And this beautiful girl has me as her boyfriend.
Although, this gift is hard as shit to open. I set it on the bar and yank at the lid.
A sudden cloud of dust bursts out of the container and hits me in the face. It happens so fast, I can’t even close my mouth in time. I step back from whatever the hell was in that container and I start spitting. What the hell just happened?
I walk to the sink and run my hands under the water, then wet my face. When I pull my hands back, they’re sparkling like a fucking unicorn.
Glitter. Everywhere.
On my arms, my shirt, my hands, the counter. In my mouth. I look over at Sydney and she’s on the floor with laughter. Tears are in her eyes, she’s laughing so hard.
She glitter bombed me.
Wow.
I guess that means the prank war has recommenced.
I wash my mouth out and then calmly walk to the bar where the explosion just happened. I scoop a handful of glitter into my palm. Two can play this game. Her laughter hasn’t let up at all. I think she’s laughing even harder now that she sees me up close. I’m sure I look fantastic in sparkles.
I’ve read the word “squeal” before and know that it’s a form of laughter, but I have no idea what it sounds like at all. But as soon as I tip my hand over and watch the glitter fall all over her, I’m almost positive that’s what she’s doing. Squealing.
She clutches her stomach and falls onto her back. A tear falls down her cheek.
My God. I’d give anything to be able to hear her right now. I spend so much time trying to imagine what her voice and her laughter and her sighs sound like, but there isn’t enough imagination in one person to come close to what I know it probably sounds like.
She sees the look on my face and suddenly stops laughing. Her eyebrows pull together when she signs, “Are you angry?”
I smile and give my head a slight shake. “No. I just really wish I could hear you right now.”
Her expression relaxes a little. Saddens, even. She pulls in her bottom lip for a second as she stares up at me. Then she reaches her hand up and grabs mine, pulling on it. I lower myself to the floor, sliding my knee between both of her legs.
I might not be able to hear her like I wish I could, but I can smell her and taste her and love her. I run my nose over her jaw until my lips reach hers. When I brush my lips against hers, her tongue slips into my mouth, soft and inviting. I return the action, searching her mouth for remnants of laughter.
She’s an incredible communicator when it comes to her kiss. Her kiss sometimes says more to me than anything she could ever sign or text or speak. Which is why I immediately know when she’s distracted. I don’t even have to hear it. She hears it for me, and then I feel her reaction and I just know. I pull back and look down at her, just as her attention moves to Warren and Bridgette’s bathroom door. I look up, and Bridgette is walking out of the bathroom. She pauses and looks at us, lying on the living room floor together, covered in glitter.
And then she does the unthinkable.
Bridgette smiles.
Then she steps over us and walks away. When she leaves the apartment, I look down at Sydney, wondering if she’s just as shocked as I am by that exchange. Her eyes are wide as she looks back at me. She starts laughing again. I quickly press my ear to her chest, wanting to feel it, but her laughter fades too quickly. I bring my hand up to her waist and start tickling her. I feel her start laughing again, so I keep tickling her because it’s the closest I can get to hearing that laugh.
Her phone is next to me on the floor, so when it lights up, I naturally glance at it. I stop tickling her when I see the name and the message that appears on the screen.
Hunter: Thank you, Syd. You’re the best.
She hasn’t noticed her phone. She’s still laughing and trying to squirm away from me, so I sit back on my knees and pick up her phone. I hand it to her as I’m standing up to walk away. I try to bite down my anger as I grab a rag and begin wiping the glitter off the counter. I glance at her to see her reaction, but she’s sitting cross-legged now, responding to that fucker’s text.
Why is she talking to him?
Why does it seem like they’re somehow miraculously on good terms?
Thank you, Syd? Why is he calling her Syd, like he has any right to be that casual with her after what he did to her? And why is she sitting so casually like this is okay? I grab my phone.
Ridge: Let me know when you’re finished chatting with your ex. I’ll be in the shower.
I don’t look at her as I head to my bedroom and then my bathroom. I pull open the shower curtain and turn on the water, and then take my shirt off. I swear, I just want to make loud noises. It’s not very often I feel the need to be loud, but in situations like this, I know it probably feels good to be able to groan so that I can hear my frustrations leaving my body. Instead, I toss my shirt at the wall and unbutton my jeans with nowhere for my noise to go.
When the bathroom door opens, I regret not locking it because I really need a minute. Or two or three. I glance at Sydney, and she leans against the doorframe and raises an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
I stare at her expectantly. What does she want me to say? Does she expect me to be okay with this? Does she expect me to smile and ask her how Hunter is doing?
Sydney hands me her phone and scrolls up on her texts to Hunter so I can read them. I have no desire to read them, but she uses both of her hands to force mine around her phone, and then she motions for me to read them. I look down at the string of messages.
Hunter: I know you don’t want to speak to me. I don’t blame you for driving away the other night. And believe me, I would leave you alone, but I gave you all my financial forms to give to your dad to look over during our company’s merger last year. It’s almost April and I need them for taxes. I called his office and they said they sent them back with you a few months ago.
Sydney: They’re in Tori’s apartment in my old bedroom. Look in the red folder at the top of the closet.
