Then she smiled at him—a real smile that made her dark eyes crinkle—across the table and every ERA and RBI stat he’d ever known flew out of his head.
If she didn’t change her mind about letting him back in her bed, there was a damn good chance the kid she was carrying would be his only one because his balls were going to explode.
Chapter Nine
Kevin waited until the bar traffic slowed before telling Paulie he was taking a break and heading upstairs. He knocked on Beth’s door and had to quickly stifle a grin when she pulled it open. Sweats, crazy hair and chocolate smears in the corners of her mouth only six weeks in? Between his sister and his sister-in-law, he’d witnessed five pregnancies and he knew it only went downhill from there.
“I wasn’t really expecting company,” she said, but she stepped back and let him in. “I would have brushed my hair, at least.”
“Isn’t that tousled bedhead thing the style these days?”
“Only if you do it on purpose.”
The chocolate was killing him. He wanted to kiss her. Run his tongue over her lip and lick the chocolate away. “I…uh…oh, I came to invite you over for Thanksgiving.”
“You can roast a turkey?”
“No. But my mom cooks a mean Thanksgiving dinner, which is why we all go there every year.”
She didn’t look exactly thrilled with the invitation. “I told you we’re not seeing each other anymore. There’s no relationship, which means no taking me home for the holidays.”
He wasn’t about to give up that easily. “The baby wants to come home with me for Thanksgiving.”
“She does, does she?”
“Yes, he does.” She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so he kept going. “Ma makes this stuff with yams and marshmallows. It’s delicious and I’m pretty sure the baby wants to try some.”
“Yams and marshmallows?”
“Yeah. Oh, and a green-bean casserole thing with soup and these French-fried onions things on top. Wicked good.”
She pressed a hand over her stomach. “Yams, marshmallows, green beans, French-fried onions…and you think the baby will like that?”
Good point. So far so good in the morning-sickness department, but marshmallows and French-fried onions might be pushing it. “You don’t have to try anything you don’t want. Just come and eat what you do like and hang out with the family.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to that.”
“Eating?”
“Very funny.” But she didn’t even smile this time. “I’m not sure I’m up to pretending I’m a part of your big happy family.”
Apparently it was going to take a pneumatic sledge hammer to drive the fact she was family, whether she liked it or not, into her head. “It’s not that big a deal. We’ll eat turkey and marshmallow yam stuff and pie. That’s about it.”
“I don’t know, Kevin.”
“What else are you going to do? Sit here alone all day?”
She shrugged. “I’m used to being alone, and the truth is your family intimidates me. There are so many of you and you’re pretty loud, you know.”
“Just one of our many charms. And, speaking of the truth, you and my family are going to be entwined forever. You’re going to be the mother of my child for the rest of your life. The mother of my parents’ grandchild. The mother of my sister and brothers’ nephew—”
“Niece.”
“—forever. So I think some bonding over sticky yams and green-bean casserole is just the thing to jump-start a long and loud entwining.”
“We’re not supposed to be entwining.” She poked a finger at his chest. “Remember?”
“I remember you said you and I couldn’t do anymore personal entwining between the sheets.” Which was tragic. “But you’re already entwined with the Kowalskis.”
“Forever,” she muttered. “So you said.”
“You told me you were going to try to do better at doing the whole family thing.”
“I remember.”
“So you’ll come?”
“I don’t know, Kevin.”
Time to bring out the big guns—aka, his mother. “If my mother finds out you’re spending Thanksgiving alone, she’ll whack me upside the head so hard with that wooden spoon of hers, when I wake up my clothes will be out of style. Then she’ll pack up all the food in those Tupperware things she’s got a closet of and drag the whole family over here. You don’t want that.”
She blew out a breath and shook her head. “Fine! I give up. I’ll bring the baby to your mom’s for Thanksgiving.”
He wisely limited his victory dance to a mental celebration and walked to the door. Paulie needed a break before it got busy again. “Great. We can ride over together, about eight-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“Sure. Ma does a breakfast buffet and then we watch the parade. After that it’s football and more food. We have the first round of pies midafternoon. Come early evening Ma lets us pick at the leftovers and make turkey sandwiches. Then there’s more football in the den or It’s a Wonderful Life in the living room and we get more pie.”