Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(32)

Me: I understand. I never thought for a second that your intentions weren’t genuine when you asked me to sing for you. Everything just happened so fast earlier, and I was still trying to recover from the fact that I woke up in your bed and the lights were flickering. Then you go and flash the word “girlfriend” in my face. It’s a lot to process. And I believe you when you say you thought I knew about her.

Ridge: Thank you.

Me: Just promise me one thing. Promise me you will never be a Hunter, and I will never, ever be a Tori.

Ridge: I promise. And that’s impossible, because we’re so much more talented than they are.

He glances up and smiles his smiley smile at me, which makes me automatically smile in return.

Me: Now, get out of here. I’m going back to sleep, because someone spent the whole night drooling on my boobs and snoring way too loud.

Ridge laughs, but before he leaves, he messages me one last time.

Ridge: I’m excited for you to meet her. I really think you’ll like her.

He closes his laptop, stands, and walks back to his room.

I close my laptop and pull the covers over my head.

I hate that my heart is wishing so bad that he didn’t have a girlfriend.

? ? ?

“No, she already moved in,” Bridgette says. Her cell phone is propped up on her shoulder, and from the sound of it, she just broke the news to her sister that I’ve taken the empty bedroom. Bridgette completely ignores that I’m even in the same room with her and continues talking about me.

I know the fact that I haven’t clarified that I’m not deaf is a little mean, but who is she to assume I can’t read lips?

“I don’t know; she’s a friend of Ridge’s. I 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 person 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?

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 beaming. 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.

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 enunciates 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 cabinet for a glass. “I think it’s great that you’re helping 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 to be a pain in the ass.” She looks at me expectantly, 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, because maybe he’s right and he does tell her everything. And it also bothers me because he 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.