I wanted to send Brennan a rough cut of the song Sydney and I wrote tonight, but I needed my laptop to do it. Which is why we just showed up at my apartment and placed ourselves in this horrible predicament.
Us, standing at the door.
Warren’s ass, staring back at us from the couch. It’s so…pale.
Sydney spins around as soon as we walk through the apartment door. She’s covering her eyes, even though she’s not facing the direction of Warren’s ass anymore. She’s shaking her head like she wishes she could unsee what she just saw. I wish that, too.
I think Bridgette might be yelling now. Thank God I can’t hear it. All I see is Warren covering her up with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. Mental note to wash that blanket tomorrow.
Warren covers his junk with a throw pillow. Wash the pillow, too.
“Knock much?” he signs.
“Lock doors much?” I sign back. I grab Sydney’s hand and pull her to my bedroom. When we’re safe from Warren’s nudity, she finally opens her eyes.
“I’m never sitting on that couch again,” she says, walking to my dresser. She kicks off her flip-flops. I point to the restroom, and she nods. Right before I walk away, she says, “I’m gonna borrow sunblock.”
I’m in the bathroom with the door shut before I realize what she said didn’t make sense. Or at least I didn’t read her lips right. Sunblock? It’s nighttime. She doesn’t need sunblock. What did she say if she didn’t say sunblock?
Some socks.
She’s gonna borrow some socks.
Shit! The ring!
I swing open the bathroom door, but it’s too late. The sock drawer is open. The box is in her hands. The box is open, and she’s looking down at the engagement ring with a hand covering her mouth.
