.
I hadn’t felt that yet—not from the inside, anyway—but I had started noticing the subtler shifts.
During the first trimester, my body had felt mostly the same, aside from the constant nausea and tits so sore I’d wanted to file a formal complaint. But the second trimester had flipped some invisible switch.
My skin was more sensitive, my boobs had pulled a full-on Grinch and “grown three sizes,” and my hips felt . . . different. Looser somehow, like my body was already making room for the inevitable. Worst of all, my jeans didn’t button anymore.
It wasn’t bad, exactly—aside from the jeans. Just new. And new had always made me a little uneasy.
“Wow,” I murmured, pulling my hand back. “That’s wild.”
Kaylani beamed. “You’ll get there soon enough. Also, feel free to hit me up with any random pregnancy questions you might have. I know I’m still learning as I go, but I’ve got a few months on you.”
I did have questions. Lots of them.
Like, was it normal for my feet to feel weirdly sore first thing in the morning? Was there an actual medical reason why lemonade tasted like it had been blessed by the gods? And how the hell was I supposed to give up sleeping on my stomach?
But there was one burning question that had been sitting in the back of my mind all week, tapping insistently until I couldn’t ignore it. The kind that made my cheeks warm just thinking about saying it out loud, especially in the middle of a crowded ballpark.
Kaylani’s gaze sharpened, like she could hear my brain working. Nessa caught the expression too, her brows lifting in intrigue. “Oh boy,” she said, leaning in. “You’re thinking about something. Spill it.”
“Yeah,” June added, grinning. “That’s an I’m about to ride something and it’s not a Peloton kind of face. Out with it.”
“Peer pressure,” Nessa coughed.
Fuck it. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. I might as well get this over with.
“Fine. Lately, I’ve been feeling extra—”
“Horny?” Kaylani finished for me.
“Yes. That’s normal, though, right?”
Her mouth curved. “Oh, completely. Second trimester, your hormones are in overdrive. Seriously, Ryan and I went at it for three months straight like we were teenagers.”
June let out a low whistle. “I’ve never been prouder, Kay.”
Jo’s brows shot up. “Ay, mami. Three months? My back would give out.”
Kaylani just laughed. “Not the way we’re doing it.”
A flicker of something—jealousy, maybe—pinched in my chest. Jars of pickles and fuzzy socks could only get me so far.
I needed to get fucked.
Sure, the care packages were thoughtful, and I wasn’t about to knock free snacks, but they didn’t keep me warm at night.
They didn’t bend me over the bed, wrap their hands through my hair, and drill me into the mattress until I screamed.
No wonder people usually coupled up before they got pregnant.
There were some things you just needed a partner for—sex being right up there at the top of the list.
And right now, my body was practically begging for it.
“You know, I bet a certain someone would be willing to help you out with your . . . situation,” June offered, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.
“Uh-huh,” Nessa agreed, pointing her hot dog at me for emphasis. “Didn’t Brooks say you could tell him if you needed anything?”
My face warmed. “I don’t appreciate the way that you’re waving that wiener at me.”
She grinned devilishly before taking a bite that could only be described as downright pornographic.
“Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”
“Sweetheart,” June said, “that’s exactly what he meant.”
Jo nodded sagely. “Let the man fulfill his promise. It’s a win-win.”
Bella glanced up from her phone just long enough to add, “Statistically, sex during pregnancy is safe.”
Et tu, Bella?
I covered my face with both hands, laughing despite myself. “You guys are awful.”
“Awfully smart,” Kaylani said, leaning back with a Cheshire catlike grin.
The idea was more than a little tempting.
Brooks and I had been there before—many times—his lips on my skin, his tattooed fingers wrapped around my throat, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. And it had been good.
Every. Fucking. Time.
So good, in fact, that it didn’t have to mean anything. After all, we had messed around for months without it being anything more. At least, that was the lie I kept trying to sell myself.
Then again, nothing about Brooks was simple, and pretending otherwise was just asking for trouble. Sleeping with him now, in the middle of all . . . this, could turn into a full-blown mess before I even had time to catch my breath. I had more than myself and my feelings to think about now.
Mama’s little parasite deserved their father. I wasn’t going to jeopardize their relationship just because I couldn’t control my libido.
No, the safer plan was to keep my distance, to ride out this hormone surge until my body stopped behaving like a sex-starved maniac.
That meant no more late-night texts, no more lingering looks across the dugout, and definitely no more fantasizing about riding his cock in that ridiculously big leather chair in his office, the one that looked like it belonged to a mob boss instead of a baseball coach.
I shook the thought from my head just in time for June to lean forward, eyes sparkling. “So, Kaylani, how exactly are you and Ryan doing it? And please, be as detailed as possible.”
Jo clapped his hands. Nessa leaned in, hot dog forgotten. Even Bella tilted her head with mild interest.
Kaylani grinned sheepishly. “Well, there was this one time where I was on my side—”
And just like that, the first fifteen minutes of the game became a crash course in pregnancy sex positions, complete with hand gestures, questionable metaphors, and more than one double entendre that eventually made the family in the row ahead of us turn around.