Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)(59)

Why in the hell is she still taking off my clothes?

Oh, my God! Maggie wants to rape me!

I slap at her hand, and she grips my wrist. “Sydney!” She laughs. “You’re covered in puke. I’m trying to help you.”

Puke? Covered in it?

That explains the massive headache. But . . . it doesn’t explain why I’m laughing. Why am I laughing? Am I still drunk? “What time is it?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. Tonight, I think. Like, midnight?”

“That’s it?”

She nods, then starts laughing with me. “You threw up on Brennan.”

Brennan? I met Brennan?

It looks as if her eyes are trying hard to focus on my face. “Can I tell you a secret?” she says.

I nod. “Okay, but I probably won’t remember it, because I think I’m still drunk.”

She smiles and leans forward. She’s so pretty. Maggie is really, really pretty. “I can’t stand Bridgette,” she says quietly.

I laugh.

Maggie starts laughing again, too, and tries to pull my shirt off, but she’s laughing too hard and keeps having to pause for deep breaths.

“Are you drunk, too?” I ask her.

She inhales again, attempting to pause her laughter, and then she exhales. “So drunk. I thought I took your shirt off already, but your shirt keeps coming back on, and I don’t know how many shirts you have, but”—she lifts the edge of my shirt sleeve, which is still on my arm, and looks at it in confusion—“oh, my God, I really thought I took it off already, and here it is again.”

I lift myself up on the bed, then help her pull my shirt off. “Why am I already in bed if it’s only midnight?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea what you just said.”

She’s funny. I reach to the nightstand and turn on the lamp. Maggie scoots off the bed and lowers herself to the floor. She lies flat on her stomach with a sigh and begins moving her arms, making snow angels against the carpet.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet,” I tell her.

She flips over onto her back and looks up at me. “Then don’t. I told Ridge to let you stay up and play because we were having so much fun, but you threw up in Brennan’s lap, so he made you go to bed.” She sits up. “Let’s go play some more. I want more cake.” She pushes up on her hands and stands, then reaches for my hands and pulls me off the bed.

I look down at myself. “But you took off my clothes,” I say, pouting.

She looks at my bra and underwear. “Where’d you get that bra? It’s so cute.”

“JCPenney.”

“Oh. Ridge likes the kind that clasp in the front, but yours is really cute. I want one.”

“You should get one,” I say, smiling. “We could be bra twins.”

She pulls me toward the door. “Let’s go see if Ridge likes it. I want him to buy me one.”

I smile. I hope he likes it. “Okay.”

Maggie opens the door to my room and pulls me behind her into the living room. “Ridge!” she yells. I laugh, because I don’t know why she’s yelling for him. He can’t hear her.

“Hey, Warren,” I say, grinning when I see him on the couch. “Happy Birthday.” Bridgette is seated next to him, glaring at me. She’s looking me up and down, probably jealous because my bra really is cute.

Warren shakes his head and laughs. “That’s only the fiftieth time you’ve said that tonight, although it’s a little more fitting now that you’re practically in your birthday suit.”

Ridge is sitting on the other side of Bridgette. He’s shaking his head like Warren. “Maggie wants to know if you like my bra,” I say to Ridge. I pull on Maggie’s hand so she’ll turn around and sign to him.

“It’s a very nice bra,” Ridge says, staring at it with a cocked eyebrow.

I smile. Then I frown.

Did he just . . .? I yank my hand out of Maggie’s and turn back toward Ridge. “Did you just speak?”

He laughs. “Did you not just ask me a question?”

I glare at him hard, especially when Warren bursts out into a fit of laughter.

Oh.

My.

God.

He’s not deaf?

This whole time, he’s been lying to me? It’s been a prank?

I instantly want to strangle him. Both of them. Tears sting at my eyes, and the second I lunge forward, a strong hand grips my wrist and yanks my arm back. I turn and look up at . . . Ridge?

I turn back to the couch and look at . . . Ridge?

Warren is doubled over Bridgette’s lap now, he’s laughing so hard. Ridge Number 1 is laughing now, too. His whole face doesn’t laugh when he laughs, like Ridge Number 2’s face does.

And his hair is shorter than Ridge Number 2’s hair. And darker.

Ridge Number 2 has his arm wrapped around my waist, and he’s picking me up.

Now I’m upside down.

Not good for my stomach.

My face is toward his back, and my stomach is slumped over his shoulder as he carries me back toward my bedroom. I look at Warren and the guy I now realize is Brennan, and then I squeeze my eyes shut, because I think I’m about to throw up all over Ridge Number 2.

I’m being seated on something cold. A floor.