Brennan was right. I’m disgusting. I’ve never felt more disappointed in myself than I have these past two weeks. Since the moment I found out she might be Ridge and Brennan’s sister, I haven’t been able to stop staring at her. I keep trying to pinpoint mannerisms they have in common, or physical features, but the only thing I’ve noticed is how hot she looks in that Hooters outfit.
Which, in turn, makes me disgusted with myself, because thoughts of her in her uniform lead to some really strange dreams. Last night I dreamt I walked into the apartment and she was standing in the kitchen in those tiny orange shorts with her midriff showing. But when my eyes made it to her face, it wasn’t her face I was looking at. It was Brennan’s. He was smiling at me with a shit-eating grin, and right when I started gagging, Ridge walked out of his room wearing the same Hooters outfit.
I woke up after that and had to immediately go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I don’t know why I thought brushing my teeth would help me, but whatever. This sibling thing is fucking with my head in more ways than it should. On the one hand, I think it would be cool if Ridge and Brennan had a sister. On the other hand, I don’t want that sister to be Bridgette. Mainly because I’m skeptical of the reasons she’s showing up out of the blue right when Brennan begins to make a name for himself. Does she have ulterior motives? Does she think he’s made of money?
Because as the band’s manager, I can assure her, he’s not. The money the band brings in goes right back into promotion and travel expenses. It’s at the point where they’re putting in so much time and effort, if it doesn’t start paying off during this next scheduled tour, it
may be the last one they go on. Which is why I’m a little bitter when it comes to Bridgette, because I need Brennan’s focus to be on Sounds of Cedar and Ridge’s focus to be on writing the songs. I don’t want them caught up in family drama.
But dammit. Those shorts.
I’m standing in my bedroom doorway, watching her. She’s in the kitchen, talking on the phone while she makes herself something to eat. The phone is sitting on the counter and she’s on speaker with whomever is on the other line.
Bridgette hasn’t noticed I’m standing here, so until she does, I’m staying right here. Because seeing her have a normal, human conversation is something I’ve never witnessed before, and I can’t stop watching. Which is strange, because how many times a day do I see people having typical interactions with other humans? It says a lot about Bridgette’s personality that seeing her do something like this could actually be fascinating. She’d make an interesting anthropological study, considering she doesn’t seem to conform to how society expects a young woman to act.
“I can’t take living in this dorm,” the voice on speaker says. “My roommate’s a fruit loop dingus.”
Bridgette tilts her head toward the direction of the phone, but still doesn’t turn around to see me. “You can make it until you graduate.”
“And then we can get our own place?”
My ears perk up, hearing her mention the possibility of moving out. “We can’t afford our own place,” Bridgette says.
“We could if you would go back into doing porn films.”
“It was one porn,” Bridgette says defensively. “We needed the money. Besides, I was in it for all of three minutes, so will you please stop bringing it up.”
Holy shit. Please say the name, please say the name. I have to know the name of this porn.
“Okay, okay,” the girl says, laughing. “I’ll stop bringing it up if you can promise I’ll be out of the dorms in three months.”
Bridgette shakes her head. “You know I don’t make promises. And are you forgetting about the time we tried living together for three months? Because I’m still shocked either of us came out alive. We get along better with distance, and you’re better off in the dorms, believe me.”
“Ugh. I know you’re right,” the girl says. “I just need to get off my ass and get a job. How’s that Hooters gig working out for you?”
Bridgette scoffs. “It’s the worst job I’ve ever had.” She turns around to pick up her phone and her eyes meet mine. I don’t even try to hide the fact that I was listening to her conversation. She glares at me as she picks up the phone and holds it to her mouth. “I’ll call you later, Brandi.” She ends her call and slaps her phone against the counter. “What’s your problem?”
I shrug. “Nothing,” I say, straightening up and walking toward the kitchen.
Don’t look at her shorts, don’t look at her shorts.
“I just didn’t realize you were capable of normal human interaction.”
Bridgette rolls her eyes and picks up the plate of food she just finished preparing. She begins walking toward her bedroom. “I can be pleasant to people who deserve it.”
