Baseball.
Football.
Tennis.
Trivia. (He actually forced her to quiz him.)
Work. (He's a salesman. He's the best, apparently. Highest sales for the last four quarters.)
He's a world traveler, of course.
He speaks French, of course.
Bridgette yawns four times during their conversation. I feel like this act she's putting on is exhausting her more than it is me.
"Mind if I use your restroom?" Guy says.
Finally.
A few seconds later, I hear the door close to the restroom and I immediately open my bedroom door and walk to the kitchen. Bridgette is seated on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table. "You look bored to death," I tell her.
"He's riveting," she says with a fake smile. "I'm having so much fun, I'll probably ask him to stay the night."
I smile, knowing that won't happen. "He'll never agree to that, Bridgette," I tell her. "In fact," I look down at my wrist and tap it. "I'm pretty sure he'll be leaving as soon as he exits the restroom."
She sits up straight on the couch and then comes to a quick stand. She stalks over to me, pointing her finger, pushing it against my chest. "What did you do, Warren?"
The bathroom door opens and Guy walks out. Bridgette faces him with her obnoxious, fake smile. "Want to hang out in my room?" she says, walking toward him.
He glances at me and I shake my head, quickly. For all he knows, I'm just warning him, man-to-man, that he better run while he still can.
I can tell he's terrified after seeing what all I've planted in the restroom. He glances at the door and back at Bridgette. "Actually, I was just about to leave," he says. "I'll call you."
The next few seconds are the most awkward seconds I've ever seen play out between two people. He reaches in for a handshake, she goes in for a hug, he backs away, afraid she's about to try to kiss him, and his eyes grow wide with fear. He rushes around her and heads straight for the door. "Nice to meet you, Warren. I'll call you later, Bridgette."
And he's gone.
She slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are as sharp as diamonds. I'm scared they're sharp enough to slit my throat. I wipe the smile from my face and walk toward my bedroom. "Goodnight, Bridgette."
Nice try, Bridgette.
Nice try.
*
"Son of a bitch!"
My bathroom door swings open and she marches straight toward my bed. I was studying, but I quickly throw my books aside when I see her coming at me. She jumps onto the bed, standing, and walks across it. She holds her hands up in the air and that's when I notice she's holding something. I notice it too late, though, because the cream squirts out of the tube and onto the top of my head.
"Hemorrhoid cream?" she yells, tossing it aside. She grabs another tube of cream that was tucked under her arm.
"Wart remover?" She squeezes it onto my pillow. I'm trying to cover my head with the blanket, but she's getting the stuff everywhere. I pull her legs out from under her and she falls on the bed, then she starts kicking me, and throwing the tubes at me.
"Cold sore relief?" She squirts that one right in my face. "I can't believe you put all these in our bathroom! I swear to God, you're a little boy, Warren. A jealous little boy!"
I pull the rest of the tubes from her hands and I wrestle her onto her back, locking her arms to the mattress.
"You're such an asshole," she yells.
I struggle to hold her still. "If I'm an asshole, then you're a coldhearted, calculating, ruthless bitch!"
She grunts, trying to free herself from my grip. I refuse to budge, but I also do my best to remove the anger from my voice and speak to her calmly.
"What was that about, Bridgette? Huh? Why the hell did you bring him here?"
She stops struggling long enough to smile in my face. Knowing that my jealousy makes her smile pisses me off even more. I hold both of her wrists with one hand and reach beside her head, grabbing a tube of the cream. I flip the lid open and squirt it in her hair. She starts thrashing beneath me and God, I'm so mad at her.
Why would she do that?
I grab her jaw and hold her face so she'll look at me. She realizes she's not overpowering me physically, so she relents. Her chest is heaving and she's gasping for breath. I can see anger in her eyes. I have no idea what gives her the right to be mad, when she's the one fucking with my head.
