Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Three solid weeks.

Twenty-one nights.

Over thirty times we’ve had sex.

Absolutely zero interaction during the day.

I don’t really understand her. I don’t know her well enough to know what sets her off or, in turn, what makes her so quiet. I don’t know why she refuses to treat what’s going on between us like it’s anything remotely significant, but I’m not complaining. I mean, come on. We have sex every night and I don’t have to dote on her during the day. I would have the perfect setup if I didn’t want just a little bit more from her. But until I can get to another level with Bridgette, I know nothing better come in between us. Especially a new roommate, which is what I’m afraid might happen. Brennan has officially gone on tour and moved out, which means his room is now up for grabs. I can’t take the idea of Bridgette’s sister moving in, which is something I’ve heard them discussing on the phone. I don’t know what or whom Ridge has in mind, but I for sure don’t think I can take the possibility of another guy moving in. As much as I want to pretend I’m as casual with this arrangement as Bridgette is, if another guy even looks at her ass in those shorts, I won’t be able to refrain from beating his ass. And I’m not even the type of guy who fights other guys, but Bridgette makes me want to fight everyone. Even the nerdy guys. I’ll hit all the humans if it means keeping up the arrangement I’ve got going with her.

Which is why I can’t stop staring at the couch right now. There’s a person on it. I think it’s a girl, because I see blond hair peeking out from under the pillow pulled over her face, but it could be a long-haired guy. A guy I don’t want to be our next roommate. I continue to watch the couch, waiting for the person to wake up. I’m loud enough in the kitchen to wake up the whole apartment, but whoever is on this couch is sleeping like a rock.

I finish pouring my bowl of cereal and bring it into the living room. Since whoever this is has decided to take up residence where I eat breakfast, I take a seat on the floor, right in front of the couch. I begin eating, crunching as loud as I can.

I wonder if she or he is a friend of Bridgette’s.

No, Bridgette didn’t bring anyone home last night. I know this because I picked her up after I got off work and we came straight home and went straight to my bed. Come to think of it, we didn’t even turn on the living room lights, so I’m pretty sure whoever this is was probably on the couch last night, we just didn’t notice.

Oh, man. I wonder if we were loud? We never have to worry about how loud we are when Ridge is home.

A groan comes from beneath the pillow and the body rolls over, facing me so I can see it is, in fact, a girl. I continue to sit on the floor, eating my cereal. I watch her attempt to open her eyes.

“Who are you and why are you asleep on my couch?” I finally ask her.

Her whole body jerks at the sound of my voice. She lifts the pillow and backs away, making eye contact with me. I have to stifle a laugh, because someone has written
Someone wrote on your forehead
on her face with a Sharpie.

It was more than likely Ridge, so I do what I can to avoid looking at it and stare at her eyes instead.

“Are you the new roommate?” I say with a mouthful of cereal.

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’m a friend of Ridge’s.”

Hmmm. Didn’t see that one coming.

“Ridge only has one friend. Me.”

She rolls her eyes and sits up on the couch. She’s cute.
Very impressive, Ridge.

“Jealous?” she asks, stretching into a yawn.

“What’s his last name?”

“Whose last name?”

“Your very good friend, Ridge.”

She sighs and her head falls against the back of the couch. “I don’t know Ridge’s last name,” she says. “I don’t even know his middle name. The only thing I know about him is he’s got a mean right hook. And I’m only asleep on your couch because my boyfriend of two years decided it would be fun to screw my roommate and I really didn’t want to stick around to watch.”

I like this girl. She could give Bridgette a run for her money. And I don’t mean with
me
, I just mean because Bridgette is mean and probably doesn’t meet a lot of girls who would stand up to her. This could be fun. “It’s Lawson,” I say. “And he doesn’t have a middle name.”

I hear Bridgette’s bedroom door open and I immediately turn around to face her. She’s still wearing my boxer shorts from last night, but she’s put her own T-shirt over them.
God, she looks good.
“Good morning, Bridgette. Sleep well?”

She looks at me briefly and rolls her eyes. “Screw you, Warren.”

Which, in Bridgette speak means,
Yes, Warren. I slept like a baby, thanks to you.

