The Knocked Up Plan(55)

Devon raises an eyebrow in question. The answer dawns on him. “Because of Nicole?”

I heave a sigh and nod. “Yeah, turns out I kind of like her.”

“Well, isn’t that a humdinger?”

“You can say that again.”



I get my Ping-Pong partner back, but no greater clarity on my humdinger of a quandary. February flurries into town, bringing with it another epic chill, and a rounder belly to the woman at the epicenter of my thoughts. The month also means Valentine’s Day, and Cal tells me my show is going on the road for a few weeks.

“Ratings are improving,” he says as he tells me the plan. “Your columns and field guide were a hit. And the crazy thing is, you’ve got female listeners and readers now, too. We want to do some live shows and talk to the crowds about their ideas of love, relationships, and what it takes to have several great dates. The best part? We’ve got a brand-new sponsor for it.”

Sponsorship means the leash has loosened another few feet. A quick tour might also mean I can rebuild my credibility as a dating coach. Plus, I’ve nabbed my first consulting client in months in Flynn’s buddy.

All in all, I can’t complain about work anymore.

Nicole seems happier, too, now that her miserable days are behind her. She’s the picture of health and vitality, from the reddish tint in her cheeks, to the spring in her step, to the smile she’s been sporting a helluva lot more around the office. She told Cal she’s pregnant, and while she hasn’t said a word about who the father is, no one has pressed her, even our boss.

“He didn’t try to get the nitty-gritty out of you?” I asked over lunch a few weeks ago.

She shook her head. “HR rules. He can’t.”

Ironic, since he had no problem getting personal with me when it came to bringing up my ex-wife. But I do understand that Nicole’s situation is different—seeing as how she’s baking a person inside her. A few years ago, a gal in advertising who has a female partner was pregnant. She never breathed a word about where the other half of the DNA came from. I have no doubt our co-workers are whispering and wondering who knocked up Nicole. But this is Manhattan, and everyone seems to know someone who’s gone into parenthood in an unconventional way.

As we play tonight against our long-time rivals, I watch her more closely than I have before. Not just because her ass still looks great. It does. Oh yes, does it ever look bitable. But because I understand that worry I felt for Simone much better. It’s doubled with Nicole, given what she carries inside her.

Make that tripled, since our opponents are Crazy Swing Steve and his regular partner.

Nicole bounces on the balls of her feet, paddle in hand, determination etched in her eyes. Steve juts his arm out as he slams a ball to me. I stretch for it, smashing it back across the table to his teammate.

The other guy smacks the white ball in a neat diagonal to Nicole, who sends it screeching to the other side.

Steve lunges for it, his teammate leapfrogging out of the way. The ball comes to me, and we volley like that until Steve’s swing seems to exhaust his teammate so much that the guy curses loudly as he runs for the ball, swatting it wildly across the table in Nicole’s direction.

Ever the competitor, she races to the far corner, slapping the prize with a crisp backhand that sends her reeling. She’s all forward momentum, and it topples her, taking her down.

The paddle tumbles from her hand, and she has no place to go but the floor. Her arms shoot out in front of her, and she breaks the fall with a loud smack of her hands.

A rush of harsh breath.

A crack of her knee on the hard surface.

Falls are not uncommon in Ping-Pong. I’ve hit the floor a number of times. So has Steve. So has Flynn. So has Nicole.

But none of that matters. My stomach plummets and dread ices my bones the instant the pregnant woman I’m crazy for hits the floor.





Twenty-Nine





Ryder

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Nicole says those words over and over again, like a mantra.

Or like she wants me to shut up because I can’t stop asking if she’s okay. With one hand on her shoulder and the other on her lower back, I gently help her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” I ask again. My heart screams in my chest. Nerves skate up the back of my neck. If I was worried when Simone fell on her butt, that was nothing compared to now.

Once she’s upright, I set a hand on her belly, feeling the small curve for the first time. I flinch inside, but not because I’m freaked out. My reaction is because she feels so different, of course, than she’s ever felt before. Gone is that flat belly. In its place is this blooming roundness that’s unexpectedly . . . attractive. But the awareness of what’s behind this curve brings an even sharper reminder of the stakes. A life. I have no clue what I’m doing with my hands on her stomach. I’m not a doctor. I can’t feel if the baby is okay. But I’ve got to do something.

“I’m fine, Ryder. I swear.” She shakes out her wrist, wincing. “But . . .”

“But what?”

She sucks in a breath as if she’s in pain. “My wrist really hurts.”

“We’re going to the ER. Now.”

Steve strides over. “You okay?”