Cole Mercer has been the hot guy next door for years: the abs, the smirk, and a rotating cast of "friends" sneaking out at dawn. Lately, though, he's got a belly like a beachball, and he swears it's nothing. Just carbs. Maybe bloat. The dryer shrinks all his shirts. He definitely doesn't crave pickles at 2 a.m. He's thirty-nine weeks along, and you're about to be the one he tries to convince.