“So, what’s with the new roommate?” I sign to Ridge when I walk in the door.
“She lives in the complex. Her boyfriend cheated on her and she needed a place to stay.”
I walk over to the table he’s seated at and pull the chair out. “She still here?”
He looks up from the laptop and nods. “Yeah, she’ll probably be here for a few weeks, at least. That okay?”
Something is off with him. When you’ve known someone most of your life, you can almost feel their unease. This Sydney girl makes him nervous, and I don’t know why.
“Is Maggie okay with it?”
His attention quickly moves back to his laptop. He nods his head and stops signing. I push my chair out and glance at the door to see if Bridgette’s shoes are where she always keeps them. They aren’t. I tap Ridge on the shoulder. “Where’s Bridgette?” I sign.
He shifts in his seat. “Out.” “Out where?”
He shrugs. “Warren, do you really want to know? Because you aren’t going to like it.”
I sit in the chair again. “Hell yes, I want to know. Where is she?”
He leans back in his chair and sighs. “A guy picked her up about three hours ago. It looked like they were going out.”
“Out,” I sign. “Out like on a date?” He nods.
I suddenly want to punch Ridge, but I know he has nothing to do with it. I stand up and push the chair back under the table.
She’s on a date. Bridgette is on a fucking date.
This is such bullshit. Why didn’t I set boundaries? Why didn’t I tell her she couldn’t see other guys?
What if she brings him back here? She will. She’s so mean, she probably will.
I grab my keys and sign to Ridge that I’ll be back in a little while. I’ll fix this.
Somehow.
• • •
I’m seated on the couch two hours later when the door opens. As expected, she doesn’t walk in alone. A guy is following behind her, way too close. His hand is on her lower back as she slips her shoes off at the door and looks straight at me. “Oh. Hey, Warren.”
She points to me. “Guy, this is Warren. Warren, this is Guy.”
I look at him. At all six-metro-s*xual-douchebag-feet of him. “Your name is Guy?”
He doesn’t respond. He just looks at Bridgette like he’s a little uncomfortable that he just walked into her apartment and a guy is sitting on her couch. I bet he’d be really uncomfortable to know what I was doing on this same couch with Bridgette just twenty-four hours ago.
“Warren,” Bridgette says in a sickeningly fake, sweet voice. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?” She glances toward my bedroom, silently asking if I’ll go wait it out in there while she flirts in my living room with Guy. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s doing this on purpose. She’s testing me, and I’m about to ace this test.
“Sure will, Bridgette,” I say with a smile. I stand up and walk over to Guy, reaching out for his hand. “Good to meet you,” I say to him. He smiles and his apprehension eases when he sees I’ve loosened up. “You kiddos have fun. I’ll leave the bathroom door unlocked in case
either of you needs to use it.” I point toward the bathroom, planting the seed.
Please, let him have to use the restroom. Please.
Bridgette can see that my last comment was out of character. She squints her eyes at me as I retreat to my room. I close the door and stay right next to it. I’m not about to miss a second of this. If she’s going to try and test me or torture me by bringing another guy home, she has to expect I’ll eavesdrop on their entire conversation.
I stand with my ear pressed to the door for at least fifteen minutes. In those fifteen minutes, I hear him go on and on about everything he’s good at.
Baseball. Football. Tennis.
Trivia. (He actually forced her to quiz him.)
Work. (He’s a salesman. He’s the best, apparently. Highest sales for the last four quarters.)
He’s a world traveler, of course.
He speaks French, of course.
Bridgette yawns four times during their conversation. I feel like this act she’s putting on is exhausting her more than it is me.
“Mind if I use your restroom?” Guy says.
Finally.
A few seconds later, I hear the door close to the restroom and I immediately open my bedroom door and walk to the kitchen. Bridgette is seated on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table. “You look bored to death,” I tell her.
“He’s riveting,” she says with a fake smile. “I’m having so much fun, I’ll probably ask him to stay the night.”
I smile, knowing that won’t happen. “He’ll never agree to that, Bridgette,” I tell her. “In fact,” I look down at my wrist and tap it. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be leaving as soon as he exits the restroom.”
She sits up straight on the couch and then comes to a quick stand. She stalks over to me, pointing her finger, pushing it against my chest. “What did you do, Warren?”
The bathroom door opens and Guy walks out. Bridgette faces him with her obnoxious, fake smile. “Want to hang out in my room?” she says, walking toward him.
He glances at me and I shake my head, quickly. For all he knows, I’m just warning him, man-to-man, that he better run while he still can.
I can tell he’s terrified after seeing what all I’ve planted in the restroom. He glances at the door and back at Bridgette. “Actually, I was just about to leave,” he says. “I’ll call you.”