I lower my forehead to hers and close my eyes. "Why?" I say, breathless. The room grows quiet. "Why did you bring him here?"
She sighs and turns her head. I pull back and look down on her, convinced I see more pain in her features than anger. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. "Why'd you let another girl move in today?"
I know that was hard for her, because her question proves that she cares. That question proves that I wasn't the only one fearing a new roommate would come between us. She's scared I'll move on. She's scared that Sydney is going to come between us, so she tried to hurt me first.
"You think things might change between us just because another girl moved in?" I ask her. She looks over my shoulder so she doesn't have to look me in the eyes. I tilt her jaw and make her look at me. "Is that why you brought him here?"
Her eyes narrow and she tightens her lips, refusing to admit she was hurt.
"Just say it," I beg. I need her to say it out loud. All I need is for her to admit she brought him here because she was hurt and scared. I need her to admit that there's an actual heart inside her chest. And that sometimes it beats for me.
Since she won't admit it, I'll admit it for her. "You've never let anyone close enough to where their absence could hurt you. But it would hurt you if I left you, so you wanted to hurt me first." I press my lips closer to her ear. "You did," I whisper. "Seeing you walk through that door with him hurt like hell. But I'm not going anywhere, Bridgette, and I'm not interested in anyone else. So that little game you tried to play backfired, because from now on, the only man you're allowed to bring home is the one who already lives here." I slowly pull back and look her in the eyes. "Understood?"
In true Bridgette form, she refuses to answer. But I also know that her refusal to answer is her way of saying I'm right and that she agrees.
She's breathing so much heavier than she was a few minutes ago. I'm almost certain I am, too, because it doesn't feel like my lungs are working anymore. I can't inhale, no matter how hard I try, because the need to kiss her has taken over my passageways. I need her air.
I force my mouth against hers and I kiss her with a possessiveness I didn't even know was in me. I kiss her so desperately, I forget that I'm still mad at her. My tongue dives into her mouth and she takes it, giving me her own desperate kiss in return, grabbing at my face, pulling me closer. I can feel her in this kiss like I've never felt her before. It's probably the best kiss I've ever experienced with her, because it's the first kiss with actual emotions behind it.
Even though it's the best kiss, it's also one of the shortest. She shoves me away from her. She's out of my bed, out of my bedroom, and out of my line of sight as the bathroom door slams behind her. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
She's so confusing. She's so frustrating. She's so damn unpredictable.
She's nothing I've ever wanted in a girl. And absolutely everything I need.
I hear the water in the shower start running, so I immediately roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom. My heart tightens a little when the doorknob turns and I realize she didn't lock it behind her. I know this sign means she wants me to follow her. What she wants me to do once I'm inside this bathroom is a mystery, though. Does she want me to take her against the shower wall? Does she want me to apologize to her? Does she want me to talk to her?
I don't know with her. I never know. So, I do what I always do and wait for her to show me what she needs. I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel to wipe all the damn cream out of my hair. I get as much out as I can and then close the lid to the toil
et and take a seat on it, listening quietly as she continues her shower. I know she knows I'm in here, but she doesn't speak. I'd even take her insults right now if it meant she would say something to alleviate the silence.
I lean forward and clasp my hands between my knees. "Does this scare you, Bridgette?"
I know she hears me, but she doesn't answer. That means yes.
I let my head fall into my hands and I vow to remain calm. This is how she relates. She doesn't know any different. Somehow, over the course of her twenty-two years, she's never learned how to love, or even communicate, really. That's not her fault.
"Have you ever been in love before?"
It's a slightly generic question. I don't ask if she could fall in love with me specifically, so maybe the question won't piss her off.
I hear a relenting sigh come from behind the shower curtain. "I think it takes being loved in order to know how to love," she says quietly. "So I guess that's a no."
I wince at her answer. What a sad, sad answer. One I wasn't expecting.
"You can't really believe that, Bridgette."
Silence follows. She doesn't reply.
