Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(11)

She’s eyeing me like she’s about to punch me, but I can’t stop staring at her mouth, hoping she insults me again. Somewhere between being called an asshole and this moment, I’ve become more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m hoping she’s about to storm off to her bedroom because I’ve already met my quota for restraint when it comes to her.

She licks her bottom lip, and I have to grip the couch cushion to keep myself from attacking that mouth. Her eyes are focused intensely on mine, and we’re both breathing so heavily from our verbal attacks, I can taste her breath on my lips.

“I hate you,” she says through clenched teeth.

“I hated you first,” I hiss back.

Her focus falls on my mouth and as soon as I see the tiniest flash of desire in her eyes, I lunge forward. I grab her face and press my lips to hers as I shove her back against the couch. She’s pushing me away with her knees while pulling me to her with her hands. My tongue forces through the barrier of her lips and she devours me in response. I kiss her hard, and she kisses me even harder. I’m pulling at a fistful of her hair while she scratches down my neck with her fingernails. Fuck, it hurts. She hurts.

I want more.

I’m hovering over her and then pressing myself against her, pulling her knee up so she can wrap it around my waist. Her hands are in my hair, and I don’t want her to move out. I want her to stay. I want her to be my roommate forever. She’s the best fucking roommate I’ve ever had and my God, she’s so nice. How did I ever think she was mean? She’s so, so sweet, and her lips are sweet and Bridgette, I love your name.

“Bridgette,” I whisper, wanting to say her name out loud. I don’t know how I hated her name before this moment, because it’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever said out loud.

I pull away from her mouth and begin working my way down her sweet, sweet neck. As soon as I make it to her shoulder, she begins to push me away with her hands.

Just like that, I snap back to reality and separate from her willingly.

I move to the other end of the couch, needing the space to wrap my head around what the hell just happened?

She quickly sits up on the couch. She wipes her mouth and I run my hands through my hair, doing whatever I can to process this.

She’s an evil vixen. I close my eyes and squeeze my forehead, trying to figure out how I just lost complete control of myself simply because I was kissing her. I think of all the lies that were just passing through my head as my dick tried to convince me she was actually a decent person.

I’m weak. I’m so weak, and she just gained the upper hand again.

“Don’t do that again,” she says, angry and breathless.

Her voice makes me wince. “You started it,” I say defensively.

Did she? I can’t remember. It might have been mutual.

“You kiss like you’re trying to resuscitate a dead cat,” she says, disgusted.

“You kiss like you are a dead cat.”

She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She looks extremely uncomfortable in the silence, so it doesn’t surprise me when she spits out another insult. “You probably fuck like a limp noodle.”

“I fuck like I’m Thor.”

I’m not looking at her, but I know that comment had to make her smile. If she’s even capable of smiling. The silence grows heavier and neither of us moves, making it even more apparent that what just happened was a mistake.

“Why do you taste like onions?” she asks.

I shrug. “I just ate pizza.”

She glances into the kitchen. “Is there any left?”

I nod. “It’s in the fridge.”

She immediately stands up to walk to the kitchen, and I hate that I’m staring at her shirt. I can see her nipples poking through the thin fabric, and I want to point at her and say, “I did that! That’s all me!”

Instead, I close my eyes and try to think about whatever will stop my wanting to follow her into that kitchen and bend her over the counter. Luckily, Ridge’s bedroom door opens, so I give my full attention to him as he walks into the living room. He pauses when he sees me sitting on the couch. He glances at the TV that isn’t even on. “Why do you look so guilty?”

I shake my head shamefully. “I think I just made out with Bridgette,” I sign.

Ridge looks at Bridgette, who is standing in the kitchen with her back to us. He shakes his head in disappointment. Or confusion.

“Why?” he asks, perplexed. “Did she do it willingly?”

I grab one of the couch pillows and throw it at him. “Yes, she did it willingly, asshole. She wants me.”

“Do you want her?” He seems genuinely shocked, like he didn’t see this coming at all.

I shake my head. “No I don’t want her,” I sign. “But I feel like I need her. So bad. She’s so . . .” I pause my hands for a few seconds before continuing. “She’s the best worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Ridge backs up until his hand is on the front door. “I’m going to Maggie’s for the night,” he signs. “We’ll pray for you.”

I flip him off as he makes his way out. When I turn back to face Bridgette, she’s walking toward her bedroom. She passes the TV and doesn’t even have the audacity to plug it back in.