Chapter 23
DON’T THINK I FORGOT ABOUT KARAOKE
Josie usually had karaoke parties at her apartment, and I liked it that way—nobody was really a stranger, and because there wasn’t a crowd, there was no reason to get too embarrassed.
Only Josie’s birthday is in December, so she decided to have a combined birthday karaoke celebration at Podunk, a dancing bar where they did karaoke with a live band one Saturday a month.
Admittedly, it was awesome, and the band was so good that even when the singing wasn’t, the music was usually still exciting enough to get up and dance.
By some miracle, Barry was both not traveling and had no game during the party Saturday night.
I debated not inviting him even though he was free because I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
At this point, though, we were well past wrong idea territory and I didn’t even know how to begin to untangle the mess we found ourselves in.
He was still sleeping in my bed, still making me orgasm any time I felt even a little horny (it was like a sixth sense he had, almost eerie, really), and had now started giving me these long, toe-curling kisses in the kitchen that I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t also starved for.
I told myself it was the hormones. Really, it was him.
Of course, I invited him, because I was weak, and since Barry followed me basically everywhere, he was all too excited to get dressed up and go out with me.
He didn’t seem concerned about not knowing anyone at the party, only excited that I had a reason to wear the green plaid maternity dress his mom sent me—just because every girl should have something to feel pretty in especially when they’re lugging around a baby in their stomach.
I strapped a belly band on and one of the new nursing bras that was already too small for my big-ass boobs, larger by the day, I swore.
The dress did look pretty, though, and I pulled my hair into two braids with thin green ribbons at the bottom of them to hang over my shoulders.
Barry made me pose for pictures for multiple minutes in the baby’s room before we left, swearing I was going to want them one day when I realized I looked really beautiful pregnant and indeed not a swollen monster like I felt.
He then propped up the phone on the ledge of the wall and set the camera timer so that we could stand in front of the old crib together.
Then we really had to go or else I would miss Josie singing “Lips of an Angel,” and it was always my favorite one.
We walked into the Podunk twenty minutes later, his hand on my lower back.
He looked hot, to the surprise of no one, trading his usual sweats and team shirts for dark jeans and a sweater I’d never seen but would probably be stealing to wear myself.
It was superbly soft and smelled like his cologne, which I desperately liked.
My sense of smell had become so sensitive, and something about the scent of Barry Wright just really worked for me.
“Hannah!” Josie cheered as soon as she spotted us, jumping up and down.
We shuffled through the tables toward the group.
They’d pushed together three square tables and laid out a pretty good spread of food.
Marcus still brought his empanadas, even though we weren’t at Josie’s: one tray of sweet potato and one of picadillo, both of which I would be eating probably until I felt sick.
I’d brought a Ziploc bag to steal some for leftovers.
“Happy birthday, you look so pretty.” I hugged her tightly. Her long hair was down, curls bouncing over her shoulders and down her back.
“Good God, your baby daddy is hot,” she said into my ear, sounding shocked even though she’d seen him many, many times. I couldn’t blame her. “And I like this dress, do a little spin.”
I acquiesced, spinning to show off the dress, and she cheered again.
Marcus pulled me into a hug and then executed a solid bro hug with Barry, and some of Josie’s other friends I recognized stood to join in on all the hugging, too.
They were all just thrilled to meet Barry, two of them a little starstruck, the other two—like me—knowing nothing about hockey to begin with and not recognizing him. My people.
Even if they didn’t know who he was at first, as soon they heard he was, one, the father of my baby, and two, a professional hockey player, all attention was on him. They peppered him with questions while some guys sang Matchbox 20 and then Creed with all their might on the stage.
Barry took it all in stride, easily answering every query as if these total strangers weren’t being invasive as hell. I drew the line when Marcus asked Barry if I was a good kisser.
“Okay, I’m thirsty,” I said, standing from the table and already pulling on Barry’s arm.
He followed, his hand on my waist to navigate me through the growing crowd of people.
It was so warm, and the fact that I knew exactly how those fingers felt inside of me did nothing to quell the simmering want that had been set loose in the last week since we started having sex, as if I was in heat or something.
We ordered a couple pitchers of water, a seltzer for Barry—he had a game tomorrow night and didn’t like to drink anything before game days, or honestly throughout the season—and a soda for me.
Standing at the bar while the bartender got our drinks, Barry stepped very close to me, lowering his head to my ear to speak even though it wasn’t even that loud.
“Have I told you I like the color green on you?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I lied. He’d told me five times already tonight.
“Will you dance with me?”
“Mmm.” I tapped my chin, and Barry rolled his eyes and trailed the backs of his fingers down my arm. “Better not.”
“Oh, come on, Harvey, what do I have to promise you?”
I bit my lip and grinned—he was always getting my big-teeth smiles, I couldn’t help it. “If you sing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ with me, I’ll do it.”
Barry’s jaw dropped. “You think the band knows it?”
“I know they do, I sang it with Marcus last year. It’s like a dadrock rendition, but yeah, they know it. Do you?” The bartender put our glasses on the counter, and we both thanked him. I took a long sip of my soda.
“You think I don’t know One Direction? I have a sister.”
“Ah yes, of your fifty siblings, I should have known one of them would be cultured.”
“Brat,” Barry said, but he was giving his big-teeth smile too.
I was too pregnant to dance like I used to, but true to my word, I let Barry pull me to the dance floor while Josie and one of her friends sang “Islands In the Stream.” He pulled my arms around his neck and grabbed my hips, crooning (poorly, I might add) the Dolly Parton parts to me while we danced.
It thrilled me to find things he was bad at—singing, bowling, washing windows, it made him more human and somehow even more likable.
I couldn’t figure out just what it was that was so likable about me to him, and I was too afraid to ask. Was it my tendency to leave clothes lying around? The puzzles? My personality, which wasn’t sunny or sparkling so much as it was a little bit reflective?
I had to assume it was the baby, his mind making me more likable as a result of being the person carrying his offspring. That’s what I told myself.
He dipped his head so close to mine, almost kissing me, and I lifted my chin.
“We should not do that,” I singsonged with his lips still hovering just next to mine.
He groaned and tipped his head back.
“But I really wanna.”
“Kissing in karaoke bars is for couples.”
“Or really friendly friends.” He tugged me closer, as close as I could be without nestling my face into the crook of his neck like I found myself wanting to do.
“This how they teach you to be friendly in Canada? Is this the Canadian niceness I’m always hearing about?”
“Sure. It’s my culture.” Barry spun me under his arm twice before pulling me back into him.
“Well, you can’t kiss me here,” I said, and laughed too loud at his exaggerated pout.
“But you can take me home and kiss me there.” The rules made a very flimsy sense in my head; at home this wasn’t a date.
At home it could mean nothing, a secret between two soon-to-be co-parents.
He wouldn’t be kissing me for this whole country dance bar to see.
“Say no more,” he said, and hauled me up in his arms. I yelped as he carried me off the dance floor, giving polite “excuse us, sorry, thanks, excuse me” to everyone we passed. I laughed and wiggled enough that he set me down on my feet, and we made our way to the table.
We said quick goodbyes, claiming I was tired, even though I’m sure I looked as fresh and alive as I felt—no one would question me as pregnant as I was, but Josie winked at me as I filled a Ziploc with empanadas.
When we got to his car in the parking lot, Barry pressed me against it, kissing me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth until I pushed him away, breathless and laughing.
“Insatiable,” I swatted his shoulder.
“You have no idea.”