When she reaches her door, she turns around and faces me. “I need you to drop me off at work in an hour. My car’s in the shop.” She disappears into her bedroom.
I grimace, because for some reason, the thought of taking her to work excites me, and my excitement disappoints me. I feel like I’m two different people right now. I’m a guy who finds his new roommate insanely attractive, but I’m also a guy who can’t stand to be around his bitchy new roommate.
I’m also a guy who’s about to do some heavy research into the porn industry, because I have to find that movie. Have to. It’s all I’m gonna be able to think about until I see it with my own eyes.
• • •
“What’s Bridgette’s last name?” I ask Brennan. I’ve texted him five times in the last half hour, trying to figure it out, but he hasn’t texted me back, so now I’m on the phone with him. I’m sure a little Google search of her name could help me find the title.
“Cox. Why?”
I laugh. “Bridgette Cox? Seriously?”
There’s a pause on his end of the line. “What’s so funny? And why do you need her last name?”
“No reason,” I say. “Thanks.”
I hang up the phone without giving him an explanation. The last thing Brennan needs to know is that his possible sister was in a porn film.
But Cox? That’s way too easy.
I spend the next fifteen minutes googling her name, looking for anything porn-related. I come up empty-handed. She must have used a fake name.
I slam my laptop shut when my bedroom door swings open. “Let’s go,” she says.
I stand up and slip on my shoes. “Ever heard of knocking?” I ask as I follow her through the living room.
“Really, Warren? Coming from the guy who’s walked in on me in the bathroom no less than three times in the past two weeks?”
“Ever heard of locking doors?” I say in response.
She doesn’t reply as she makes her way outside. I grab my keys off the bar and follow her. I am curious as to why she never locks the doors when she’s in the shower. My first thought leads me to believe
that maybe she likes it when I walk in on her. Why else would she leave them unlocked?
Come to think of it, she also wears that damn uniform way longer
than she needs to. She puts it on a good two hours before going to work and she leaves it on just as long when she gets home. Most people spend as little time as possible in their work clothes, but Bridgette seems to like flaunting her ass in my face.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs and watch as her ass makes its way toward my car.
Holy shit. I think Bridgette is into me.
She turns around after she tries to open the locked door. She looks at me expectantly and I’m still frozen at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her, my mouth agape.
Bridgette likes me.
“Unlock the car, Warren. Jesus.”
I lift the key fob and point it at the car to unlock the doors. Bridgette slides into her seat and flips the visor down, fingering at her hair. A smile slowly spreads across my face as I make my way to the driver’s side.
Bridgette wants me. This is gonna be fun.
After I back the car out, I keep half of my focus on the road and half of it on her legs. She has one propped up on the dash and she keeps running her hand up and down her thigh. I can’t tell if she’s doing it in a seductive way or because she likes the sound of her fingernails scraping over her pantyhose.
I have to adjust in my seat and swallow the lump in my throat, because we’ve never actually been this close before for this long. The tension is thick, and I can’t tell if it’s all mine or if it’s a shared tension. I clear my throat and do what I can to not make this the most awkward ten miles I’ve ever had to drive.
“So,” I say, attempting to think of something to break the ice. “Do you like your job?”
Bridgette laughs under her breath. “Yes, Warren. I love it. I love when disgusting old men grab my ass night after night, and I especially love it when drunk guys think my boobs are an accessory and not an extension of my body.”
I shake my head. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to speak to her. I exhale and don’t bother asking her any more questions. She’s impossible to talk to.
Silence engulfs the car for another two miles. I hear her sigh heavily and I turn and glance at her, but she’s staring out the window. “The tips are good,” she says quietly.
I smile and look back at the road. I smile, because I know that’s as close to an apology as Bridgette is capable of giving. “That’s good,” I say to her, my way of telling her I accept her apology.
We’re quiet until we reach her work. I stop out front and she gets out of the car and then leans down and looks at me. “I need you to pick me up at eleven tonight.”
