Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(25)

“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.

She pulls her hand from mine and I immediately glance up at her. She’s staring straight at me. “You were smiling too much,” she says.

What?

I reach over and grab her hand again and pull it back to me. “I was smiling because I like holding your hand.”

She yanks her hand back. “I know. That’s why I don’t want you to hold it.”

Goddamit. She’s not winning this one.

I reach across the seat again, swerving the car in the process. She tries to shove her hand beneath her legs so that I can’t grasp it, so I pull at her wrist instead. I release the steering wheel and reach across with both hands now, steering with my knee. “Give me your hand,” I say through clenched teeth. “I want to hold your damn hand.” I have to grab the wheel to steer us back into our lane. Once we’re no longer in danger of crashing, I slam on the brakes as I pull over to the side of the road. I throw the car in park and lock the doors so she can’t run. I know how she works.

I lean across the seat and pry her hand away from being tucked against her chest. I grab her wrist with both hands and I pull her toward me. She’s still trying to fight me by pulling her hand away, so I release her and look her directly in the eye. “Give. Me. Your. Hand.”

I’m not sure if I just scared her a little, but she relaxes and allows me to grab her wrist. I put her wrist in my left hand and I hold up my right hand in front of hers. “Spread your fingers.”

She makes a fist instead.

I pry open her fist, then force our fingers to intertwine. I hate that she’s being so resistant. She’s pissing me the hell off. All I want to do is hold her damn hand and she’s making such a big deal out of it. We’re doing everything backward in this relationship. Couples are supposed to start out holding hands and going on dates. Not us. We start out fighting, end up screwing, yet we apparently haven’t even made it to the point where we can hold hands. If things continue at this rate, we’ll probably move in together before we even go on our first date.