What did that mean? “Unless you think we should.”
She looked at him as though he’d just suggested they have a quickie on the bar during a big game rush. “I don’t think so.”
He tried to ignore the unwelcome pang of disappointment that made no sense. He was like a freakin’ roller-coaster. Scared she’d say yes. Bummed she said no and at the way she said it. Must be the shock. “You’re probably right. My brother and his wife got married because she got pregnant. She had like a total meltdown a while back. Thought he’d only married her because of the baby and all that.”
Beth nodded, then munched on another chip, her gaze shifting to the television screen. Some guy in a John Wayne hat was leaning against the bed of a beat-to-crap old pickup wailing about something. He hoped she didn’t get the baby hooked on that shit. He’d heard babies could hear stuff like that before they were born and you should buy them classical music CDs or something like that. He wasn’t a big Beethoven fan, but no kid of his was going to be singing yee-haw, either.
“So…” He had no idea what to say.
“My due date’s June twenty-eighth.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. June twenty-eighth. A deadline. A little less than nine months to get his shit together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring down at the empty, crumpled bag she was twisting in her hands.
“I can buy more.” She gave him a funny look and he realized she didn’t mean the chips. He moved over to the couch and put his arm around her. “Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We took precautions, but nothing’s a hundred percent.”
She scooted away—not far, but enough so he got the message and dropped his arm. “You’re taking this awfully well.”
“Trust me, I’m totally freaking out on the inside.”
She snorted. “So am I.”
Sick of the harsh crinkling sound, he took the empty chip bag from her and tossed it onto the coffee table. “We’ll freak out together. To really bad music.”
“There’s nothing wrong with country music.”
“Sounds like somebody stepped on a hound dog’s tail.”
She laughed and shoved him away. “It does not. What do you listen…oh my God, I don’t even know what kind of music you listen to and I’m having your baby.”
“I don’t even know where you live.”
“In a third-floor apartment. Like you.”
Two third-floor apartments. Two flights of stairs. They’d need safety grilles on the windows. Check the fire escapes. Jesus, neither of them had a yard. You couldn’t raise a kid with no yard.
A kid needed a house. A yard. Fences and toys and a bike and a dog. Plastic plugs in the electrical outlets and…all that shit Mike and Lisa had raising four boys. They’d even put some kind of Velcro strap on the toilet lid.
“Holy shit.”
“Are we starting to freak on the outside now, too?”
He hadn’t realized he said it out loud. “I think so.”
“You sure know how to turn a girl’s life upside down, Kevin Kowalski.”
“Feeling a little sideways myself, Beth…” Shit. He didn’t even know her last name and it was too late to hide the fact. Smooth.
Her laugh was short and cynical. “Guess I should have written it on a napkin for you.”
***
Thursday nights were pretty slow at Jasper’s, but Paulie didn’t mind. They always drew in enough of the regulars and the drop-ins to make the time go by, but not so much of a crowd people were shouting and getting impatient.
Usually Kevin took Thursday nights off, but tonight he’d stuck around. Or his body had, at least. His mind was someplace else and wherever that someplace was, it wasn’t happy.
Paulie wiped her hands on a towel and walked to the end of the bar, where he was sitting and staring into an empty coffee cup. “Want a refill?”
“Last thing I need is more caffeine.”
Her boss—and best friend—wasn’t the type to dwell on things so she leaned her elbows on the bar and propped her chin on her hands. “What’s up with you?”
“Gonna be a dad.”
Okay, she hadn’t seen that coming. “No shit. Anything to do with the brunette you took upstairs yesterday? The one whose boss’s nose you broke a few weeks back?”
“Beth. She and the woman I told you about—the bartender at Joe’s wedding? Same woman.”
“So…wow.”
“Yeah.” He was tapping the empty mug on the bar, so she took it away and dropped it into a buspan. “Guess that ninety-eight percent effective warning on the box wasn’t just legalese.”
“Tell your parents yet?”
“Nope. Nobody but you.”
A guy down the bar was practically leaning over it, waving his mug to get her attention, but he could wait. “You okay with it?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting it, but…yeah. I think I’m okay with it.”
“Is she okay with it?”
“Hard to say.” He laughed. “I think she’d be happier if was some other guy’s.”