Hunter: Found them!
Hunter: Thanks, Syd. You’re the best.
Sydney: Can you delete my number now?
Hunter: Done.
I lean against the sink and rub a hand down my face. She immediately starts texting me when I hand her back her phone, so I check my phone.
Sydney: I realize my situation with Hunter is different from your situation with Maggie, but I have been extremely accommodating to the friendship you chose to keep, Ridge. EXTREMELY ACCOMODATING! But you are being a hypocritical tool right now. It’s very unattractive.
I blow out a breath of mixed relief and regret. She is absolutely right. I’m a hypocritical tool.
Ridge: You’re right. I’m sorry.
Sydney: I know I’m right. And that little apology doesn’t really make me any less angry at you.
I glance at her and swallow because I haven’t seen her this angry in a very long time. I’ve seen her upset and frustrated, but I don’t think I’ve seen her this angry since the morning she woke up in my bed and found out I had a girlfriend.
Why did I have to react that way? She’s right. She’s been nothing but patient with me, and the first chance I have to show her the same trust and patience in return, I stomp out of the room in a tantrum.
Ridge: I was jealous and in the wrong. 100% wrong. Actually, I was so wrong, I think I stretched the limit of 100%. I was 101% wrong.
I look at her, and I’m thankful I can read her non-verbal cues so well. Even though she tries to hide it, I can see her relax a little with that text. So I send her another one. I’ll text her apologies all night if I have to in order to get rid of this tension I caused.
Ridge: Remember when we used to tell each other our flaws so it would help fight our attraction for each other?
She nods.
Ridge: One of my flaws is that I never knew I had a jealous streak until I had you to be jealous over.
She doesn’t smile, but she does lean a
gainst the counter next to me. Our shoulders touch, and it’s such a subtle thing, but it means so much right now.
Sydney: My flaw is that I forgive too easily and I can’t stay mad.
She may find that as a flaw, but I couldn’t be more grateful for that side of her. Especially right now. She lifts her eyes and shrugs a little, like she’s already over it. I give her a quick kiss on her forehead.
Ridge: My flaw is that I’m covered in glitter. I somehow even got it…
I pull at the flap of my jeans. “Down there,” I say.
She starts laughing. And I smile because fuck Hunter. I have the absolute best girlfriend there ever was to walk this earth.
Sydney: My flaw is that I kind of already forgot why we were fighting because you’re so cute when you sparkle.
Ridge: We’re fighting because you are perfect and I don’t deserve you.
Sydney rolls her eyes and then sets down her phone. I stand up straight and place my phone on top of hers, pushing them to the back of the counter. I move in front of her, and she grips the counter at her sides, looking at me with glitter in her lashes and her hair. Such a beautiful girl. Inside and out. I lower my mouth to hers while bringing my hands to the front of her jeans. I unzip and unbutton them and then continue to kiss her as I undress her.
I pull her into the shower with me, and for the next half hour, I apologize profusely with my mouth.
I’ve spent seventeen nights in the hospital this past year alone.
I’ve been to visit my doctor more times than that. Since the day I was born, I’ve been at appointments to check my health more times than I’ve gone grocery shopping.
And I’m sick of it.
Sometimes when I arrive at my doctor’s office, I sit there and stare at the building, wondering what would happen if I drove away and never went back. What would happen if I stopped having tests administered? What would happen if I stopped receiving treatment for every single cold I’m afflicted with?
I’d get pneumonia. That’s what would happen. Then I would die.
At least I’d never have to go back to a doctor’s office.
The nurse takes the blood pressure cuff off my arm. “It’s a tad high.”
“I had a lot of sodium for breakfast.” I pull my sleeve back down. My blood pressure is high because I’m here. At the doctor. They call it white-coat syndrome. Any time I have my blood pressure checked inside a doctor’s office, it’s high because of nerves. But outside of a doctor’s office, it’s fine.
I lick my lips, trying to moisten them. My mouth is dry from the nervous energy of being here. I don’t want to be here. But here I am. No turning back now.
The nurse hands me a gown and tells me I can change when she leaves the room. I look down at the gown and cringe.
“Is this necessary?” I ask, holding up the gown.
She nods. “It’s a requirement. We’ll probably run a few tests today and your chest needs to be easily accessible.”
I nod and watch as she slips my chart in the door slot and starts to pull it shut. She smiles reassuringly. “Doctor will be in shortly,” she says. She has a look of pity about her, like she wants to hug me. I get that a lot. Especially from the really sweet nurses. I remind them of when they were in their formative years, young and vibrant and full of life. And they try to imagine themselves in my shoes at this age, and their eyes fill with pity for me. I’m used to it. Sometimes I even pity myself, but I don’t think that’s related to the illness. I think, as humans, we all have a degree of self-pity.
I blow out a breath, more nervous than I’ve ever been to be in a doctor’s office. My hands are shaking when I pull off my shirt. I hurry up and put on the gown and then sit on the exam table. It’s cold in here, so I rub my hands over my arms, fighting the chills. I press my knees together and then squeeze them with my hands, trying my best not to think about the reason I’m here. I sweat when I’m nervous. I don’t want to be sweaty.