“That’s Bridgette,” I whisper, turning back to the girl on the
couch. “She pretends to hate me during the day, but at night she
loves
me.”

The girl laughs and makes a face like she doesn’t believe me.

“Shit!” Bridgette yells. I turn around in time to watch her catch herself by grabbing the bar. “Jesus Christ!” She kicks one of the suitcases that are still on the floor next to the bar. “Tell your little friend if she’s staying here she needs to take her shit to her room!”

My
little friend? I turn to face the girl on the couch again, wide-eyed. I think Bridgette already has an issue with this girl. All the more reason to make sure she becomes the new roommate, because I like an angry Bridgette. I’m also willing to bet a jealous Bridgette will be a lot more clingy, which could work in my favor. I turn and glare at Bridgette from where I’m seated. “What am I, your bitch? Tell her yourself.”

Bridgette glances at the girl on the couch, then points to the suitcase she almost tripped over. “GET . . . YOUR . . . SHIT . . . OUT . . . OF . . . THE . . . KITCHEN!” She says before marching back to her bedroom.

I slowly turn my head to face the girl again. “Why does she think you’re deaf?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea. She came to that conclusion last night and I failed to correct her.”

I laugh. What a perfect prank, and I didn’t even have to think of it. “Oh, this is classic,” I say to her. “Do you have any pets?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you opposed to porn?”

“Not opposed to the principle of porn, but slightly opposed to being
featured
in one.” I nod, because that’s probably a good thing. At least I won’t have double the reason to watch every porn I can
get my hands on.

“Do you have annoying friends?”

“My best friend is a backstabbing whore and I’m no longer speaking to her.”

“What are your showering habits?”

She laughs. “Once a day, with a skipped day every now and then. No more than fifteen minutes.”

“Do you cook?”

“Only when I’m hungry.”

“Do you clean up after yourself?”

“Probably better than you,” she says, glancing at my shirt, which I’ve used for a napkin several times during this conversation.

“Do you listen to disco?”

“I’d rather eat barbed wire.”

She’s perfect for us.

“Alright, then,” I tell her. “I guess you can stay.”

She sits up straighter and pulls her legs onto the couch. “I didn’t realize I was being interviewed.”

I look at her suitcase and then back at her. Most people don’t travel with all of their belongings, and if she’s in search of somewhere to live, I want it to be here so I can ensure the new roommate doesn’t have a dick. “It’s obvious you need a place to stay, and we’ve got an empty room. If you don’t take it, Bridgette wants to move her sister in next month and that’s the
last
thing Ridge and I need.”

“I can’t stay here,” she says, shaking her head.

“Why not? From the sound of it, you’re about to spend the day searching for an apartment anyway. What’s wrong with this one? You won’t even have to walk very far to get here.”

The door to Ridge’s bedroom opens and I can see the girl’s eyes widen slightly, as if she’s nervous. That’s probably not a good sign for Ridge, but he’s so hung up on Maggie, adding this chick as a roommate shouldn’t be an issue for any of us. I wink at her and stand up to walk my bowl back to the kitchen. I speak and sign at the same time. “Have you met our new roommate?”

Ridge glances at her and then looks back at me. “Yeah,” he signs. “She needs a place to stay, so I’ll probably just let her use Brennan’s room. Or if you want, she can take your room and you can take Brennan’s, so we both aren’t having to share a bathroom with girls.”

I shake my head. “No way are you putting me further away from Bridgette. Our bathroom sex is my favorite.”

Ridge shakes his head. “You’re pathetic.” He walks back to his room and I look at our new roommate.

“What did he say?” she asks, nervously.

“Exactly what I thought he’d say,” I tell her. I walk to my room and grab my keys off the dresser. I glance into the bathroom and see Bridgette at the sink. I swing the door open and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She tries to pull away from me, but I also see the smile tugging at her lips.

My eyes fall to the black Sharpie sitting next to the sink. I pick it up and eye Bridgette suspiciously. She shrugs her shoulders and I laugh.

I didn’t think she had it in her, but after the water cup prank and now this, I fear I might have met my match. At least the new roommate is being hazed early.

