That’s enough misdirection that nobody will notice the bump.
And tomorrow morning, I need to go maternity clothes shopping.
The press conference is packed because the Outlaws wonagaintonight, and our relief pitcher on the hot streak was a part of that victory.
Jeff goes first. He’s in his element—confident, knowledgeable, occasionally funny in a very dry way that not everyone gets, but I do because I’ve spent all summer getting to know my husband.
He’s the funniest person in theworld to me now.
I stay in the back, monitoring social media, making sure our accounts are engaging with the reporters who are live-tweeting.
In between each question, Jeff’s gaze finds me, and he smiles at my secret bump behind his jersey.
During a particularly long-winded question about bullpen strategy, his lips twitch with barely suppressed amusement, and I know—I just know—he’s thinking about last night when I was riding him slowly, talking about a very different strategy.
A baby reveal strategy.
I was so confident that we could make it to the end of the season without needing to cover up my belly.
He was holding my hips, his thumbs tracing the subtle edges of my bump, and he said, “At some point soon, Whirlwind, you’re going pop and it’s going to be hard for me to keep my hands off you in public.”
Little did I know that would be the very next day.
And here we are.
“So much for strategy,” he says into the microphone, echoing my thoughts exactly. “Sometimes you just trust the baseball gods.”
He’s said that to me during sex too.
I press my thighs together and look down at my phone, pretending to be very interested in a tweet about batting averages.
After he turns the mic over to his pitcher, Jeff makes his way over to me.
“Good turnout,” he says, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
“Glad you think so, Coach.” I keep my voice professional.
He leans in slightly, ostensibly to look at something on my phone screen, and lowers his voice. “You okay? You looked flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
“Liar.” His breath is warm against my ear. “You’re thinking about last night.”
“Stop it.”
“Can’t. I love my wife.” He rubs the small of my back, right where it aches at the end of the day. “And I saw the way you pressed your thighs together.”
“Coach!”
He grins. “Late night meeting in my office?”
I pretend to check my phone. “Mmm. Yes, that works for me.”
God, we’re shameless. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER 25
JEFF
