Page 87 of Better Daddy
We couldn’t wait another minute.We didn’t discuss what it meant, whether it was a one-time thing, but we didn’t need to. Because despite the hard way he took me, Sully told me exactly how he felt as he sank inside me.
“I’ve been wanting this for months. You’re a bloody dream.”
Unlike the boys I’d been with in the past, he knew exactly how topleasure me. There was no fumbling to find my clit, and he wrapped his hand around my throat and held on tight. I’d never even read about that kind of thing in a book, but in that moment, the move felt exactly right. He manhandled me and kissed me softly at the same time.
When we returned to the table, Brian barked out a laugh at the red lipstick that stained our faces. Maybe I should have been embarrassed, and maybe I would have been, but Brian’s next words wiped any doubt from my mind.
“Congrats, Sul. You finally got the girl.”
Months later, I asked Brian what he meant by that.
He shook his head, a big smile on his face.“If you can’t see that Sully’s been crazy about you since day one, I don’t know what to tell ya.”
I look at my husband now, catching him watching me, clocking my reaction to the scene in front of us, and hear Brian’s words all over again.
“Ah, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” The bartender rounds the bar and holds a hand out to Sully. “Everyone’s loving the karaoke idea. There’s a table up front reserved for you, just like you requested.”
Sully shakes his hand and then follows him toward the makeshift stage.
The bar is more crowded than normal, but from our prime spot, we get to witness everyone’s embarrassing renditions of their favorite songs.
The karaoke machine is smallish. It’s nothing like the equipment bars in New York would set up for nights like this. But after the bartender’s comment when we came in, I’m certain it’s Sully’s doing. He probably ordered the damn thing online.
His thoughtfulness leaves me slightly dizzy and filled with lust.
With the crowd they’re garnering, it might be beneficial for the bar to invest in a nicer sound system to keep this up. If they did, I’d be here every week. At least until our time in Jersey is over.
I may be getting bigger by the day and I may not be able to drink, but this is my kind of entertainment.
“So who’s singing first?” Lo eyes each one of us, practically bouncing in her seat. I think she might be as excited as I am.
“I’ve always wanted to sing one of those boy band songs,” Cal says. “Like ‘I Want It to Be Me.’”
Lo frowns, her brow furrowing. “That doesn’t sound right.”
He hums a sort of familiar tune and holds out both hands, doing a motion that looks like it’s part of the chicken dance. Or, on second thought, maybe it’s *NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” dance.
“Oh!” I clap, sitting straighter. “He combinedIt’s Gonna Be MeandI Want You Back. They’re by two different bands, Cal.”
“Which one is the bouncing up and down with the hands song?”
“That’d beBye Bye Bye,” Lo tells him before hopping up and darting to the karaoke signup sheet.
“You going to sing with him?” I ask Sully.
With a smirk, he tugs my chair closer, only stopping when I’m wedged between his legs. He drapes an arm around me and places his free hand over mine on the table. “You know how I like to sing at karaoke.”
God, and I do. Always like this. His lips pressed to my ear, the words a rasp between us.
I lean into him. And into the memories this action conjures. Memories that span almost two decades.
The guy manning the machine cues up a song and takes the mic himself. Then, with a nod to Sully, he breaks into a rendition of “All the Way” by Frank Sinatra.
Goose bumps erupt across my arms, and my heart flutters. It’s the song we danced to on the night we got married. When we got home from our little reception and realized we hadn’t danced once, Sully held me close and twirled me around the kitchen slowly, singing it in my ear.
I’d forgotten about that. How is that possible? Though my heartaches at that realization, it quickly lifts when it hits me that Sully didn’t.
The dive bar and everyone in it fade away, and I’m taken back to that little apartment in the West End. Our parents hated it, which only made us love it more. As I look into my husband’s eyes, I find a kaleidoscope of memories reflected there. Lazy Saturdays in bed. Late nights with a bottle of wine between us. Urgent, needy kisses. Achy limbs and swollen lips. Sweaty bodies pressed together against the couch, or the counter, or the wall.
