Maybe Now (Maybe #2)

by Colleen Hoover

  Sydney: Nope. Just got out of the shower.

  Ridge: Oh, yeah? So you’re naked?

  Sydney: I have a towel on. And no, you aren’t getting a pic.

  Ridge: I don’t want a pic. I want you to open your front door and let me in.

  I glance toward the living room, then look back down at my phone. He’s here? I only left his apartment an hour ago. I rush to the living room with worry in the pit of my stomach. I hope nothing is wrong. Surely Hunter didn’t do anything stupid after I pulled away.

  I look through the peephole and there he is, staring at the door. I leave the living room light off since I’m opening the door with only a towel on. Ridge slips inside my apartment. I close the door, it’s dark, I’m suddenly no longer wearing a towel. Ridge’s mouth is on mine and my back is against the living room wall.

  Ridge isn’t really the type to just show up without telling me first, but I don’t mind it.

  I don’t mind it at all.

  What I do mind is that he’s dressed and I’m not.

  I pull off his shirt and unbutton his jeans. His mouth is everywhere, but his hands have me caged against the wall. He kicks off his pants and then picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He starts toward the bedroom, but realizes we’re way closer to the couch, so he turns and lowers me to the sofa.

  We’re still kissing when he lowers himself on top of me, and then he’s inside me and it’s incredible. I am so in love with this man.

  He stops kissing me for a moment, so I let my head fall back onto the cushion, and I relax as he kisses my neck. When he reaches my mouth again, he pulls back and stares down at me. He brushes my hair back, and there’s just enough light from the window shining down on us so that I can see every emotion in his eyes. He’s looking at me with so much feeling when he says, “I love you, Sydney.” He pauses above me so that I’m focused on his words and nothing else. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

  I close my eyes because the impact of his words hits me everywhere. I had no idea how much I wanted those words. Needed those words. And he knows I would never ask him to admit that or compare us to his last relationship, but here he is, wanting to diminish any shred of doubt I might have had while at his apartment tonight. I repeat his words silently, never wanting to forget this moment. This feeling. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

  His warm mouth presses gently against mine, and his tongue slides past my lips, delicately searching for mine. When I kiss him back, I wrap my hand in his hair and pull him as close as I can. For the next several minutes, Ridge proves to me just how much I mean to him without speaking or signing another word.

  Even when it’s over, several minutes go by with our lips still connected. Every time he tries to stop kissing me, he can’t. It’s just one kiss after another after another. He eventually buries his face against my neck and sighs against my skin. “Can I spend the night with you?”

  His question makes me laugh. I don’t know why. It just feels like it’s a given at this point. As soon as I nod, he grabs my arms and pulls me up with him, then lifts me and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me on the bed and then crawls under the covers with me, wrapping his bare legs around me. I love that neither of us are dressed. This is a first.

  I kiss him on the nose and want to sign to him, but it’s dark. He also can’t read lips in the dark, so I grab my phone.

  Sydney: That was completely unexpected.

  Ridge: Do you prefer your boyfriend to be more predictable?

  Sydney: I prefer my boyfriend to be you. That’s really my only requirement. Just be Ridge Lawson and you can date me.

  Ridge: I’m pretty good at being Ridge Lawson. You’re in luck.

  We are so cheesy. I hate us and love us.

  Sydney: Unexpected or predictable, I like all the versions of you.

  Ridge: I like all the versions of you, too. Even if the rest of our lives were predictable, I’d never get tired of you. We could live the same day over and over and I’d just ask for more.

  Sydney: Like Groundhog Day. I feel the same way.

  Ridge: You make routine something I actually look forward to. If you told me you wanted us to go wash dishes together right now, I’d get excited.

  Sydney: What if I asked you to do laundry with me? Would that excite you?

  The light from our phones makes it possible for me to see him when he looks at me. He nods slowly, like the thought of doing laundry with me turns him on. I grin and look back at my phone.

  Sydney: Would you look forward to eating the same meal every single day?

  Ridge: I would if I were eating it with you.

  Sydney: Would you be able to drink the same drink every single day?

  Ridge: If I were drinking it with you, I would still be thirsty for it on my deathbed.

  Sydney: Oh, that’s a good line. Keep going.

  Ridge: If I could hear music, I would listen to the same song over and over and never tire of it as long as I was listening to it with you.

  I laugh.

  Sydney: I see you still have the same self-deprecating deaf jokes you’ve always had.

  Ridge reaches out and touches my mouth. “And you have the same beautiful smile you’ve always had.” His thumb runs over my bottom lip, but his eyes grow intense as he stares at my mouth. “Same smile…same laugh.” He pulls his hand from my mouth and lifts up. “This feels like a song,” he says. As soon as he says it, he rolls over and turns on the lamp. “Paper?” He opens my top drawer. He doesn’t find paper, but he finds a pen. He faces me with a look of urgency. “I need paper.”

