Maybe Someday(41)

should have ignored him when he asked if I

would go—in the rain, mind you—and bring her

up to the apartment. Apparently, her boyfriend

dumped her, and she had nowhere else to go.”

She pulls a seat out at the bar and sits with her

back facing me. She laughs at something the per-

son on the other end of the line says. “Tell me

about it. He seems to enjoy taking in strays,

doesn’t he?”

I grip the remote in my hand and hold it tightly

in an attempt to keep from hurling it at the back

of her head.

“I told you not to ask about Warren,” she says

with a sigh. “You know he irritates the hell out of

me, but I just . . . dammit, I just can’t stay away.”

Wait. Did I just hear that correctly? Might

Bridgette have . . . feelings?

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She’s lucky I like Warren, or the remote would

be greeting her pretty little head right now. She’s

also lucky someone is knocking at the door

loudly enough to distract me from hurting her.

Bridgette stands up and turns to face me,

pointing at the front door. “SOMEONE’S . . . AT

. . . THE . . . DOOR!” Rather than answer it, she

walks to her bedroom and closes her door.

So hospitable, that one.

I stand and make my way to the front door,

knowing it’s more than likely Maggie. I place my

hand on the doorknob and inhale a steady breath.

Here we go.

I open the door, and standing in front of me is

one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid

eyes on. Her hair is straight and jet-black, and it

falls around two naturally tanned shoulders. Her

face is smiling. Her whole, entire face is beam-

ing. She’s nothing but a face full of beautiful

white teeth, and they’re smiling at me, and it’s

making me smile back, even though I really don’t

want to.

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I was really hoping she was ugly. I don’t know

why.

“Sydney?” she says. It’s just one word, but I

can tell by her voice that she’s deaf, like Ridge.

But, unlike Ridge, she speaks. And she enunci-

ates really well.

“You must be the girlfriend!” I say with

feigned excitement. Is it feigned? Maybe not. Her entire demeanor is making me feel sunny and

happy, and maybe I am a tiny bit excited to meet

her?

Weird.

She steps forward and gives me a hug. I close

the door behind us, and she slips off her shoes

and heads to the refrigerator.

“Ridge has told me a lot about you,” she says

as she pops open a soda, then walks to the cabin-

et for a glass. “I think it’s great that you’re help-

ing him through his writer’s block. Poor guy has

been stressing for months now.” She fills her cup

with ice and soda. “So how are you fitting in? I

see you’ve survived Bridgette. And Warren has

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to be a pain in the ass.” She looks at me expect-

antly, but I’m still loving the fact that she’s so . . .

Pleasant? Likable? Cheerful?

I smile back at her and lean against the

counter. I’m trying to figure out exactly how to

respond to her. She’s speaking to me as if she can

hear me, so I reply the same way.

“I like it,” I say. “I’ve never lived with this

many people before, so it’s taking some getting

used to.”

She smiles and tucks a lock of her hair behind

her ear.

Ugh. Even her ears are pretty.

“Good,” she says. “Ridge told me about your

shitty birthday last weekend and how he took you

out for cake, but it didn’t make up for you never

having the chance to celebrate.”

I have to be honest. It bothers me that he told

her he took me out for cake. It bothers me, be-

cause maybe he’s right and he does tell her

everything. And it also bothers me because he

239/692

seems to tell me nothing. Not that I’ve earned

that right from him.

God, I hate feelings. Or I hate my conscience.

The two are constantly at war, and I’m not sure

which one I’d rather turn off.

“So,” she says, “we’re going out tonight to

celebrate.”

I pause. “We?”

She nods. “Yeah. Me, you, Ridge, Warren, if

he’s not busy. We can invite Bridgette, but that’s

laughable.” She walks past me toward Ridge’s

bedroom, then turns to face me again. “Can you

be ready in an hour?”

“Um.” I shrug. “Okay.”

She opens Ridge’s bedroom door and slips in-

side. I stand frozen, listening. Why am I

listening?

I hear Maggie giggling behind the closed door,

and it makes me wince.

Oh, yay. This should be fun.