Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(4)

I sit on the bed and wait.

And I wait.

And I wait some more.

I lie down on the bed. I wait some more.

She never makes a sound. I don’t hear her getting angry that I just filled over fifty cups of water and placed them strategically around her entire bedroom. I don’t hear her stomping into the kitchen to pour them out. I don’t hear her beating on my door to throw the cups of water at my face in retaliation.

I’m so confused.

I stand up and walk out of my bedroom, but she’s not in the kitchen or living room. Her work shoes are by the front door where she keeps them, so I know she came home. I know she went into her room.

What a disappointment. Her lack of response makes me feel like my prank was a failure, when I know it wasn’t. It was epic. There’s no way she could have made it one foot into her room without having to move all those cups of water.

I stalk back to my bedroom and lie down on the bed. I want to be pissed at her. I want to hate her for sucking at prank retaliation.

But I don’t. I can’t stop smiling because I love that her response caught me off guard. She’s unexpected, and I like that.

• • •

“Warren.”

Her voice sounds so sweet. I must be dreaming.

“Warren, wake up.”

So, so sweet. Angelic, even.

I give myself a few seconds to adjust to her voice, to the fact that she’s waking me up, to the randomness of her being at my bedroom door, calling out my name. I slowly open my eyes and roll onto my back. I lift up onto my elbows and look at her. She’s standing in the doorway between the bedroom and our bathroom. She’s wearing an oversized Sounds of Cedar T-shirt and it doesn’t even look like she’s wearing anything underneath it.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

She wants me. She totally wants me.

She folds her arms tightly over her chest. She tilts her head to the side, and I watch as her eyes narrow into tiny, angry slits. “Don’t ever step foot inside my bedroom again. Asshole.” She straightens up and backs into the bathroom, slamming the door.

I glance at the clock, and it’s two in the morning. That was an extremely delayed reaction to my prank. Was she just waiting for me to fall asleep so she could wake me up and yell at me? Is that her idea of revenge?

She’s such an amateur.

I smile to myself and roll over, shifting on the bed. I gasp when a rush of water pours down on top of me.

What the f*ck?

I look up, just as an empty cup falls from the edge of the headboard and hits me square between the eyes.

I close my eyes, ashamed that I didn’t see that coming. I’m so disappointed in myself. And now I’ll have to sleep on towels, because my mattress is soaking wet.

I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the bed, only for my feet to be met with even more cups of water. I knock several of them over in my attempt to stand and it creates a sort of domino effect. I bend over and try to stop them from falling over, but I just make it worse. She’s placed them so close together, all over my bedroom floor, and I can’t find a safe spot to step.

I try to reach for the nightstand while at the same time lifting my right leg so that it doesn’t hit any more cups, but I lose my balance in the process and . . . yes. I fall down. Onto the remaining pile of cups that are full of water. Water that is now all over my carpet.

Touché, Bridgette.

• • •

I’m carrying the cups of water from my bedroom to the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth. Ridge is sitting at the table, staring at me. I know he wants to ask why the cups are now in my room, but he better not. I’m sure he can see by the look on my face that I don’t need his, “I told you so.”

The door to Bridgette’s bedroom opens and she walks out with her backpack slung over her shoulder. I pause and stare at her for a few seconds. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She has on a pair of jeans and a blue tank top. She’s usually wearing her Hooters uniform, which, don’t get me wrong, is fantastic. But this? Seeing her dressed down with her flip-flops on and no makeup is just . . . Stop looking at her.

“Good morning, Warren,” she says, shooting daggers in my direction. She glances at the cups in my hands. “Sleep well?”

I smile at her with vengeance. “Screw you, Bridgette.”

She crinkles up her nose and gives her head a quick shake. “No thanks,” she says, heading toward the front door. “Oh, by the way. We’re out of toilet paper. Also, I couldn’t find my razor, so I hope you don’t mind that I used yours.” She opens the front door and turns to face me. “And . . .” She scrunches up her nose again. “I accidentally knocked your toothbrush into the toilet. Sorry. I rinsed it off for you, though.”

She closes the door right when one of the cups of water flies out of my hand and meets the back of the door.

She’s such a bitch.

Ridge calmly walks past me, straight to his bedroom. He doesn’t even look at me, because he knows me better than anyone, and therefore, he knows not to speak to me right now.

I wish Brennan knew me that well, because he’s laughing, making his way into the kitchen. Every time he glances up at me, he laughs even harder. “I know she’s mean, but Christ, Warren. She hates you.” He’s still laughing as he opens the dishwasher to unload it. “I mean really hates you.”