  I roll off the bed and walk to my desk. I grab a legal pad and a book for him to place it on. He grabs them out of my hands before I’m even seated back on the bed; then he starts writing lyrics. I’ve missed watching this so much. He writes a few sentences, and I lean over his shoulder and watch him.

  Same seats on the couch

  Same drinks when we go out

  Same smile, same laugh

  You know I’ll never get enough of that

  He pauses for a moment, then he looks at me. He smiles and hands me the pen. “Your turn.” It feels like old times. I take the pen and the legal pad and think for a moment before adding my own lines.

  Same clothes on the floor

  Same dog at our door

  Same room, same bed

  I wouldn’t wish for anything instead

  He’s staring at the lyrics when he hops off the bed and starts looking around the floor. “Jeans?” he says. I point to the living room. He nods, like he forgot we came to my bedroom naked. He points over his shoulder. “Guitar. My car.” He rushes out of my room, and a minute later, I hear him walk out my front door. I look at the page and read through the lyrics again. I have two more sentences written when he makes it back to my bedroom with his guitar.

  When everything is changing

  Baby you’re written in stone

  He sets his guitar on the bed and looks over the lyrics, then motions for the pen. He tears out the lyrics and starts writing out chords and notes on another page. This is my favorite part. This is the magic—watching him hear a song that doesn’t even have sound and doesn’t even exist yet. The pen is flying over the paper frantically. He pulls the lyrics back in front of him and starts adding to them.

  Feels like we made it

  Got something of our own

  Maybe it’s predictable

  But I can’t complain

  With you and me

  All I need

  Is more of the same

  More of the same

  He hands me the notepad and pen and picks up his guitar. He starts playing, and I’m reading the lyrics, wondering how he does this with such little effort. Just like that, he’s created a new song. An entire song from nothing more than a few sentences and a little inspiration.

  I begin to write another verse while he plays the chords.

  Same songs in the car

  W
e never need to go too far and

  I won’t leave you alone

  Just stay the same baby

  I’ve always known that

  When everything is changing

  Baby you’re written in stone

  Feels like we made it

  Got something of our own

  Maybe it’s predictable

  But I can’t complain

  With you and me

  All I need is more of the same

  More of the same

  When I finish writing the chorus again, he reads it all. Then he hands me the lyrics and leans back against my headboard. He motions for me to sit between his legs, so I crawl over and turn my back toward him as he pulls me against him and wraps his guitar around us. He doesn’t even have to ask me to sing the song. He starts playing, leaning his head against mine, and I start singing the song for him so that he can perfect it.

  The first time he played for me, we were sitting like this. And just like that first day, I am completely in awe of him. His concentration is inspiring, and the way he creates such a pleasing sound that he can’t even hear makes it hard for me to focus on the lyrics. I want to turn around and watch him play. But I also like that we’re wrapped together on my bed and I’m caged against him by his guitar and every now and then, he kisses the side of my head.

  I could do this every night with him and still want more of the same.

  We sing and play the song about three times, and he pauses to make notes between each run-through. After the fourth and final time, he tosses the pen on the floor and then pushes his guitar to the other side of the bed. Then he turns me around so I’m straddling his lap. We’re both smiling.

  It’s one thing for a person to find their passion, but it’s another thing entirely to be able to share that passion with the person you’re passionate about.

  It’s fun and intense and I think we’re both realizing for the first time that we get to do this together all the time. Write songs, kiss, make love, be inspired to write more songs.

  Ridge kisses me. “This is my new favorite song.”

  “Mine, too.”

  He slides both hands to my cheeks and bites his lip for a second. Then he clears his throat. “With you and me…all I need…is more of the same.”

  Oh, my God. He’s singing. Ridge Lawson is serenading me. And it’s terrible because he’s so out of tune, but a tear falls from my eye because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed or heard or felt.

  He wipes my tear away with his thumb and smiles. “That bad, huh?”

  I laugh and shake my head, and then I kiss him harder than I’ve ever kissed him because there is no way I can verbally express my love for him right now. Instead, I love him silently. He doesn’t even break the kiss when he reaches behind him and turns off the lamp. He pulls the covers over us and then tucks my head under his chin as he wraps himself around me.

  Neither of us says I love you before we fall asleep.

  Sometimes two people share a silent moment that feels so deep and so powerful, a simple phrase such as I love you risks losing all prior meaning if spoken aloud.

  I’ve only taken three bites of my burger, but I push the plate away from me and lean back. “I can’t finish this,” I mutter, letting my head fall back against the booth. “I’m sorry.”

  Jake laughs. “You jumped out of an airplane for the first time ever and then drove a car in circles for an hour straight. I’m surprised you’re able to eat anything at all.”

  He says this with an empty plate sitting in front of him while scarfing down a milkshake. I guess when you’re used to jumping out of planes and driving fast cars, the adrenaline doesn’t jack with your equilibrium to the point that you feel like the world is spinning inside your stomach.

  “It was fun, though,” I say with a smile. “It’s not every day I cross two things off my bucket list.”

  He scoots both of our plates to the edge of the table and leans forward. “What else is on your bucket list?”

