“Yourpups,” I remind him gently, even though my heart is throbbing so tenderly at his words. I have no right to walk around with this raw, naked thing in my chest. I’m going to bleed on someone.
I need better armor. I need fortifications. I need armed guards. I need…Heidi and Nicole.
I pull out my phone again. “If we’re going out as friends, then you don’t mind if I invite some of my other friends to join us for happy hour?”
Ian’s tail gives a tentative wag. “Please do.”
“Come drink with me one last time before I get pregnant,” I text Heidi, knowing she just got off work at the school. “Bring Nic if she’s free. You can meet my future baby daddy.”
“TIME AND PLACE,” she shoots back immediately.
“Did you have a bar in mind?” I ask Ian, thumbs poised to text Heidi.
His tail wags even faster. “Do you have a favorite?”
Instantly, I think of the karaoke place downtown. It’s nothing special, just a wings-and-beer spot with a stage, but some of the best nights of my life have been singing there with Heidi and Nicole, half-drunk and one-hundred-percent stuffed with good snacks.
“Do you like to sing?” I ask him.
“Love it. You should have heard me howling along with the radio on the way here.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not claiming I can carry a tune, though.”
“Luckily, that’s not required for karaoke, or they’d go out of business.” I share a grin at him. “Are you up for it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m totally in.”
“Do you know the place on Brown Ave, Sing Your Heart Out?” I’m already typing “KARAOKE TIME” to Heidi. In my peripheral vision, I see him nod. “Meet you there in fifteen, then.”
It’s not until I’m halfway to the bar, thighs sticking to the driver’s seat of my car, that I realize I left my dang underwear at the doctor’s office.
Chapter 9
Ian
If making a fool of myself on stage is how I get to spend more time with Julia, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m eager to meet her friends, actually. I want to make sure she’ll have a good support system after the pups are born. I want to know more about her husband and how he treats her. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, deep down, I want them to like me. I want them toroot for me.
It’s a silly, selfish desire, and one that probably won’t come to fruition, but the mate bond won’t let me stop hoping that we can be together.
A short drive later, I meet up with Julia at the karaoke bar. The parking lot is virtually empty, but that’s probably a given since it’s not even five o’clock. A neon “OPEN” sign buzzes faintly above a sandwich-board sign that says, “Happy Hour Special: $2 Draft Beers” in crooked dry-erase letters. Strains of country music seep out the door onto the sidewalk in front.
“Why is this place your favorite?” I ask, as we linger outside, waiting for her friends to arrive.
“Oh, it’s not my favorite. Just…fun,” Julia says. She seems a little embarrassed by the homespun appearance of the exterior, but all I see is a place that’s well loved and been here a while. Plus the window has a small sticker with a tiny pitchfork on it, indicating that it’s a monster-friendly business.
“Looks like fun to me, too. Do you want to go in and pick a table while we wait? That way we can get a good one.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have much competition,” she jokes, but moves toward the door. I hurry to open it for her, and we enter the bar.
It’s as old-school inside as out, with beat-up floors and a huge wooden bar that gleams in the lights from the stage. Round tables cluster in front,where a handful of patrons sit, watching a harpy belt out a song from Beyoncé’s country album. She ends her song and the five or six people watching hoot and cheer.
“Good vibes,” Julia says, a smile spreading across her face as she watches a human couple take the stage and launch into a pop ballad in Spanish.
“Let’s grab drinks and then find a table,” I suggest, catching the eye of the bartender.
But then Julia frantically waves at two women who just walked in the door. They spot us and then look at each other, exchanging unspoken words before they make their way over.
“Heyyyy! We were just getting drinks,” Julia says, giving each of them a cursory hug. “This is Ian. Ian, this is Heidi and Nicole, my neighbors, best friends, and sanity for the last fifteen years.”
So these aren’t just friends. They’re clan to her. The one called Heidi, who has wild, curly hair and a bold, open smile, sticks out her hand. I shake it. “Nice to meet you, Ian. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