The next few seconds are the most awkward seconds I’ve ever seen play out between two people. He reaches in for a handshake, she goes in for a hug, he backs away, afraid she’s about to try to kiss him, and his eyes grow wide with fear. He rushes around her and heads straight for the door. “Nice to meet you, Warren. I’ll call you later, Bridgette.”
And he’s gone.
She slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are as sharp as diamonds. I’m scared they’re sharp enough to slit my throat. I wipe the smile from my face and walk toward my bedroom. “Goodnight, Bridgette.”
Nice try, Bridgette. Nice try.
• • •
“Son of a bitch!”
My bathroom door swings open and she marches straight toward my bed. I was studying, but I quickly throw my books aside when I see her coming at me. She jumps onto the bed, standing, and walks across it. She holds her hands up in the air and that’s when I notice
she’s holding something. I notice it too late, though, because the cream squirts out of the tube and onto the top of my head.
“Hemorrhoid cream?” she yells, tossing it aside. She grabs another
tube of cream that was tucked under her arm.
“Wart remover?” She squeezes it onto my pillow. I’m trying to cover my head with the blanket, but she’s getting the stuff everywhere. I pull her legs out from under her and she falls on the bed, then she starts kicking me, and throwing the tubes at me.
“Cold sore relief?” She squirts that one right in my face. “I can’t believe you put all these in our bathroom! I swear to God, you’re a little boy, Warren. A jealous little boy!”
I pull the rest of the tubes from her hands and I wrestle her onto her back, locking her arms to the mattress.
“You’re such an asshole,” she yells.
I struggle to hold her still. “If I’m an asshole, then you’re a coldhearted, calculating, ruthless bitch!”
She grunts, trying to free herself from my grip. I refuse to budge, but I also do my best to remove the anger from my voice and speak to her calmly.
“What was that about, Bridgette? Huh? Why the hell did you bring him here?”
She stops struggling long enough to smile in my face. Knowing that my jealousy makes her smile pisses me off even more. I hold both of her wrists with one hand and reach beside her head, grabbing a tube of the cream. I flip the lid open and squirt it in her hair. She starts thrashing beneath me and God, I’m so mad at her.
Why would she do that?
I grab her jaw and hold her face so she’ll look at me. She realizes she’s not overpowering me physically, so she relents. Her chest is heaving and she’s gasping for breath. I can see anger in her eyes. I have no idea what gives her the right to be mad, when she’s the one fucking with my head.
I lower my forehead to hers and close my eyes. “Why?” I say, breathless. The room grows quiet. “Why did you bring him here?”
She sighs and turns her head. I pull back and look down on her, convinced I see more pain in her features than anger. Her voice is quiet when she speaks. “Why’d you let another girl move in today?”
I know that was hard for her, because her question proves that she cares. That question proves that I wasn’t the only one fearing a new roommate would come between us. She’s scared I’ll move on. She’s scared that Sydney is going to come between us, so she tried to hurt me first.
“You think things might change between us just because another girl moved in?” I ask her. She looks over my shoulder so she doesn’t have to look me in the eyes. I tilt her jaw and make her look at me. “Is that why you brought him here?”
Her eyes narrow and she tightens her lips, refusing to admit she was hurt.
“Just say it,” I beg. I need her to say it out loud. All I need is for her to admit she brought him here because she was hurt and scared. I need her to admit that there’s an actual heart inside her chest. And that sometimes it beats for me.
Since she won’t admit it, I’ll admit it for her. “You’ve never let anyone close enough to where their absence could hurt you. But it would hurt you if I left you, so you wanted to hurt me first.” I press my lips closer to her ear. “You did,” I whisper. “Seeing you walk through that door with him hurt like hell. But I’m not going anywhere, Bridgette, and I’m not interested in anyone else. So that little game you tried to play backfired, because from now on, the only man you’re allowed to bring home is the one who already lives here.” I slowly pull back and look her in the eyes. “Understood?”
In true Bridgette form, she refuses to answer. But I also know that her refusal to answer is her way of saying I’m right and that she agrees.
She’s breathing so much heavier than she was a few minutes ago. I’m almost certain I am, too, because it doesn’t feel like my lungs are working anymore. I can’t inhale, no matter how hard I try, because the need to kiss her has taken over my passageways. I need her air.
I force my mouth against hers and I kiss her with a possessiveness I didn’t even know was in me. I kiss her so desperately, I forget that I’m still mad at her. My tongue dives into her mouth and she takes it, giving me her own desperate kiss in return, grabbing at my face, pulling me closer. I can feel her in this kiss like I’ve never felt her before. It’s probably the best kiss I’ve ever experienced with her, because it’s the first kiss with actual emotions behind it.
