The Truck Driver

Apple Pie

Tank sat beside Kayla, his large hand resting on her belly, feeling every kick, every roll their son made. His attention never wavered. He wasn't worried about the other couples in the class, wasn't interested in their conversations or their sideways glances. His whole world was right here, sitting beside him, glowing in that little two-piece yoga set that barely contained her round belly.

"Damn, lil' bit," he murmured close to her ear. "You just keep getting finer. Look at you... all belly and ass."

Kayla giggled, nudging him. "Tank, hush..." she whispered, though she loved the attention.

"What? I'm just sayin'..." His fingers splayed across her stomach as TJ kicked again, strong and insistent. Tank's grin widened. "That's my boy. He already know his daddy's touch."

The instructor clapped her hands, calling the class to attention. "Alright, mamas and partners, let's get into some breathing exercises!"

Tank followed along, helping Kayla ease into position. The instructor guided them through deep, controlled breaths, encouraging the mothers to focus on relaxation. But Tank wasn't focused on nothing but Kayla—how her full lips parted slightly as she exhaled, how her hands rested protectively over her belly, how damn beautiful she looked carrying his son.

"You doing good, baby," he murmured, brushing a curl from her face.

Kayla smiled, squeezing his hand. "Because you're here."

Tank kissed her temple, his lips lingering. "Ain't no place I'd rather be, Kayla."

Across the room, a few of the other women whispered amongst themselves, stealing glances at Tank. One of the men smirked, shaking his head. "Damn, bro, you making us look bad," he joked.

Tank didn't even look up. "That's 'cause y'all don't love y'all women like I love mine," he said, his voice smooth but firm.

Kayla blushed, biting her lip as she looked up at him. "Tank..."

"What?" he smirked. "Just speaking facts, lil' bit."

Tank adjusted behind Kayla, helping her shift into the next breathing position just as the instructor directed. His hands stayed firm on her waist, steadying her as she moved, and when she settled, he massaged her sides with slow, lazy strokes.

"You good, baby?" he asked, his voice low and just for her.

"Mmhmm," Kayla hummed, closing her eyes as she focused on the slow rise and fall of her belly.

Tank smirked. "You doin' real good, lil' bit. TJ gon' come out strong just like his mama."

As the instructor demonstrated another movement, Tank caught movement from the side—one of the men across the room sneaking a glance at Kayla. His jaw flexed as his arm tightened slightly around her waist. The dude's eyes darted away fast, but Tank wasn't letting it slide. He met the man's gaze head-on and gave him a look so sharp, so direct, that the man suddenly found the floor real interesting.

"Eyes off her, nigga," Tank muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

The tension crackled for a second, and the man's pregnant girlfriend must've noticed too because she turned to him with a sharp whisper. "Really, Marcus? You got a whole pregnant girlfriend right here, and you looking at somebody else?"

Marcus stammered, trying to defend himself, but it was too late—his girl wasn't letting it slide. Tank smirked, satisfied, then turned his attention back to Kayla like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, some of the women in class had their own eyes on Tank. They might not have said anything out loud, but their subtle glances and stolen peeks didn't go unnoticed. Tank was fine as hell, built like a linebacker, and that deep Mississippi twang of his? That was enough to make a woman's mind wander. But none of them dared to overstep. The way he handled Kayla, the way he spoke to her, touched her, made it clear—he was all hers.