She slams the door shut without saying please or thank you or goodbye. And even though she’s the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met in real life, I can’t stop smiling.
I think we may have just bonded.
• • •
After I make it home, the first thing I do is set timers on every single porn on pay-per-view. I spend the next few hours fast-forwarding through most of them, pausing it any time it lands on a girl that even remotely resembles her. I take into account that she may have been wearing a wig, so I can’t rule women out simply based on their hair color.
Ridge takes a seat next to me on the couch and I consider putting the TV on caption for him, but I don’t. Let’s be honest, pornos aren’t
known for their riveting story lines.
Ridge elbows me to get my attention. “What’s with this new fascination?” he asks, referring to the fact that I’ve done nothing today other than watch porn after porn.
I don’t want to be honest, so I just shrug. “I like porn.”
He nods his head slowly and then stands up. “I’m not gonna lie,” he signs. “It’s really awkward. I’ll be out on my balcony if you need me.”
I pause the TV. “You worked out any new songs yet?”
Ridge looks frustrated when I ask him this. He shakes his head. “Not yet.” He walks away and I feel bad for asking. I don’t know what’s changed over the last few months, but he’s not the same. He seems more stressed out than usual, and it makes me wonder if he and Maggie have been fighting. He says they’re fine, but he’s never had a problem writing music for the band before, and everyone knows the number one source for musical inspiration comes from relationships.
Ridge and Brennan are both musically inclined and I’ve always been a little bit jealous in that regard. Granted, I’m jealous of Ridge in a lot of ways. He just seems to have been born with a certain level of maturity, and I’ve always envied that about him. He’s not impulsive like I am and he also seems to take people’s feelings into consideration more than I do. I know Brennan has always looked up to him and I definitely do, too, so seeing him struggling with whatever is going on in that head of his is tough. He knew what he was getting into when he began dating Maggie, so I’m not sure if he’s growing unhappy in his relationship with her or if maybe he’s concerned she’s unhappy with him. Whatever it is, I’m not sure what I can do to help him.
I don’t think I can help him.
I give my focus back to the TV and fast-forward through at least three more films before I realize it’s already eleven and I’m late
picking up Bridgette.
Shit. Time flies when you’re watching porn.
I spend the next several minutes in fast-forward, making it the ten miles to Hooters in record time. When I pull up, she’s standing outside with her arms folded across her chest, shooting daggers at my car. She swings the door open and climbs in. “You’re late.”
I wait until she slams the door before pressing on the gas. “You’re welcome for the ride, Bridgette.”
I can feel the anger radiating from her. I don’t know if it’s simply because I’m late picking her up or because she had a shitty night at work, but I’m not about to ask. When we pull into the complex, she jumps out of my car before I even have it in park. She stalks up the stairs and slams the front door shut.
When I reach the apartment, she’s already in her bedroom. I try to be understanding, but this is just . . . it’s fucking rude. I give her a ride to and from work and all she does is bitch at me? You don’t have to be taught manners to know how inappropriate that kind of behavior is. Hell, I’m one of the most inconsiderate people I know, and I would never treat someone like she’s treating me.
I walk to my bedroom and head straight for the bathroom. She’s already in there, standing at the sink, washing her face. “Again with the failure to knock?” she says with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
I ignore her and walk to the toilet. I lift the lid and unzip my pants. I try to keep my smile in check when I hear her scoff at the fact that I just started taking a piss with her in the bathroom.
“Are you serious?”
I continue to ignore her comments and flush the toilet when I’m finished. I leave the lid up on purpose and step over to the sink, right next to her. Two can play at this asshole game, Bridgette.
I grab my toothbrush and squirt toothpaste on it and then start brushing my teeth. She elbows me when I get in the way of the sink, attempting to push me aside. I elbow her right back and continue
brushing. I look up at our reflection in the mirror and like what I see. I’m several inches taller than her. My hair is darker than hers, and my eyes are brown compared to her greens. We complement each other, though. Standing next to each other like this, I can see how we could make a good-looking couple. We’d probably even make some good-looking children.