"Your mother loved you," I say to her.
"My mother gave me to my grandmother when I was six months old."
"I'm sure your grandmother loved you."
A quiet, pained laugh comes from the shower. "I'm sure she did, but not enough to stay alive for more than a year. After she died I lived with my aunt, who made it very obvious that she didn't love me. My uncle did, though. Just in all the wrong ways."
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow her words to sink in. Brennan wasn't kidding when he said she's had a rough life. And she's so casual about it, like she's just accepted that this is the kind of life she was given and there's nothing she can do about it. A mixture of anger and sadness consumes me.
"Bridgette . . ."
"Don't bother, Warren. I've dealt with my life the only way I know how. It works for me, and I don't need you or anyone else to try and figure me out, or fix me. I am who I am and I've accepted that."
I clamp my mouth shut and don't offer her words of advice. I wouldn't know what to say anyway. I feel awful for wanting to prod her with more questions after that revelation, but I'm not sure when I'll get this side of her again. Bridgette doesn't open up easily, and now I can see why. She doesn't seem to have had anyone to open up to, so this might be a first for her.
"What about your sister?"
Bridgette releases a sigh. "She's not even my real sister. We're stepsisters, and we didn't even grow up in the same house."
I should stop with the questions. I know I should, but I can't. To know that she's probably never spoken or heard the words "I love you" from anyone in her life is affecting me way more than I imagined it could.
"I'm sure you've had boyfriends who have loved you in the past."
She laughs a really sad laugh, and then she just sighs an even sadder sigh. "If you're planning on asking me questions like this all night, I'd much rather you just fuck me."
I cover my mouth with my hand, absorbing her words like a knife to the chest. She seriously can't be this broken. No one can be this alone, can they?
"Have you ever loved anyone, Bridgette?"
Silence. Complete silence until her voice shatters it like glass. "It's hard to fall in love with assholes, Warren."
That's a comment from a girl who's been jaded way too many times. I stand up and slide the shower curtain open. She's standing beneath the stream of water. Mascara has streaked its way down her cheeks.
"Maybe you just haven't met the right asshole yet."
She immediately lets out a quick burst of laughter, along with a few tears. Her eyes are sad, and her smile is appreciative and for the first time, she's completely bare. It's as though she's holding her heart out to me, begging me not to break it. The vulnerability she's showing me right now is something I'm almost positive she's never shown anyone else. No other man, at least.
I step into the shower. She looks at me in shock as my clothes quickly become drenched. I take her face in my hands, and I kiss her.
I don't kiss her fast.
I don't kiss her rough.
I don't kiss her hard.
I press my lips to hers with such delicacy; I want her to feel everything she's ever deserved to feel at the hands of someone else. She deserves to feel beautiful. She deserves to feel important. She deserves to feel cared for. She deserves to feel respected. She deserves to feel like there's at least one other person in this world who accepts her for exactly who she is.
She deserves to know how I feel, because I feel all of those things. And maybe a little more.
Chapter Nine
Since that day in the shower, things have changed between us.
Not that she had this miraculous personality shift or that she's actually nice to me during the day. In fact, she's still pretty damn mean to me most of the time. She also still thinks Sydney is deaf, which is almost unbelievable that the prank has gone on for this long. So I can't even say that my excitement over pranking her has changed.
What has changed are our nights together.
The sex.
It's different now. Slower. Way more eye contact. Way more kissing. Way more buildup. Way more kissing. So much kissing, and not just on the mouth. She kisses me everywhere, and she takes her time when she does it. And she enjoys it.
She still isn't the type to want to cuddle afterward, and she always kicks me out of her bed before the sun comes up.
But still, it's different. That night in the shower tore a wall down between us. Because I know that every night when I have her in bed, she gives me a part of herself that no one else has ever seen. And that's enough to keep me happy for a long damn time.
I just hope today doesn't ruin that.