  “Vegas. The Northern Lights. Paris. The usual.” I fail to tell him that he’s who I hope will be number eight on my list. We’ve had so much fun tonight, I want to do it again. But I also don’t, simply because we had so much fun tonight. I’ve spent the entirety of my adulthood in a relationship. I don’t want that again. Even if he is too good to be true. “Why are you single?” I ask him.

  He rolls his eyes like the question embarrasses him. He pulls his glass of water in front of him, sipping from it in order to avoid answering it for a few seconds longer. When he lets the straw fall away from his lips, he shrugs. “I’m usually not.”

  I laugh. That’s expected, I suppose. A sky-diving, Tesla-driving, good-looking cardiologist doesn’t sit home every Friday night. “Are you a serial dater?”

  He shakes his head. “The opposite, actually. I just got out of a relationship. A really long relationship.”

  I didn’t expect that answer. “How long did you date her?”

  “Twelve years.”

  I sputter a cough. “Twelve years? How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine. Started dating her in high school.”

  “Can I ask what ended it? Or do you want to change the subject?”

  Jake shakes his head. “I don’t mind talking about it. I moved out about six months ago. We were engaged, actually. I proposed four years ago. We never got around to planning the wedding because we were waiting until we finished our residencies.”

  “She’s a doctor, too?”

  “Oncologist.”

  Jeez. I suddenly feel so…young. I just barely finished my thesis, and here he is with an ex-fiancée who went through medical school with him and saves lives. I pull my drink to my lips and take a sip, attempting to wash down all my insecurities.

  “Was it a mutual breakup?” I ask him.

  He looks down at his hands briefly. A flash of guilt takes over his expression before he responds. “Not really. I realized about twelve years too late that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with her. I know that sounds bad after being with her for so long. But for some reason, choosing to spend the rest of my life with her was a lot easier than breaking up with her.”

  Why am I feeling everything he’s saying? I find myself wanting to raise my arm and say, “Amen,” like I’m in church. “I can absolutely relate to what a hard decision that must have been.”

  Jake leans forward, folding his arms on the table. He tilts his head in thought for a moment, then says, “I had a moment before I ended it. I remember asking myself what I would regret more. Ending something that was good so I didn’t end up with regrets? Or spending the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t have the courage to end something simply because I was afraid of regret? Either choice would have left me with some form of regret, so I chose to end it. And it was hard. But I’d rather regret ending something good than be what prevents her from finding something great.”

  I stare at him a moment, but I have to break my stare because I’m starting to have that feeling again. That I want him to be more than a one-night stand.

  “How long were you and your boyfriend together?” he asks.

  “Almost six years.”

  “Were you the one who ended it?”

  I think about his question for a moment. From the outside looking in, I’d say I was. But being in it…I’m not so sure. “I don’t know,” I admit. “He fell in love with another girl. And it wasn’t like it was some torrid, scandalous affair. He’s a good person and he would have chosen me in the end. But he would have chosen me for the wrong reasons.”

  Jake looks surprised. “He cheated on you?”

  I hate that word. I find myself shaking my head, even though he did. Ridge cheated on me. It makes him sound malicious, which he is not. “Cheating is such an ugly term to describe what happened.” I think about it for a moment as I stir my straw around in my glass. Then I look up at Jake and say, “He…connected with someone else on a deeper level, I think. To call
him a cheater feels like an insult he doesn’t deserve. He crossed a line with someone he connected with. We’ll just leave it at that.”

  Jake watches me for a moment, reading my expression. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just find it fascinating that you don’t sound like you hate him.”

  I smile. “He’s one of my best friends. And he tried to do the right thing. But sometimes the wrong thing is the right thing.”

  Jake fights a smile, like he’s impressed with this conversation, but he doesn’t want to show it. I like that. I like how interesting he is. And I like that he seems to find me interesting.

  He’s still staring, like he wants to hear more, so I continue. “Ridge writes lyrics for a band. About two years ago, the band released a new song, and I’ll never forget the first time I heard it. Ridge always sent me the songs ahead of their release, but for some reason, he never sent me this particular song. After I downloaded it and listened to it, I immediately knew why he never sent it. It’s because he wrote it about us.”

  “A love song?”

  I shake my head. “No. It was kind of the opposite. Sort of a falling-out-of-love song, about a couple who needed to move on from each other but didn’t know how. It wasn’t until I heard that song that I realized he felt the same way I did. But neither of us were in a place to admit that to each other at the time.”

  “Did you ever ask him about it?”

  “No. I didn’t have to. I knew it was about me as soon as I heard the first line.”

  “What was the line?”

  “I keep on wondering why I can’t say bye to you.”

  “Wow,” Jake says, leaning back. “That’s definitely telling.”

  I nod. “I don’t know why we waited so long after that to end it. I guess it’s like you said. Things between us were good, but I knew he’d found something great in another girl. And he deserved better than just good.”

  Jake’s expression is stoic as he watches me silently for a few seconds. But then he smiles with a shake of his head. “How old are you?”