Page 28 of Bar Down Baby!
“No, no.” Barry untangled his legs from the blankets strewn over him, displacing Junior in the process, who landed on the wood floor and stretched his back in a perfect arch. Junior meowed once before sauntering into the kitchen for his food. Barry stood, and twisted side to side a bit, his back cracking a couple times. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I said. If I had to guess, Barry didn’t know the first thing about shampooing carpets, no doubt he would just be in the way of the crew if he came with us. And why would he want to come? He wasn’t getting paid to clean buildings. Did he think that I’d hurt the baby? Like in a cleaning-related injury? What was going to happen to me?
“I’ll help,” Barry said and lumbered down the hall, still clumsy from just waking up. “Let me help.”
I put my breakfast and water on the counter before rushingover to intercept his entrance, standing like a sentinel in front of the bathroom. Barry rubbed his eyes.
“You should go back to sleep,” I said. “You have to play hockey, right? Game day?”
“I’ll drive you. Just let me get?—”
“Kate’s driving me. She’s almost here,” I said. “I’ll be back before noon.”
The space between Barry’s eyebrows wrinkled further.
“It’s—I’m just gonna go, okay? This is my job. I’ll see you later.” I slid past him again, this time to get my jacket and shove my feet into my tennis shoes. He still stood in the hall when I unlocked the door and stepped outside, only to rush back inside for my yogurt.
“There’s a key on the island for you,” I called before pulling the front door closed. Kate pulled up as I did, and thank God, because I wasn’t sure that Barry wouldn’t try to follow me barefoot in his sweatpants and tank-top situation.
I slid into the front seat and tugged my seatbelt on.
“Why are you panting?” Kate asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said, and to my amazement, she didn’t. Kate put the car in drive, and I didn’t look back at the house once as we drove away.
Barry wasn’t around when I got home from work, which felt like a blessing. I was cooked after hours of cleaning carpets, and my lower back ached. Barry had neatly folded up his blankets on the couch, the pillow atop, and as to not disturb it, I took a nap on my bed until I got hungry. That was life these days: eat, work, sleep, repeat.
After lunch, I decided to finish hanging up two of the shelves I made in the baby’s room. Barry reappeared as I drilled the final screw into the stud.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” I tried not to sound out of breath, though I had a sheen of sweat over my forehead and chest I’m sure he could see.
“Want help?”
“Was just finishing, actually,” I said, and slid the two hanging shelves onto their mounts. A quick check with the level insured they were indeed even, amen. When I looked back at him as if to saysee?,I saw he wore a button-up and fitted slacks, probably tailored just for his massive thighs and long legs. The top two buttons were undone, showing a peek of his chest that I quickly moved my eyes away from.
“You look fancy,” I remarked. His hair was still wet and slicked back like he’d just showered. Had I not heard him shower in the basement or did he make the wise choice to shower at the practice facility? Much nicer showers there. I was tempted to try them on especially cold mornings.
“Game day,” he said by way of explanation. “We don’t have to wear suits anymore, but I still like to, sometimes. My street style isn’t as good as some of the other guys.”
I recognized the concept of walk-up outfits from a few of the Instagram posts that Kate had sent me of Barry posted from his current and previous teams’ pages, usually accompanied with many eyes emojis. He looked dizzyingly hot in all of them, as pointed out by many women in the comments, and I was secretly thrilled remembering that it wasmewho hadhimready to risk it all after one date in New York.
“You look handsome,” I said after probably too long not commenting on what I’d seen of his street style, which was nothing. Like, as far as I knew, he owned exclusively workout clothes and suits.
“When do you have time to work on all this stuff?” he asked. I thought I saw his cheeks a little pinker from my ignored compliment.
“What do you mean?”
“You wake up at an ungodly hour, so you probably aren’t staying up late, and then you work full time.”
When I could pull an extra overtime shift, I did, especially if it was something like carpets, because at least it would move quickly, and time and a half was nothing to scoff about. “I work on it on the weekends, afternoons, stuff like that.”
“Is it safe? Inhaling all those cleaning chemicals all the time?”
I tensed at this confirmation that he did think I was putting our baby in danger by working. I’d thought of it, especially in the beginning when the smell of anything made me nauseous.
“I use less chemical cleaners when I can. If there’s something that needs bleach, the other team member cleans that area,” I explained. It seemed to settle him, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