Even though it’s the best kiss, it’s also one of the shortest. She shoves me away from her. She’s out of my bed, out of my bedroom, and out of my line of sight as the bathroom door slams behind her. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
She’s so confusing. She’s so frustrating. She’s so damn unpredictable.
She’s nothing I’ve ever wanted in a girl. And absolutely everything I need.
I hear the water in the shower start running, so I immediately roll off the bed and walk into the bathroom. My heart tightens a little when the doorknob turns and I realize she didn’t lock it behind her. I know this sign means she wants me to follow her. What she wants me to do once I’m inside this bathroom is a mystery, though. Does she want me to take her against the shower wall? Does she want me to apologize to her? Does she want me to talk to her?
I don’t know with her. I never know. So, I do what I always do and wait for her to show me what she needs. I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel to wipe all the damn cream out of my hair. I get as much out as I can and then close the lid to the toilet and take a seat on it, listening quietly as she continues her shower. I know she knows I’m in
here, but she doesn’t speak. I’d even take her insults right now if it meant she would say something to alleviate the silence.
I lean forward and clasp my hands between my knees. “Does this scare you, Bridgette?”
I know she hears me, but she doesn’t answer. That means yes.
I let my head fall into my hands and I vow to remain calm. This is how she relates. She doesn’t know any different. Somehow, over the course of her twenty-two years, she’s never learned how to love, or even communicate, really. That’s not her fault.
“Have you ever been in love before?”
It’s a slightly generic question. I don’t ask if she could fall in love with me specifically, so maybe the question won’t piss her off.
I hear a relenting sigh come from behind the shower curtain. “I think it takes being loved in order to know how to love,” she says quietly. “So I guess that’s a no.”
I wince at her answer. What a sad, sad answer. One I wasn’t expecting.
“You can’t really believe that, Bridgette.” Silence follows. She doesn’t reply.
“Your mother loved you,” I say to her.
“My mother gave me to my grandmother when I was six months old.”
“I’m sure your grandmother loved you.”
A quiet, pained laugh comes from the shower. “I’m sure she did, but not enough to stay alive for more than a year. After she died I lived with my aunt, who made it very obvious that she didn’t love me. My uncle did, though. Just in all the wrong ways.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow her words to sink in. Brennan wasn’t kidding when he said she’s had a rough life. And she’s so casual about it, like she’s just accepted that this is the kind of life she was given and there’s nothing she can do about it. A mixture of anger and sadness consumes me.
“Bridgette . . .”
“Don’t bother, Warren. I’ve dealt with my life the only way I know how. It works for me, and I don’t need you or anyone else to try and figure me out, or fix me. I am who I am and I’ve accepted that.”
I clamp my mouth shut and don’t offer her words of advice. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I feel awful for wanting to prod her with more questions after that revelation, but I’m not sure when I’ll get this side of her again. Bridgette doesn’t open up easily, and now I can see why. She doesn’t seem to have had anyone to open up to, so this might be a first for her.
“What about your sister?”
Bridgette releases a sigh. “She’s not even my real sister. We’re stepsisters, and we didn’t even grow up in the same house.”
I should stop with the questions. I know I should, but I can’t. To know that she’s probably never spoken or heard the words “I love you” from anyone in her life is affecting me way more than I imagined it could.
“I’m sure you’ve had boyfriends who have loved you in the past.”
She laughs a really sad laugh, and then she just sighs an even sadder sigh. “If you’re planning on asking me questions like this all night, I’d much rather you just fuck me.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, absorbing her words like a knife to the chest. She seriously can’t be this broken. No one can be this alone, can they?
“Have you ever loved anyone, Bridgette?”
Silence. Complete silence until her voice shatters it like glass. “It’s hard to fall in love with assholes, Warren.”
That’s a comment from a girl who’s been jaded way too many times. I stand up and slide the shower curtain open. She’s standing beneath the stream of water. Mascara has streaked its way down her cheeks.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right asshole yet.”
She immediately lets out a quick burst of laughter, along with a few tears. Her eyes are sad, and her smile is appreciative and for the first time, she’s completely bare. It’s as though she’s holding her heart out to me, begging me not to break it. The vulnerability she’s showing me right now is something I’m almost positive she’s never shown anyone else. No other man, at least.
I step into the shower. She looks at me in shock as my clothes quickly become drenched. I take her face in my hands, and I kiss her.
I don’t kiss her fast.
I don’t kiss her rough. I don’t kiss her hard.
I press my lips to hers with such delicacy; I want her to feel everything she’s ever deserved to feel at the hands of someone else. She deserves to feel beautiful. She deserves to feel important. She deserves to feel cared for. She deserves to feel respected. She deserves to feel like there’s at least one other person in this world who accepts her for exactly who she is.