I close the bathroom door and head back out into the living room. “He says you two already worked out a deal.” I point to Brennan’s old room. “Heading to work now. That’s your room if
you want to put your stuff in it. You might have to throw all Brennan’s shit in the corner, though.” I open the door and step outside, but turn around before I close it. “Oh. What’s your name?”

“Sydney.”

“Well, Sydney. Welcome to the weirdest place you’ll ever live.”

I close the door behind me, feeling slightly guilty that I may have swayed this roommate thing a little in my favor. But seriously. Not only does this ensure our new roommate won’t be putting the moves on Bridgette, it also makes for an interesting dynamic. Two girls in a prank war may be the best thing that ever happened to Ridge and me.

Chapter Eight

“So, what’s with the new roommate?” I sign to Ridge when I walk in the door.

“She lives in the complex. Her boyfriend cheated on her and she needed a place to stay.”

I walk over to the table he’s seated at and pull the chair out. “She still here?”

He looks up from the laptop and nods. “Yeah, she’ll probably be here for a few weeks, at least. That okay?”

Something is off with him. When you’ve known someone most of your life, you can almost feel their unease. This Sydney girl makes him nervous, and I don’t know why.

“Is Maggie okay with it?”

His attention quickly moves back to his laptop. He nods his head and stops signing. I push my chair out and glance at the door to see if Bridgette’s shoes are where she always keeps them. They aren’t. I tap Ridge on the shoulder. “Where’s Bridgette?” I sign.

He shifts in his seat. “Out.”

“Out where?”

He shrugs. “Warren, do you really want to know? Because you aren’t going to like it.”

I sit in the chair again. “Hell yes, I want to know. Where is she?”

He leans back in his chair and sighs. “A guy picked her up about three hours ago. It looked like they were going out.”

“Out,” I sign. “Out like on a date?”

He nods.

I suddenly want to punch Ridge, but I know he has nothing to do with it. I stand up and push the chair back under the table.

She’s on a date. Bridgette is on a fucking date.

This is such bullshit. Why didn’t I set boundaries? Why didn’t I tell her she couldn’t see other guys?

What if she brings him back here? She will. She’s so mean, she probably will.

I grab my keys and sign to Ridge that I’ll be back in a little while.

I’ll fix this.

Somehow.

• • •

I’m seated on the couch two hours later when the door opens. As expected, she doesn’t walk in alone. A guy is following behind her, way too close. His hand is on her lower back as she slips her shoes off at the door and looks straight at me. “Oh. Hey, Warren.”

She points to me. “Guy, this is Warren. Warren, this is Guy.”

I look at him. At all six-metro-sexual-douchebag-feet of him. “Your name is
Guy
?”

He doesn’t respond. He just looks at Bridgette like he’s a little uncomfortable that he just walked into her apartment and a guy is sitting on her couch. I bet he’d be really uncomfortable to know what I was doing on this same couch with Bridgette just twenty-four hours ago.

“Warren,” Bridgette says in a sickeningly fake, sweet voice. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?” She glances toward my bedroom, silently asking if I’ll go wait it out in there while she
flirts in my living room with
Guy
. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s doing this on purpose. She’s testing me, and I’m about to ace this test.

“Sure will, Bridgette,” I say with a smile. I stand up and walk over to Guy, reaching out for his hand. “Good to meet you,” I say to him. He smiles and his apprehension eases when he sees I’ve loosened up. “You kiddos have fun. I’ll leave the bathroom door unlocked in case either of you needs to use it.” I point toward the bathroom, planting the seed.

Please, let him have to use the restroom. Please.

Bridgette can see that my last comment was out of character. She squints her eyes at me as I retreat to my room. I close the door and stay right next to it. I’m not about to miss a second of this. If she’s going to try and test me or torture me by bringing another guy home, she has to expect I’ll eavesdrop on their entire conversation.

I stand with my ear pressed to the door for at least fifteen minutes. In those fifteen minutes, I hear him go on and on about everything he’s good at.

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 dia
monds. 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
ass
hole,” 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 toilet 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.”