Maybe Someday(64)

gripping the screen of his laptop, prepared to

shove it aside if I need him.

I don’t need him. I’ve got this.

I square up with Hunter, pulling my gaze off

Ridge and focusing on the eyes I so desperately

want to rip out of Hunter’s head.

“Ridge has an amazing girlfriend who doesn’t

deserve to be cheated on, and luckily for her, he’s

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the type of guy who realizes her worth. With that

said, you’re wrong about the fact that I’m sleep-

ing with him, because I’m not. We both know

how unfair it would be to his girlfriend, so we

don’t act on our attraction. You should take note

that simply because a girl makes your dick hard,

that doesn’t mean you have to go shove it inside

her!”

I push myself away from the table at the same

time as Ridge sets his laptop aside and stands.

“Go, Hunter. Just go,” I say, unable to look at

him for another second. The simple fact that he

thought he had Ridge pegged as being anything

like him pisses me off, and he’d be smart to

leave.

He stands up and walks straight to the door. He

opens it and leaves without even looking back.

I’m not sure if his exit was so simple because he

finally understands that I’m not willing to take

him back or if it’s because Ridge looked as if he

was about to kick his ass.

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I have a good feeling I won’t be hearing from

Hunter anymore.

I’m still staring at the door when my phone

sounds off. I take it out of my pocket and turn to

Ridge. He’s holding his phone, looking at me

with concern.

Ridge: Why was he here?

Me: He wanted to talk.

Ridge: Did you know he was coming over?

I look up at Ridge after reading his text, and

for the first time, I notice his jaw is tense and he

doesn’t look very happy. I’d almost label his re-

action as slightly jealous, but I don’t want to ad-

mit that.

Me: No.

Ridge: Why did you let him in?

Me: I wanted to hear him apologize.

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Ridge: Did he?

Me: Yes.

Ridge: Don’t let him in here again.

Me: I wasn’t planning on it. BTW, you’re

kind of being a jerk right now.

He glances up at me and shrugs.

Ridge: It’s my apartment, and I don’t

want him here. Don’t let him in again.

I don’t like his attitude right now, and to be

honest, the fact that he just referred to this as his apartment doesn’t sit right with me. It feels like a

low blow to remind me that I’m at his mercy. I

don’t bother responding. In fact, I toss the phone

onto the couch so he can’t text me, and I head to-

ward my room.

When I reach my bedroom door, my emotions

catch up with me. I’m not sure if it’s seeing

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Hunter again and having all of those hurtful feel-

ings resurface or if it’s the fact that Ridge is be-

ing an *. Whatever it is, the tears begin to

well in my eyes, and I hate that I’m letting either

of them get to me in the first place.

Ridge grabs my shoulder and turns me around

to face him, but I keep my eyes trained on the

wall behind him. I don’t even want to look him in

the eye. He puts my phone back in my hand,

wanting me to read whatever he just texted, but I

still don’t want to. I throw the phone toward the

couch again, but he intercepts it, then tries to

force it back into my hand. I take it this time, but

I press the power button down until the phone

shuts off, and then I toss it onto the couch again.

I look him in the eye now, and his expression is

angry. He takes two steps toward the coffee table,

grabs a pen out of the drawer, and walks back to

me. He takes my hand, but I pull it from him, still

not wanting to know what he has to say to me.

I’ve had enough apologies for tonight. I try to

turn away from him, but he grabs my arm and

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presses it against the door, holding it forcefully

while he writes on it. When he’s finished writing,

I pull my arm away and watch as he tosses his

pen onto the couch, then walks back to his bed-

room. I look down at my arm.

Let him in next time if he’s really what you

want.

My barrier completely breaks. Reading his

angry words depletes me of whatever strength I

had left to hold back my tears. I rush through my

bedroom door and straight into the bathroom. I

turn on the faucet and squirt soap into my hands,

then begin scrubbing his words off my arm while

I cry. I don’t even look up when the door to his

bedroom opens, but I see him out of my peripher-

al vision as he closes the door behind him and

slowly walks toward me. I’m still scrubbing the