Kevin was there, down the curb a bit, leaning against the Jeep. He smiled when she saw him and she shook her head. “I don’t think you’re allowed to park here.”
“Yeah.” He opened the door for her. “The guy started to tell me that, but he got distracted by Red Sox tickets. Seems his son’s sixteenth birthday happens to fall on a night we’re playing the Yankees.”
“Do you just carry sports tickets around with you?”
“Only if I think I might need them.” He closed her door and walked around the front of the Jeep.
Once they were out of the parking lot, he looked over at her. “I thought it might be hard, your parents leaving. Didn’t want you stuck being emotional with some strange cab driver.”
“Why do you have to be such a nice guy?”
He flashed his dimples at her. “You’ve met my mother. Too scared not to be.”
It made it so much harder to resist him, though. “Thank you.”
“You know what would cheer you up?”
Licking frosting off his stomach before having hot and sweaty and sticky sex?
“Ice cream,” he said.
“Strawberry?” Not nearly as good, but better for her in the long run.
His grin was on the wrong side of naughty. “Not chocolate?”
“No chocolate. Strawberry.”
“With hot fudge? And whipped cream?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “No. Just plain old strawberry ice cream.”
He looked like he was going to say something else, but then he just smiled. “I know just the place.”
***
Kevin was ruined. No way in hell was he going to have a normal relationship with a woman’s vagina ever again.
Shit. He was even using the word vagina. He was totally, irretrievably ruined as a man.
Even if his balls should ever relax and leave the shelter of his body, he was pretty sure they’d beat a fast retreat next time he encountered a…vagina. He needed to scrub that word—and the instructor’s chipper voice—out of his mind. Or drown it out with a beer. Or tequila shots. Hell, he’d take the whole bottle.
“Are you okay?” It didn’t sound like Beth was even trying to hide her amusement.
“No.” The instructor’s voice bounced around in his mind like a rabid, chatty chipmunk. Vagina. Dilation. Effacement. Mucous plug, for chrissake.
“Do you want me to drive?”
He shook his head and forced himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. Having to drive was the only thing keeping him from curling up in the fetal position.
Fetal. Baby. Vagina. Dammit.
And Beth was laughing at him. “You’re the one who bullied your way into being my birthing partner.”
“I’m the baby’s father,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have to be there.”
“I was going to ask your mom, actually.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to bail. His mom being her birthing partner was the best idea he’d heard in a long time. She was a woman. She’d given birth to four kids of her own, raised one daughter and had five grandchildren. Certainly she couldn’t be a stranger to the workings of the…female body part that couldn’t be named.
That would be a huge step for Beth, too, as far as accepting she was a part of his family. Who was he to stand in the way of progress?
“No,” he heard himself respond. “I want to be there for you. I just hope, when the time comes, I’m closer to your head than your feet.”
She laughed, long enough and hard enough so he started keeping an eye out for places with public restrooms. Hopefully she’d make it home, but the woman had to pee more often than a toddler on a road trip.
“That was just a movie. How are you going to survive the live event?”
“Drunk?” Like he wished he currently was. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay. Have you thought about names?”
“You told me it was bad luck to pick a name.”
“That was before. So if it’s a girl, what would you think about naming her after Paulie? You’re so close and she’s been such a good friend to me.”
“She hates Paulette, but Paulie Kowalski? Sounds weird, and I’m not sure I can handle two Paulies in my life.”
“She told me her middle name is Lillian and she kept it when she changed her name because it was her grandmother’s name. It means something to her.”
“Lillian’s a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
“I was thinking Lily.”
Lily. He liked that. “Lily Ann, instead of Lillian?”
“Lily Ann Kowalski. I like it. What if it’s a boy?”
Since he’d been wondering for the last few weeks how to broach the subject of the baby’s last name, it was a huge relief to hear her say it straight out. He wasn’t sure if she’d want the baby to have her last name because they weren’t married, or if she’d want to hyphenate it. Hansen-Kowalski didn’t really work for him. “How about Carl Yastrzemski?”
“Carl Yastrzemski Kowalski? What the hell kind of name is that?”
“I can’t believe I even let you in my bar.” How did he end up with a woman who knew absolutely nothing about sports? “Yaz was only the greatest left fielder ever. A Red Sox icon.”
“I’m not naming my child after a sports person. No Tom Brady Kowalski. No Derek Jeter or whatever Kowalski.”
“Jesus, Beth.” He almost ran off the road. “Jeter’s a freakin’ Yankee. I wouldn’t even name an ugly, three-legged, one-eyed, rabid and mangy dog I hated Jeter, never mind my own son. Whatever you do, don’t ever talk sports with anybody at Jasper’s.”
“I was making a point.”
“Okay fine, if your point was that you don’t know shit about sports. There’s our dads. We could name him after them.”
“Leo and Arthur?”
“Yeah, probably not. What’s your dad’s middle name?”
“Merton.”
Crap. “How about Ray? Ray Bourque Kowalski. Gotta nice ring to it.”
Through the corner of his eye he saw the disgusted look she threw his way. “Even I’ve heard of Ray Bourque, Kevin.”