We both have the day off and that doesn't happen very often between both of our jobs and school. I have a few errands to run and I asked her to go with me, which might be a little strange. We've been sleeping together for a few months now, but this is the first time we've ever actually done anything that didn't involve sex.
Which also makes me wonder if I should ask her out on a date eventually. I know she's not a typical girl, but surely she likes some of the same things other girls do, like being taken out on dates. But she's never hinted that she wants me to take her on one, and frankly, I'm scared to ask her. I feel like our setup is perfect for both of us and if we start throwing dates into the mix, it'll screw it all up.
That includes daytime dates. Like today. Like what we're about to do.
Shit.
"So," Sydney says. She's seated on the couch next to me. I'm watching porn, naturally, because Bridgette still refuses to give me the name of the one she was in. Sydney doesn't mind it, though. She's focusing on her homework, oblivious to the fact that I'm kind of having a minor internal freak-out over the fact that I may or may not have just invited Bridgette on a daytime date to run errands.
"What's up with Bridgette?"
I glance at Sydney and she's still focusing on her textbook, making notes.
"What do you mean?"
Sydney shrugs. "She's just so . . . mean."
I laugh, because it's true. Bridgette can be awful. "She can't help it," I say. "She's had a rough life."
"So has Ridge," Sydney says, "but he doesn't bite people's heads off when they try to speak to him."
"That's because Ridge is deaf. He can't yell at people, it's physically impossible for him."
Sydney looks up at me and rolls her eyes, laughing. She elbows me in the ribs, just as Bridgette walks out of her bedroom. Bridgette glares at Sydney and I hate that she still assumes there could ever be something between Sydney and me. I like her, and I think she's cool, but I have a feeling Ridge would put a stop to that in a heartbeat.
Which isn't a good thing, considering Ridge has Maggie. But those are issues I don't feel like getting involved in at the moment, because my issue is glaring right at me.
"Please don't tell me you invited your little girlfriend," Bridgette says, shifting her eyes toward Sydney.
Sydney is really good at this prank thing. She doesn't even bat an eye as Bridgette talks about her. She just goes on pretending she can't hear a word Bridgette says. I'm pretty sure Sydney has gone on this long with the prank because it's a whole lot easier than having to actually speak to Bridgette.
"She's not coming," I say, standing up. "She has plans."
Bridgette turns away, giving her attention to the purse she just slung over her shoulder. I walk up to her and wrap my arms around her from behind. "I'm kidding," I whisper in her ear. "I didn't invite anyone else to run errands with me today but you."
Bridgette's hand meets my forehead, and she pushes me away from her. "I'll stay here if you expect today to be like this."
I take a step back. "Like what?"
She points at me. "You. Touching me. Kissing me. PDA. Gross." She walks to the front door and I clutch my hand to my heart and wince at Sydney.
"Good luck," she mouths as I make my way to the door.
Once we're in my car and it's moving away from the apartment, Bridgette finally speaks. "So where are we going first? I need to go to Walgreens before we come back."
"First, we go to my sister's house, then we go to the bank, then we go to Walgreens, then we go eat lunch, then we go home."
Her hand flies up and she holds up a finger. "What did you just say?"
I repeat myself. "First we go to my sister's house, then we go to . . ."
"Why in the hell are you taking me to your sister's house? I don't want to meet your sister, Warren. We aren't that kind of couple."
I roll my eyes and grab the hand she's holding up in protest. "I'm not bringing you as my girlfriend. You can stay in the damn car for all I care. I just need to drop off a package at her house."
This actually eases her apprehension. She relaxes into the seat and flips her hand over so that I can slide my fingers through hers. I look down at our hands and seeing them linked together on the seat between us feels like I just went further with her than the night we first had sex.
She would have never let me hold her hand back then. Hell, she would have never let me hold her hand last month. But we're holding hands now.
Maybe I should ask her out on a date.
Maybe Not Page 7
