Barry’s cheeks darkened at me saying the words “jerk off,” which was funny seeing that he literally got me pregnant. It made me want to say worse, hornier things just to see how red I could make him.
“Sometimes I am,” he agreed. “Not a problem, though.”
“Not a problem for you,” I said. “Feels increasingly like a problem for me. I’m not supposed to lie on my back anymore, and also my stomach is huge as hell, and then there’s you walking around being all caring and nice and looking”—I waved my hand in a circle as if that could encompass all that washim—“like you do.”
“Was that a compliment, Harvey?” Barry whispered, and it did get me to laugh.
“I told you, living together is like living in a pressure cooker.”
Barry bobbed his head, the ruddy pink of his cheeks and the lifting and falling of his chest tipping me off he was as affected by the conversation as I was. His hand remained on my thigh.
“I feel it too,” he muttered.
I shut my eyes, debating if I wasreallygoing to do this. “Maybe it wouldn’t besucha bad idea to release some of the…pressure.”
Barry’s lips parted with an inhale, shocked that I did indeedgo there.
Was it a horrible idea? The worst. Would it probably end in nothing good for my no-complications, platonic co-parent plans? Almost definitely. Was I beyond caring? Also definitely.
“I mean, it would be a help for both of us, so maybe we should.”
Barry’s eyes went wider still, like he never in a century thought I would actually agree. I decided to be crystal clear.
“We could have…casual sex. With each other. That is if pregnant women don’t repulse you.”
He squeezed my thigh.
“Hannah.”
“Which, like, whatever, lots of guys feel that way; I don’t get it, but?—”
“Hannah,” he said again, firmer. I stopped talking and met his gaze, so stern he almost looked pained. “I told you. You are so beautiful it makes me mad sometimes, literally angry. Like I have to go on a walk to cool off before I angrily jack off in the dungeon’s bathroom so you won’t hear me moan your name.”
I would accuse him of lying if he wasn’t gripping my leg so hard while looking moderately furious. I have not felt especially beautiful these last couple months. People keep telling me I have that pregnancy glow, but I swear they’re full of shit. My mom always thinks I’m glowing, and even if I looked like trash, my dad and Ron would still tell me I’m pretty.
“Your teammates are married to models.”
“Yeah, and you’re hotter than them,” he said. “Beingpregnant has made it worse somehow. Like when you walk around and half of your belly is out, I have a physical reaction. I think it’s an ancient urge. I should talk to my therapist about it.”
I was speechless, lips parted while he monologued about his baser instincts regarding my body round with his baby.
“There is nothing even remotely repulsive about you,” he concluded.
“So, it wouldn’t be a great pain to have sex with me,” I said, less of a question and more of a confirmation. He stared hard at my face for a long minute, then shook his head slowly. “Say something.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow. The weight of his hand on my leg felt like a promise, like potential.
“I’m trying not to scare you.”
My chest rose and fell like he really was scaring me, but it wasn’t fear. I was excited, and one specific part of me was overeager, clenching around nothing.
Barry licked his lips, then lightened his grip on my leg like he’d just noticed.
“I would like nothing more than to relieve pressure with you,” he said finally. “As often as you ask.”
“And if I asked now?”
Barry took a long breath that shuddered out of him, and then it was like a dam cracked, his resolve fading as he closed the distance between us and crashed his mouth into mine. It was the first time we’d kissed since May—his lips reminded me of summer, the taste of ice cream, the excitement of kissing a stranger. Only now, he wasn’t a stranger, he wasBarry. Father of my unborn child, too-helpful roommate, hockey star, the single nicest man I’d ever known.
