Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(13)
I look at Brennan, and he’s running his hand down his face like he’s embarrassed. “Dude, I hate this story.”
He might hate it, but I’m enjoying the hell out of it. “What happened?”
Brennan groans. “Can’t we just end the story here?”
“No,” Warren says. “This is where it gets good.”
Brennan looks so embarrassed, but he continues the story himself. “Let’s just say it took her a few seconds to realize what I assumed she was there for, and it took me more than a few seconds to realize she wasn’t there because she wanted me to take off her shirt.”
“Oh, no. That poor girl.”
Brennan makes a face. “Poor girl my ass. I told you she’s Satan. She makes Bridgette look like an angel.”
“I heard that,” Bridgette yells from her room.
Brennan shrugs. “It’s true.”
“She’s not that bad,” Price says to Brennan. “She just hates you.”
“But…she’s opening for you guys on the next tour? She must not hate you too much,” I say.
Brennan shakes his head. “No, she definitely hates me. But she also has mad talent. That’s the only reason why she got the gig.”
“Do you have any of her songs?” I ask. “I want to hear one.”
Brennan scoots closer to us and hands me his phone after pulling up a YouTube video. Ridge scoots me over and hops off the bar to set out plates for the Chinese food. I can’t help but stare at the video on Brennan’s phone in complete awe. The girl is really pretty. And she’s super talented. I watch the first video, and then another, and then a third before I realize Brennan hasn’t moved a muscle. He can pretend he isn’t into her all he wants, but he holds his breath through every video, never taking his eyes off the screen.
We’re watching the fourth video when the food arrives. We all make our plates and sit around the table. It’s the first meal Ridge and I have eaten together as a couple. He’s sitting right next to me with his left hand on my thigh. We’ve eaten a lot of meals at this table together while forcing ourselves to sit as far apart from each other as we possibly could. It feels good to finally be able to touch him—sit close to him—and not fight everything inside me that was growing.
I like this.
The door to the bathroom between Warren and Bridgette’s old bedroom swings open. Bridgette is standing in a towel, sopping wet from the shower. Her eyes scan the table until she finds Warren, and then she tosses something at him, hitting him in the chest. Whatever it is falls onto his plate. Then the door slams.
Everyone looks at Warren. He picks up the block of whatever she just threw at him and stares at it for a second. Then he sniffs it. His head slowly turns toward Ridge.
“Cheese? You put cheese in my shower?”
I look at Ridge, and he’s attempting to force back a smile.
Warren sniffs the cheese again and then takes a small bite of it. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to gag. Does he not realize that Bridgette had to rub that block of cheese on some part of her body before realizing it wasn’t soap?
Warren sets the cheese on his plate like he just received a free course with his meal.
As disgusting as some of them are, I’ve missed their pranks so much. I squeeze Ridge’s leg to let him know that was a clever one.
When we finish eating, I text Ridge and tell him I should go. I have an early day tomorrow, and it’ll be after ten by the time I get home. I tell all the guys goodbye, and Ridge walks me down. When we reach my car, he opens my door but doesn’t kiss me goodbye. He waits for me to sit, and then he walks around to the passenger side and takes a seat.
He grabs my phone that I just placed in the console and hands it to me.
Ridge: You okay?
I nod, but he doesn’t look convinced. I don’t know how to say, “Stop having friends!” without feeling a little like Bridgette.
Ridge: Does it bother you?
He doesn’t even have to specify what he’s talking about. We both know. And I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t want to be that jealous girlfriend who takes issue with every single thing, but how can I not be jealous when there’s still a part of me that’s envious of Maggie?
Ridge: Please be honest, Syd. I want to know what you’re thinking.
I sigh, thankful he cares enough to talk about it but also wishing we could brush it under the rug at the same time.
Sydney: It’s uncomfortable. It bothered me that you seemed so worried about her. But it would also bother me if you didn’t care. So, it’s just…weird. It’s going to take time to get used to, I guess.
Ridge: I do worry about her. And I care about her. But I am not in love with her, Sydney. I’m in love with you.
When I finish reading his text, he leans across the seat and takes my face in his hands. “I love you.”
The sincerity in his expression makes me smile. “I know you do. I love you, too.”
He stares at me for a moment, searching for any remaining doubt in my expression. Then he kisses me goodnight. When he gets out of the car, he takes the stairs two at a time. He reaches the top and texts me again.
Ridge: Let me know when you make it home safe. And thank you.