Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(37)

Bridgette must see the worry in my expression while I stare back down at the text. “I really don’t think you should stress about it,” she says. “I’ve seen how Ridge is with Maggie and I’ve seen how Ridge is with you. It’s like comparing chopsticks and computers.”

I look at her, confused. “Chopsticks and computers? How is that—”

“Exactly,” she says. “You can’t compare them because they’re incomparable.”

That…somehow…makes complete sense. And makes me feel so much better. I think about the glitter bomb and how Bridgette smiled at me and Ridge when we were laughing together on the floor. I can’t believe I’ve never hung out with this girl before. She’s actually not so mean when you peel back all the layers of…mean.

“Holy. Shit.” Bridgette is staring at her phone, and based on how she says those two words, it can only mean one thing. She opened the pic I just sent. “Who is this exemplary specimen of man that has somehow never been introduced into my life?”

I laugh. “That is Jason Momoa.”

Bridgette brings her phone up to her face and licks her phone screen.

I cringe and laugh at the same time. “You’re as gross as Warren.”

She holds up her hand. “Please don’t mention his name while I stare at this man. It’s ruining my moment.”

I give her a moment to Google image search him while I finish off my glass of wine and reopen my text from Ridge. I type out a response to him and try to avoid the elephant in the room. Or would it be elephant in the phone, since Ridge and I aren’t in the same room?

Yeah, okay, I think I might be a little buzzed.



Sydney: Glad Maggie is feeling okay. And Bridgette is not so bad, actually. It’s weird. Like we’re in another dimension.

Ridge: Wow. Is she having a legitimate conversation with you like a normal human?

Sydney: Normal is a stretch. But yeah. She’s mostly giving me advice about you. ;)

Ridge: That’s unsettling.

Sydney: Good. I want you to feel unsettled until I see you tomorrow.

Ridge: Don’t worry, I do feel unsettled. I feel a lot of things. I feel guilty because I left you alone. Worried that you’re sad. Lonely because I’m here and not with you. But mostly I feel grateful because you make difficult situations so much easier for everyone involved.



I bring my hand to my mouth and trace my smile. I love that he says exactly what I need to hear.



Sydney: I love you.

Bridgette: Tell Ridge goodbye. This is my time.



I glance up at Bridgette, who is looking at me with severe boredom. I laugh.



Sydney: Bridgette says I can’t talk to you anymore.

Ridge: Better do what she says. No telling what the consequences are. I love you. Goodnight. I love you. Goodnight.

Sydney: You said that twice.

Ridge: I mean it even more than that.



I close out the texts, still smiling, and then place my phone face down on the bar. Bridgette is pouring herself another glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she says.

“Sure.” I hop off the bar and grab the wine from her, then turn and refill my glass.

“Does he…moan?”

I spin around at that question. “Excuse me?”

Bridgette waves her hand, dismissing my shock. “Just tell me. I’ve always wondered if he makes noises during sex since he can’t hear anything.”

I choke out a laugh. “You wonder what my boyfriend sounds like during sex?”

She tilts her head and glares at me, rolling her head. “Oh, come on. Lots of people wonder that about deaf people.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m confident most people don’t wonder that, Bridgette.”

“Whatever. Just answer the question.”

She’s not going to stop. My face and neck feel flushed, but I don’t know if it’s because of all the wine or if it’s because she just asked such a personal question. I take a long drink and then nod. “He does. He moans and grunts and sighs and I don’t know why, but the fact that he’s deaf makes all his noises that much more of a turn-on.”

Bridgette grins. “That is so hot.”

“Don’t call my boyfriend’s sex noises hot.”

She shrugs. “You shouldn’t have made it sound so hot, then.” She spends the next several minutes looking up images of Jason Mamoa. And even though I’ve seen them all, she holds up her phone and shows me each one like she’s doing me a favor.

The doorbell eventually rings, and Bridgette suddenly looks happier than I’ve ever seen her look. She rushes toward the door with starved excitement, like she didn’t just eat an entire plate of Alfredo pasta two hours ago. “Grab money for a tip, Syd. I don’t have any.”

She is perfect for Warren. Absolutely perfect.





It’s the first time I’ve been to Maggie’s house since the night we broke up. It’s a little weird, but it could be worse. Warren has always had this magical ability to make sure he’s weirder than any situation ever could be. And that’s exactly what’s happening right now. He just raided Maggie’s freezer and refrigerator and is standing in her kitchen, dipping soggy microwaved fish sticks into chocolate pudding.