Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(34)

“Let’s go,” Warren says after he downs the milk and tosses his cup into the sink. “Ridge is driving cuz I won’t be able to walk in three hours.”

9.

Sydney

I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m doing my best to appear engaged.. I’m in the backseat with Warren, and he’s talking to me about the band, explaining his involvement in it. I ask the appropriate questions and nod at the appropriate moments, but my mind isn’t here at all.

I know I can’t expect the hurt and heartache to go away this quickly, but today has been the worst day so far since my actual birthday. I realize that all the pain I’ve been feeling hasn’t been quite as bad because I’ve had Ridge this week. I don’t know if it’s the way he brings comedic relief when he’s around or if it’s because I really was developing a crush on him, but the times I’ve spent with him were the only times I felt remotely happy. They were the only times I wasn’t thinking about what Hunter and Tori did to me.

But now, watching him in the front seat with his hand clasping Maggie’s . . . I don’t like it. I don’t like how his thumb occasionally sweeps back and forth. I don’t like the way she looks at him. I especially don’t like the way he looks at her. I didn’t like how he slipped his fingers through hers when we reached the bottom of the apartment stairs. I didn’t like how he opened her door, then placed his hand on her lower back while she climbed inside the car. I didn’t like how they had a silent conversation while he was putting the car in reverse. I didn’t like how he laughed at whatever she said and then pulled her to him so he could kiss her forehead. I don’t like how all of these things make me feel as though the only good moments I’ve had since last week are now over.

Nothing has changed. Nothing significant happened between the two of us, and I know we’ll continue with the way things have been. We’ll still write lyrics together. He might still listen to me sing. We’ll still continue to interact the way we’ve done since I met him, so this situation shouldn’t be bothering me.

I know in my heart that I didn’t want anything to happen with him, especially at this point in my life. I know I need to be on my own. I want to be on my own. But I also know that the reason I’m feeling so conflicted by this entire situation is that I did have a little hope. Although I wasn’t ready for anything right now, I thought the possibility would be there. I assumed that maybe someday, when I was ready, things could have developed between us.

However, now that Maggie is in the picture, I realize there can’t be a maybe someday between us. There will never be a maybe someday. He loves her, and she obviously loves him, and I can’t blame them, because whatever they have is beautiful. The way they look at each other and interact and obviously care about each other is something I didn’t realize was missing between Hunter and me.

Maybe someday I’ll have that, but it won’t be with Ridge, and knowing that diminishes whatever ray of hope shone through the storm of my week.

Jesus, I’m so depressing.

I hate Hunter.

I really hate Tori.

And right now, I’m so pathetically miserable, I even hate myself.

“Are you crying?” Warren asks.

“No.”

He nods. “Yes, you are. You’re crying.”

I shake my head. “I am not.”

“You were about to,” he says, looking at me sympathetically. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “Chin up, little girl. Maybe tonight we can find someone who will screw the thought of that jerkoff ex right out of that pretty little head of yours.”

I laugh and slap him in the chest.

“I would volunteer to do it, but Bridgette doesn’t like to share,” he says. “She’s kind of a bitch like that, if you haven’t noticed.”

I laugh again, but when my eyes meet Ridge’s in the rearview mirror, my smile fades. His jaw is firm, and his eyes lock with mine for a few seconds before he refocuses on the road in front of him.

He’s unreadable most of the time, but I could swear I saw a small flash of jealousy behind those eyes. And I don’t like how seeing him jealous that I’m leaning against Warren actually feels good.

Turning twenty-two has rotted my soul. Who am I, and why am I having these awful reactions?

We pull into the parking lot of a club. I’ve been here a few times with Tori, so I’m relieved that it won’t be completely unfamiliar. Warren takes my hand and helps me out of the car, then puts an arm around my shoulders and walks with me toward the entrance.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll keep my hands off you tonight so guys won’t assume you’re madly in love with me. I hate c**k blockers, and I refuse to be one. But if anyone makes you uncomfortable, just look at me and give me a signal so I can swoop in and pull you out of the situation.”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan. What kind of signal do I give you?”

“I don’t know. You can lick your lips seductively. Maybe squeeze your br**sts together.”

I elbow him in the side. “Or maybe I can just scratch my nose?”

He shrugs. “That works, too, I guess.” He opens the door, and we all make our way inside. The music is overwhelming, and the second the doors close behind us, Warren leans in to shout into my ear. “There are usually booths open on the balcony level. Let’s go there!” He tightens his grip on my hand, then turns to Ridge and Maggie and motions for them to follow.