Corps Security, The Series (2)(20)

I’ve been lucky so far. I’m just about to hit the halfway mark of my pregnancy and my bump is finally starting to look more like I have a baby in there and not ten courses of Chinese takeout. Every time I look in the mirror and see the evidence of the life growing within my body, I’m overcome with a love I’ve never known was possible. That is of course quickly followed by a crying hormonal fit for a good hour.

Between the crying and the weird depression jags, odd food cravings, and unbelievable sex drive—minus the sex—I feel like my body has a mind of its own. I go from elation to fear in two-point-five seconds. And at the heels of all of that is guilt. Guilt because I still haven’t talked to Asher.

At first, I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t know him. Then, after I got to know him and realized my attraction to him, I was more scared to tell him than anything. What if he thinks I was just another one of Coop’s whores? Or what if he thinks I did this on purpose? Irrational—that’s all it was. Because when you strip all the bullshit away, he deserves to know and I am a huge bitch for not telling him.

So that’s why I woke up this morning I made a promise to myself. I have exactly three weeks to tell him. In three weeks, I finally get to find out if I’m having a boy or girl, and I feel like Asher needs to be a part of that. He needs to know so that he has time to decide if he even wants to be part of that.

God, I hope he does.

Of course, today isn’t going to be that day. I promised Dee that I would try one more date before I gave up on it for a while. The last idiot I attempted to go out on a date with showed up with a car so full of trash that I couldn’t even make out where he was sitting. I wasn’t even sure how he was able to drive that damn thing. There was trash for days—clothes, bedding . . . Hell, I think he had food stuck to his windshield. Of course, that should have been the first clue that I needed to run. He got out, walked around the car, and gave me a huge hug. The only thing I noticed was the overwhelming stench.

So . . . I proceeded to vomit all over his feet. His socks—with holes—and-sandals-wearing feet.

And the worst part was that he didn’t even seem to mind. He smiled, half of his teeth missing, and tried to kiss me!

Needless to say, I all but ran back to my car and hauled ass out of the parking lot. I had to pull over twice to strip the clothes from my body and frantically brush ants off of me.

And then I shamelessly ran back through the lobby of my apartment, past a blushing Joe, and straight to my place—where I took the hottest shower I could safely have while trying to talk myself out of a bleach scrub.

So this afternoon is it. If this date is another date from hell, I’m done.

I wisely told Dee that this date was going to be a lunch date; that way, if it turned out to be another disaster, I wouldn’t have to have my whole night ruined. I talked to date number three, Phillip, on the phone last night. He seemed pleasant enough. Very polite and soft-spoken. He didn’t refer to himself with any weird nicknames, and most importantly, he knew that I was pregnant and didn’t seem to have a single issue with it.

Famous last words, it seems.

Pulling up outside the local burger hot spot, I immediately see him standing against the wall next to the front entrance, our designated meeting spot. He has the tall, sleek build of a runner. Slim hips, flat stomach, and strong shoulders. His hair is clipped short—just enough length for me to run my fingers through his blond locks. I can’t see his eyes from here, but if I remember from the terribly grainy picture he sent me, they’re a warm hazel.

I take in his straight-laced clothes—typical country-club-type polo and dress slacks, all the way down to his loafers.

Okay, that might be a point in the negative column. I’m so used to looking at the guys in their tough-guy boots that loafers throw me off for a second.

Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I climb out of the car and make sure that my clothes are in order. It’s harder these days to find things that don’t show off my stomach. I decided to go with a nice pair of black slacks and a loose-fitting blouse. Nothing that draws attention to my growing stomach.

“Chelcie?” he questions when I get closer. His friendly, open face lights up when he spots me.

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Phillip.” I go to offer my hand, but he pulls me into a friendly hug. Errr . . . okay, maybe another negative. I don’t hug.

I awkwardly pat his back a few times and pray that he isn’t going to keep me in this hug crap for too long.

“Not a hugger, huh?” he laughs, pulling away with his warm smile still in place.