I feel my chest tighten, and then my throat becomes itchy and I start to cough. I cough so hard, I have to stand up and walk over to the sink to balance myself. There’s a knock on the door in the middle of one of my coughing fits, and I turn around to find the nurse peeking her head in.
“You okay?”
I nod, still coughing. She walks over to the sink and takes a cup and then fills it with water. But I don’t need more liquid in my throat right now. I take the cup and thank her, but I wait until my coughing subsides before I take a sip. She leaves the room again. I walk back over to the exam table, and as soon as I sit, there’s another knock at the door.
This is it.
The door begins to open and my heart starts to pound so hard; I’m relieved no one is checking my blood pressure at the moment. He flips my chart open before he looks up. He pauses as soon as he opens it, probably because he’s shocked to see my name on the chart.
I knew he’d be surprised. Hell, I’m surprised I worked up the courage to come here.
Jake immediately lifts his head and looks at me. I realize there are probably much better ways to reach out to him, but I feel like my undeniable attraction should be just as dramatic as my denial of him was. I still feel a little guilty for how we left things a few days ago. But since he walked out my front door, I’ve done nothing but mope, because the time we spent together was so good. Fun. Easy. I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Especially his parting words.
“I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”
I’ve flip-flopped all week about this. Sure, he was just making me breakfast. But when a good-looking doctor cooks you breakfast, that breakfast turns into lunch and then dinner and then breakfast again, and then trips together on the weekends and then grocery shopping together, and then all that eventually turns into being the emergency contact at the hospital.
So yeah, he was just cooking me breakfast. But because of how much I like him, that’s not where it would have ended. And the idea of him feeling forced to care for me makes me sad to think about.
But on the other hand, I can’t stop thinking about him. And when I think about him, I get this empty pit in my stomach that distracts me and makes everything I want out of life seem to pale in comparison to the thought of spending time with him. But the idea of setting ourselves up for emotional investment just makes me sad since I know it won’t end well. So what do I do? What choice do I make? Avoid him and be sad? Or embrace him and be sad?
Either way, I’ll be sad.
So…here I am. Faking a need to see a cardiologist just so I can let him know I overreacted. And also to let him know that bungee jumping alone just sounds boring.
I can see the surprise on Jake’s face, but he holds it in well. He glances at my chart again. “According to this, you’re here because you’re experiencing excessive heart palpitations.”
I can see the grin he stifles before looking back at me.
I nod. “Something like that.”
Jake’s eyes scan me from head to toe for a moment, and then he sets the chart on the counter and pulls his stethoscope to his ears. He straddles the stool and sits, rolling toward me.
“Let’s take a listen.”
Oh, God. I’m not really having heart palpitations. He knows it was just an excuse to show up here. Now he’s about to listen to my heart just to be an ass because he knows I’m nervous right now. And it’s going to be beating stupid fast because he’s even better looking today with his white coat and stethoscope, straddling a rolling chair. If he actually listens to my heartbeat right now, he might call for a defibrillator.
He rolls his chair right up to the exam table. Right up to me. We’re eye to eye now as he lifts the stethoscope and places it over my heart. He closes his eyes and lowers his head as if he’s actually concentrating on my heartbeats.
I close mine because I have to calm down. Him listening to my heartbeat is making me completely transparent. I keep my eyes closed, even when he pulls the stethoscope away from me. There’s a quiet pause, an
d then in a low voice, he says, “What are you doing here, Maggie?”
I glance up at him, and his eyes are searching mine. I suck in a deep breath and then slowly release it before saying, “I’m trying to live in the moment.”
He sighs, and he’s so stoic right now, I can’t tell if it’s a good sigh. But then I feel his hand on my knee, his thumb brushing over the top of it. He searches my face and then reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s all I want,” he says. “A few moments here and there. I’m not asking for your entire timeline.”
I stare at him, completely infatuated with his mouth and his blue eyes and the words that he just said. I nod a little, but I don’t really have anything to say. I just want him to kiss me. And so he does.
He takes my face in both of his huge, warm hands and presses his lips to mine as he stands, kicking the stool away from him. I sigh against his lips. I grip the collar of his white coat and take his tongue as he pushes my knees apart and slides in front of me. I’m so thankful I was forced to put this gown on. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist as he lowers me to the exam table and leans over me, kissing me with extreme urgency. But he breaks that kiss with the same urgency seconds later, breathing heavily, looking down on me with heated eyes. He shakes his head. “Not here.”
I nod. I wasn’t expecting this to happen here. I can tell he’s about to pull back, but then he pauses, looking at me with so much hunger, I can practically see his ethics melt right to the floor. He kisses me again, and the way his hand is sliding up my thigh has me forgetting that he’s a doctor and we’re in a clinic and I’m technically on record as his patient now. But none of that matters because his hands feel so good, and his mouth even better, and I’ve never had so much fun visiting a doctor before.
He’s making his way to my neck when he pauses and glances at the door. He immediately pulls me up, giving my gown a quick tug over my thighs. He spins toward the sink and turns on the water.
Maybe Now (Maybe #2) Page 7