Shit.
Why am I allowing thoughts like this to fester in my brain?
She finishes wiping the makeup from her face before grabbing her own toothbrush. Now we’re both fighting for sink space, brushing with more force than our teeth have probably ever been brushed. We take turns angrily spitting into the sink, throwing elbows at each other between every turn.
When I’m finished, I rinse off my toothbrush and put it back in the holder. She does the same. I cup my hands under the stream of water and bend forward to take a sip when she shoves me aside, causing me to splash water all over the counter. I wait until she has water in her own hands, then I shove her arms, watching the water splash everywhere.
She grips the counter and takes a deep, calming breath. It doesn’t help, though, because she splashes her hand through the faucet stream, sending a handful of water straight at my face.
I close my eyes and try to put myself in her shoes. Maybe she’s had a rough day. Maybe she hates her job. Maybe she hates her life.
Whatever her reason for acting the way she does doesn’t excuse the fact that she still didn’t say thank you for the ride. She’s treating me like I ruined her life, and all I’ve done is try to accommodate her.
I open my eyes and don’t even look at her. I reach over, turn the sink faucet off, and then grab the hand towel and begin drying my face. She’s watching me closely, waiting for me to retaliate. I take a slow step toward her, towering over her. She presses her back against the sink and keeps her eyes focused on mine as I lean forward.
Our chests are almost touching now. I can feel the heat radiating from her as her lips slowly part. She’s not pushing me away this time. In fact, it looks like she’s daring me to keep going. To come closer.
I place my hands on either side of her, locking her in. She still doesn’t resist and I know if I tried to kiss her right now, she wouldn’t resist that, either. Under any other circumstance, I would be kissing her right now. My tongue would be as far into that mouth as I could get it, because fuck it’s a nice mouth. I don’t know how so much venom can spew from lips as soft as hers.
“Bridgette,” I say, very calmly.
I can see the roll of her throat as she swallows, still looking up at me. “Warren,” she says, her voice a mix between resolved and desperate.
I smile at her, just inches from her face. The fact that she’s allowing me this close only proves that my theory earlier this afternoon is correct. She wants me. She wants me to touch her, to kiss her, to carry her to my bed. I wonder if she’s as mean in the bedroom as she is out of the bedroom.
I lean in another inch and she gasps quietly, trading glances between my eyes and my lips. I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, slowly sliding my teeth across it. She watches my mouth with fascination. My heart is in my throat and my palms are sweating, because I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not so sure I can resist her.
I lean in even closer, reaching around her with my right hand until I find the mouthwash on the counter. Just when our lips would meet if I were to kiss her, I pull back and step away, removing the lid from the mouthwash. I keep my eyes focused on hers and take a sip before putting the lid back on it and setting it down on the counter.
I can see the desire in her eyes become swallowed up by fury. She’s pissed at me, pissed at herself. Possibly even embarrassed. When she sees I was teasing her, the corners of her eyes crinkle with her intense glare. I step up to the sink and spit the mouthwash out, wiping my
mouth with the hand towel again. I turn toward my bedroom. “Goodnight, Bridgette.”
I close the door and lean against it and squeeze my eyes shut. Her bedroom door slams shut and I blow out a steady breath. I’ve never been more turned on than I am right now. I’ve also never been more proud of myself than I am right now. Walking away from that mouth and those hungry eyes was the hardest thing I’ve had to do, but also the most important. I have to keep the upper hand, because that girl has way too much power over me, and she doesn’t even know it.
I turn out my bedroom light and walk to my bed, trying to get the image of what almost just happened out of my head. After several minutes, I give up trying to fight it. I decide to use the thoughts of her to my advantage as I slip my hand into my boxers, thinking about those orange shorts. That mouth. The small gasp of breath she took when I leaned in toward her.
I close my eyes and wonder what might have happened if I hadn’t been so stubborn. What if I had just kissed her? I also think about how she’s just a few feet away, probably as frustrated as I am right now.
Why does she have to be so damn difficult? I’m starting to realize that mean girls are my weakness.
