Warren: Not.
Me: Yes.
Warren: No.
Me: Please? You owe me.
Warren: What the hell do I owe you for?
Me: Let’s see, about a year’s worth of rent, for one.
Warren: Low blow, man. Fine.
Thank God. I don’t know what Sydney gets like when she drinks, but if she’s a lightweight like Maggie is, I don’t think I can handle the two of them on my own.
I walk to the kitchen, and Maggie is at the sink, pulling out the bottle of Pine-Sol. She holds it up to ask if I want any, and I shake my head.
“Figured I’d save money if I downed a couple of shots here first. You think Sydney wants any?”
I shrug but pull out my phone to ask her.
Me: You want a shot before we go?
Sydney: No, thank you. Not sure I feel like drinking tonight, but you go right ahead.
“She doesn’t want any,” I sign to Maggie. Warren walks out of his bedroom and sees Maggie pouring a shot from the Pine-Sol container.
Shit. There goes the hiding spot.
He doesn’t even blink when he sees her filling her shot glass. “Make it two,” he says to her. “If Ridge is forcing me to go out tonight, I’m getting so wasted he’ll regret it.”
I cock my head. “How long have you known that wasn’t cleaning solution?”
He shrugs. “You’re deaf, Ridge. You would be surprised how many times I’m behind you and you don’t even know it.” He picks up the shot Maggie poured, and they both turn their attention to something behind me. Their shocked expressions force me to turn around and see what they’re looking at.
Oh, wow.
I shouldn’t have turned around.
Sydney is walking out of her bedroom, but I’m not sure if it’s really Sydney. This girl isn’t wearing baggy shirts or walking around with her hair pulled up and a naked face. This girl is wearing a strapless black dress that’s anything but simple. Her blond hair is down and thick, and I’m thinking it probably smells as incredible as it looks. She smiles past me and says “Thanks” to either Maggie or Warren, one of whom more than likely just told her how great she looks. She’s smiling at them, but then she holds her hands up and yells, “No!” just as a mist of liquid rains down on me from behind.
I spin around, and Warren and Maggie are both coughing and spitting into the sink. Warren is sipping straight from the faucet, making a face that says he didn’t enjoy whatever just went down his throat.
“What the hell?” Maggie says, scrunching up her face and wiping her mouth.
Sydney runs into the kitchen with her hand over her mouth. She’s shaking her head, trying not to laugh, but she looks apologetic at the same time. “I’m sorry,” she keeps saying over and over.
What the hell just happened?
Warren composes himself, then turns to Sydney. He speaks and signs at the same time, which I appreciate. He can’t know how isolating it feels when you’re in a group of people who hear, but no matter what, he always signs when I’m in the room with him. “Did we actually just almost drink an entire shot of Pine-Sol?”
He’s eyeing Sydney hard. She answers him, and he signs her response for my benefit. She says, “You two weren’t supposed to drink it. It was supposed to be Ridge. And no, I didn’t actually put Pine-Sol in there, idiot. I’m not trying to kill the guy. It was apple juice and vinegar.”
She tried to prank me.
And she failed.
I start laughing and text her.
Me: Nice try. That was a valiant effort, although it backfired.
She flips me off.
I look at Maggie; luckily, she’s laughing about it. “There is no way I could live here,” she says. She walks to the refrigerator and pulls out the milk, then makes herself and Warren a quick drink to wash away the aftertaste.
“Let’s go,” Warren says after he downs the milk and tosses his cup into the sink. “Ridge is driving cuz I won’t be able to walk in three hours.”
Chapter Nine
Sydney
I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m doing my best to appear engaged. I’m in the backseat with Warren, and he’s talking to me about the band, explaining his involvement in it. I ask the appropriate questions and nod at the appropriate moments, but my mind isn’t here at all.
I know I can’t expect the hurt and heartache to go away this quickly, but today has been the worst day so far since my actual birthday. I realize that all the pain I’ve been feeling hasn’t been quite as bad because I’ve had Ridge this week. I don’t know if it’s the way he brings comedic relief when he’s around or if it’s because I really was developing a crush on him, but the times I’ve spent with him were the only times I felt remotely happy. They were the only times I wasn’t thinking about what Hunter and Tori did to me.
But now, watching him in the front seat with his hand clasping Maggie’s . . . I don’t like it. I don’t like how his thumb occasionally sweeps back and forth. I don’t like the way she looks at him. I especially don’t like the way he looks at her. I didn’t like how he slipped his fingers through hers when we reached the bottom of the apartment stairs. I didn’t like how he opened her door, then placed his hand on her lower back while she climbed inside the car. I didn’t like how they had a silent conversation while he was putting the car in reverse. I didn’t like how he laughed at whatever she said and then pulled her to him so he could kiss her forehead. I don’t like how all of these things make me feel as though the only good moments I’ve had since last week are now over.
Nothing has changed. Nothing significant happened between the two of us, and I know we’ll continue with the way things have been. We’ll still write lyrics together. He might still listen to me sing. We’ll still continue to interact the way we’ve done since I met him, so this situation shouldn’t be bothering me.
I know in my heart that I didn’t want anything to happen with him, especially at this point in my life. I know I need to be on my own. I want to be on my own. But I also know that the reason I’m feeling so conflicted by this entire situation is that I did have a little hope. Although I wasn’t ready for anything right now, I thought the possibility would be there. I assumed that maybe someday, when I was ready, things could have developed between us.
However, now that Maggie is in the picture, I realize there can’t be a maybe someday between us. There will never be a maybe someday. He loves her, and she obviously loves him, and I can’t blame them, because whatever they have is beautiful. The way they look at each other and interact and obviously care about each other is something I didn’t realize was missing between Hunter and me.
Maybe someday I’ll have that, but it won’t be with Ridge, and knowing that diminishes whatever ray of hope shone through the storm of my week.
Jesus, I’m so depressed.
I hate Hunter.
I really hate Tori.
And right now, I’m so pathetically miserable, I even hate myself.
“Are you crying?” Warren asks.
“No.”
He nods. “Yes, you are. You’re crying.” I shake my head. “I am not.”
“You were about to,” he says, looking at me sympathetically. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “Chin up, little girl. Maybe tonight we can find someone who will screw the thought of that jerkoff ex right out of that pretty little head of yours.”
I laugh and slap him in the chest.
“I would volunteer to do it, but Bridgette doesn’t like to share,” he says. “She’s kind of a bitch like that, if you haven’t noticed.”
I laugh again, but when my eyes meet Ridge’s in the rearview mirror, my smile fades. His jaw is firm, and his eyes lock with mine for a few seconds before he refocuses on the road in front of him.
He’s unreadable most of the time, but I could swear I saw a small flash of jealousy behind those eyes. And I don’t like how seeing him jealous that I’m leaning against Warren actually feels good.
r />
Turning twenty-two has rotted my soul. Who am I, and why am I having these awful reactions?
We pull into the parking lot of a club. I’ve been here a few times with Tori, so I’m relieved that it won’t be completely unfamiliar. Warren takes my hand and helps me out of the car, then puts an arm around my shoulders and walks with me toward the entrance.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll keep my hands off you tonight so guys won’t assume you’re madly in love with me. I hate cock blockers, and I refuse to be one. But if anyone makes you uncomfortable, just look at me and give me a signal so I can swoop in and pull you out of the situation.”
I nod. “Sounds like a plan. What kind of signal do I give you?”