Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(65)
Before I allow myself time to think, I react. I pull my arm back, then make four punches my lifetime average as my fist meets his cheek.
Shit.
That hurt.
I look up at him, and his hand is covering his cheek. His eyes are wide, and he’s looking at me with more surprise than pain. He takes a step back, and I keep my eyes focused hard on his.
I grab my fist and pull it up to my chest, pissed that I’m going to have another hurt hand. I wait before going to the kitchen to get ice for it, though. I might need to hit him again.
I’m confused by his obvious anger toward me for the past twenty-four hours. My mind rushes through anything I could have said or done to him that would make him feel this much hatred toward me.
He sighs and tilts his head back, pulling his hands through his hair. He gives no explanation for his hateful words, and I try to understand them, but I can’t. I’ve done nothing to him to warrant something that harsh.
Maybe that’s his problem, though. Perhaps the fact that I’ve done nothing to him—or with him—is what’s pissing him off like this.
“Is this jealousy?” I ask. “Is that what’s making you this evil, wretched excuse for a human being? Because I never slept with you?”
He takes a step forward, and I immediately back up until I fall down onto the couch. He bends down, bringing himself to my eye level.
“I don’t want to screw you, Sydney. And I am definitely not jealous.” He pushes himself away from the couch. Away from me.
He’s scaring the living shit out of me, and I want to pack my suitcases and leave tonight and never, ever see any of these people again.
I begin crying into my hands. I hear him sigh heavily, and he drops down onto the couch beside me. I pull my feet up and turn my knees away from him, curling into the far corner of the couch. We sit like this for several minutes, and I want to stand up and run to my room, but I don’t. I feel as if I’d have to ask permission, because I don’t even know if I have a room here anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, breaking the silence with something other than my crying. “God, I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m trying to understand what the hell you’re doing.”
I wipe my face with my shirt and glance at him. His face is a jumbled mixture of sadness and sorrow, and I don’t understand anything he’s feeling.
“What is your problem with me, Warren? I’ve never been anything but nice to you. I’ve even been nice to your bitch of a girlfriend, and believe me, that takes effort.”
He nods in agreement. “I know,” he says, exasperated. “I know, I know, I know. You are a nice person.” He laces his fingers together and stretches his arms out, then brings them back down with a heavy sigh. “And I know you have good intentions. You have a good heart. And a pretty good right swing,” he says, grinning slyly. “I guess that’s why I’m so mad, though. I know you have a good heart, so why in the hell haven’t you moved out yet?” His words hurt me more now than the vulgar ones he spit at me five minutes ago.
“If you and Ridge wanted me gone this bad, why did you both wait until this weekend to tell me?”
My question seems to catch Warren off-guard, because his eyes cut to mine briefly before he looks away again. He doesn’t answer that question, though. Instead, he begins to prepare one of his own. “Has Ridge ever told you the story of how he met Maggie?” he asks.
I shake my head, completely confused by the direction this conversation has taken.
“I was seventeen, and Ridge had just turned eighteen,” he says. He leans back against the couch and stares down at his hands.
I recall Ridge saying he began dating Maggie when he was nineteen, but I keep silent and let him continue.
“We had been dating for about six weeks, and . . .”
Scratch that thought. Can no longer keep silent. “We?” I ask hesitantly. “As in you and Ridge?”
“No, dumbass. As in me and Maggie.”
I try to hide my shock, but he doesn’t look at me long enough to even see my reaction.
“Maggie was my girlfriend first. I met her at a fund-raising event for children who were deaf. I was there with my parents, who were both on the committee.” He pulls his hands behind his head and leans against the couch.
“Ridge was with me the first time I saw her. We both thought she was the most beautiful thing we had ever laid eyes on, but, fortunately for me, my eyes landed on her about five seconds before his did, so I called dibs. Of course, neither one of us expected to actually have a chance with her. I mean, you’ve seen her. She’s incredible.” He pauses for a moment, then props a leg on the table in front of us.
“Anyway, I spent the whole day flirting with her. Charming her with my good looks and my killer body.”
I laugh, but only out of courtesy.
“She agreed to go on a date with me, so I told her I’d pick her up that Friday night. I took her out, made her laugh, took her back home, and kissed her. It was great, so I asked her out again, and she agreed. I took her out for a second date, then a third date. I liked her. We got along well; she laughed at my jokes. She also got along with Ridge, which scored major points in my book. The girl and the best friend have to get along, or one of the two will suffer. Luckily, we all got along great. On our fourth date, I asked her if she wanted to make it official, and she agreed. I was stoked, because I knew she was by far the hottest girl I’d ever dated or ever would date. I couldn’t let her slip away, especially before I was able to go all the way with her.”