Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(21)

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 f*cking 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.