“I had to try. He’s a Bruins legend.”
“I hope you realize I’m going to have to run a Google search on every name you suggest now. Or at least run it by Paulie.”
“We’ve gotta come up with something. In keeping with the Paulie theme, there’s Paul.” He turned his head just in time to see her wrinkle her nose. “Or not.”
“We don’t have to decide today.”
“Just so you know, the kids offered up a couple of suggestions.” When she groaned, he laughed. “Taking any and all sports figures off the table, the consensus from the boys would be Scooter.”
“Scooter Kowalski?” Her giggles went a long way toward cleansing his soul of the horror movie—birthing documentary, rather—he’d been forced to endure.
“And Stephanie has requested Jacob Edward if it’s a boy and Bella Stephanie if it’s a girl. Something to do with some sparkly vampire werewolf books she’s into, according to her mother.”
“Let’s just stick with To Be Determined for now.”
He shrugged. “I kinda like Scooter.”
“You would.” She sighed and shifted in her seat. “I’m hungry. And I need to pee. Again.”
He laughed and shook his head. She should have a T-shirt that said that. “We’re five minutes from the bar.”
“Wings. Yummy.” She’d moved from Jasper burgers to wings a few weeks ago and her appetite for them was insatiable.
Of course, watching her lick the sauce from her fingers was hell on his insatiable appetite, too, but chicken wasn’t going to fulfill his craving.
He craved her. Not just in his bed—though that was a big part of it—but just in general. He wanted to share his life with her. The last time he’d hedged around the subject, she’d laughed at him. They worked together and spent most of their free time together and lived five feet from each other.
How much more sharing did he want?
He wanted it all. He wanted the five feet to go away. But after her amusement faded, she’d gotten touchy and he’d dropped it. The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable with their current arrangement.
His worst fear was that, if she thought he was being too pushy, she’d bolt. Get on a bus to Florida or somewhere else and leave him behind.
So for now he kept his hands to himself and played the buddy-slash-neighbor who just happened to have fathered her child. It was hard, though, and getting harder every day.
Chapter Eighteen
June
Paulie stood in the bathroom of her fancy Boston hotel bathroom, staring into the mirror. Paulette Atherton stared back.
She hated her. Hated her hair sedately pinned up. Hated the subtle, tastefully applied makeup. The delicate straps of the slip waiting to be covered by the summery, yet elegant, dress perfect for a June brunch at the country club.
Her parents would be there. Sam had informed her they’d be sharing a table because it was long past time for reconciliation. What he didn’t seem to understand was the utter lack of possibility she could reconcile who she was with who they wanted her to be.
After four months of getting along pretty damn well in her world, the time had come to take a tentative step back into his world. He’d been making some noise about it for a while and then a fairly low-key charity brunch had come up and he’d caught her during a soft moment and…here she was. Paulette Atherton.
She loathed everything about it. And she wasn’t stupid. He’d talk her into accompanying more and more often. When the job in New Hampshire was done, it wouldn’t make any sense for him to commute. He’d try to talk her into moving to Boston. Eventually she’d grow to hate him as much as she did the image of herself in the mirror.
Screw him. Screw all of them.
She may as well shoot it all down in a big ball of flames now rather than wait until they were any more invested than they already were. It would still hurt, but it would hurt even more once the love word entered the equation. Out loud, anyway.
After dumping her hair-product bag on the vanity, Paulie unpinned her hair and did it up her way—red and as big as an ’80’s cheerleader’s. Then she moved on to the rest of her. Heavy on the eyeliner. Her favorite faded jeans and broken-in sneakers. Black tank top with an oversized, fraying-at-the-cuffs Boston Bruins jersey.
This was the real Paulie and if Sam didn’t like it, he could just kiss her ass.
Okay, probably not a visual she needed in her head at the moment, she mused, slipping on big gold hoop earrings. Then she dumped the contents of the fancy purse and did what she always did—slid her license and her credit card into the back pocket of her jeans and stuck her keys in the front pocket just as they notified her the car service had arrived.
The country club dining room fell silent when Paulie walked in, but she’d been ready for that. She was also ready for the silent outrage robbing the color from her mother’s face and the way her father’s lips thinned. No joy at being reunited with the daughter they hadn’t seen in almost six years. Just the same old judgment and disappointment.
What surprised her was the look on Sam’s face. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth and crinkled his eyes. And the way he looked at her as she walked to the table was anything but disapproving.
“Paulette Lillian Atherton, what do you think you’re doing?” her mother hissed when she sat down in the empty chair.
“It’s Paulie Reed now, Mother.” She sat in the chair Sam pulled out for her, though she didn’t expect to be in it long. “This is me. It’s who I am and you’re free to take it or leave it.”
“Everybody’s staring.”
“So?”
Her father leaned across the table so he could keep his voice low. “How could you do this to Sam? Embarrass him in front of his friends and colleagues like this?”
“Actually, Richard,” Sam broke in. “I’m not embarrassed by Paulie at all. I’m sorry you think I should be.”
