Page 96 of Bar Down Baby!
He frowned, like I said something very confounding. He clicked off the bathroom light and came all the way into the bedroom. Junior jumped onto the foot of the bed and lay down like the conversation was quite interesting.
“Why would I do that?” Barry asked.
“Because we don’t want her to get the wrong idea?”
“That being?”
That this is permanent.
“That we’re together,” I said.
Barry pointedly said nothing, but climbed behind me on the bed, legs on either side of mine, and pulled me back against his chest. I sighed and let myself lean back into him. He lifted my belly, relieving some of the weight from my back, and I sighed. He knew how to trap me in place.
“Let her think what she wants. If she asks, I’ll just tell her your pregnancy has turned you into a sex fiend and I’m being a good roommate.” I elbowed him, and he puffed a laugh on my neck before kissing the spot. “I’ll tell her you’re my good luck charm and the fate of the Utah Raptors’ season rests on you sleeping next to me and drooling on my pillow.”
“I don’t drool,” I said, though I totally did. “And I don’t know you to be so superstitious.”
He reeled back.
“You don’t think I’m superstitious?”
I blinked, thinking about it, then shrugged. I knew what I’d read about his OCD when it was really bad, but I also had read tons of things about weird superstitions across the league—putting on gear in the exact sequence without wavering, wearing the same pair of socks, game day rituals held sacred—but so far as I could tell, Barry didn’t seem stressed about those.
“I used to be pretty set on maintaining my routines. I wasn’t well-adjusted when I started playing professionally. For instance, I thought basically any mess in my apartment meant that I’d have a bad game,” Barry said, and held me a little tighter as he did. I thought of the clips and pictures I’d seen of Barry when he was fresh out of college, a young star who didn’t look as tortured as he felt. “I guess it’s proof the therapy works if you didn’t think I was superstitious.”
“It must be a torture living at my house,” I mused. Of course I took notice of his tidiness, the organization—he was meticulous.It was his way. But he never seemed bothered by my general mess.
“It’s good for me,” Barry said.
“What, dysregulating your nervous system?”
“Baby’s gonna do that anyway, might as well get a head start.” Barry pressed loud kisses up and down my neck, and I squirmed.
“I’m sorry if my mess did something to your game.”
“It didn’t. I want to be like you.”
“Chaotic?”
“You’re not chaos, I think you’re brave.” It was my turn to give an incredulous sound. “You are! I’ve been rigid in my routines, meals, fitness, everything for years. It’s because it’s what I’m good at. I’ve always thought if I can get things down to muscle memory it will take chance out of the equation. I don’t generally want to take risks. You’re creative, deciding you want to learn something and then just learning even if you’ve never done it before. Like carpentry, you’re basically a carpenter at this point.”
“Come on,” I tried, because a few shelves and some wainscoting did not a carpenter make, but he shushed me.
“It’s admirable. You probably don’t know how to lay tile, but within a couple of months, I bet you’ll learn, and you’ll be good at it too.”
“I guess that’s true.” I watched enough tile installation videos that I did kind of feel like Kate and I could tackle it in a weekend.
“It is, thank you.” Barry pulled my shirt’s wide collar to the side and kissed my bare shoulder before replacing it. “Now please keep staying in our bed.”
“Your bed.”
He didn’t say anything, but I could just sense one eyebrow quirked up as he waited for me to relent.
Because I’m weak, I did.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
“Yesss.”