Paulie was as stunned as her parents. Her father wasn’t lying. The place was full of people who were important to Sam either professionally or personally, but he didn’t look the least bit upset his date had shown up looking like a late-‘80s sports groupie.
“Look at her,” her mother argued. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised they even let her through the door.”
That had taken some fast-talking actually, in the form of a half-ass lie about a luggage issue and needing her father’s credit card to buy herself some new clothes. Only the Atherton last name and the fact they were used to seeing young women in desperate need for Daddy’s plastic got her inside.
A foot nudged hers and Paulie looked at Sam. He winked and rubbed his ankle against hers. “It could be worse. Could be a Canadiens jersey.”
“You’re a disgrace,” her father told her. Sadly, not for the first time.
Sam pushed back his chair and stood, holding out his hand to Paulie. “Richard, Mrs. Atherton, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving now.”
Her parents started sputtering and were heading toward scraping and bowing, but Sam put his hand on Paulie’s back and steered her out the door and down the walk, where he handed the valet his ticket.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a few minutes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“They should have at least pretended to be happy to see you.”
“If I’d worn what I put on first, they might have made the effort.” His car pulled up to the curb and he stepped off to open her door. She waited until he’d gone around and closed his door. “I didn’t stop to think how this would affect you. I should have.”
“It won’t affect me. I’m a Logan and nobody wants to risk alienating my family. Or the trust funds, as the case may be.”
He said it without arrogance, but rather a statement of fact. Which it was. He didn’t say anything else, so she sat back and watched the scenery go by. When he pulled up in front of her hotel, she assumed he’d tell her he’d call her sometime and show her the door.
Instead he handed his car over to the valet and walked inside with her. Still not speaking, they rode up in the elevator and stepped into her lush hotel room.
Only after he’d closed the door behind them did he speak. “You told me before you wanted to be my wife, but not Mrs. Samuel Logan the Fourth. I think I know now what you meant by that.”
She was glad because she wasn’t sure she could explain it any better.
“But here’s the thing,” he continued. “I wasn’t asking Paulette Atherton to be my wife. I didn’t know at the time she went by Paulie, but she’s who I wanted to marry.”
“You only ever saw Paulette.”
“You’re wrong. I never saw you in jeans and a hockey jersey, but I saw you. The real you.”
She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe the man she’d loved had seen the real her—but it didn’t seem possible. “The real me was pretty well hidden, Sam.”
“Do you remember the fundraiser buffet for the senator at the Yacht Club?”
“You’re proving my point. I displayed perfect Stepford wife potential that day.”
He snagged the front of her jersey and pulled her close. “I’d forgotten something in my car so I was outside when you arrived. I saw you driving too fast with the top down and the music too loud. You were belting out the lyrics like you didn’t care who was listening. Then I watched you use the rearview mirror to fix yourself up so you’d look respectable, and when you were all spit-polished and perfect, you gave the mirror the finger.”
She remembered. “You asked me out on our first date that night.”
“I wanted you. The fact you cleaned up nice was a bonus because the truth is I’m a businessman and that’s the circle I run in. But I wanted the woman who drove too fast and sang too loud. I thought the pressure of the wedding and being in the spotlight had you kind of uptight and, after we were married, I hoped I’d s
ee her again. Now, I wish I’d said something before it was too late.”
“But this is the life you lead.”
“I’d give it up for you, but I can’t. Too many people depend on me. But it’s only part of the life I lead, and don’t kid yourself. As long as I send a check, they couldn’t care less if I show up or not, especially since I’m off the market.”
Hope filtered into her emotions, despite her best efforts to block it out. “Are you? Off the market?”
“I haven’t really been on the market since that day at the Yacht Club.” He slid his hands down her back to settle at her waist. “I’m not going to lie to you, Paulie. It would mean a lot to me if you’d occasionally show up on my arm, looking spectacular. But I want the life we’ve had for the last few months. I’ll commute, you’ll serve beer. We’ll have sex…a lot.”
“That sounds like a good plan.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can do that, too—the function thing—sometimes. A few, maybe. It’ll be easier, I think, since I know you don’t expect it.”
“I love you, Paulie.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
She reveled in the kiss—the first kiss they’d ever shared free of doubt and personal hang-ups and false expectations. When it was over, she smiled up at him. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”
He let go of her waist and pulled a small box out of his coat pocket. Tears sprang into her eyes and she wondered if she should tell him she still had the ring he’d given her before—the monstrous diamond solitaire tucked away in her drawer.
But then he opened the lid and she saw the two gold bands. They were intricately carved, but still elegantly simple. “Something low-key, I thought, this time. Might fit into your lifestyle better than a big rock.”
She sniffed, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “They’re beautiful. And so perfect.”
“Paulie Reed, will you marry me? Not everybody or everything else. Just me.”
She nodded, her heart in her throat, and then he was kissing her again. It was a very long time before he stopped.
***
Beth didn’t care what the calendar said. She was ready for her pregnancy to be over. If the baby wasn’t born soon—and to hell with twenty more days—she was going to lose her ever-loving mind.
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