Maybe Not (Maybe 1.5)

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 quiet

ly, 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 think about what could have happened if I wasn't so stubborn. If I would have just kissed her. I also think about the fact that she's just a few feet away, hopefully just as sexually frustrated as I am right now.

Why does she have to be so damn mean? Mean girls are my weakness, and I think I just now figured that out.

Chapter Five

It's been three days since our moment in the bathroom. I've noticed she keeps the doors locked now, which is fine. I'm sure she's pissed off that she allowed herself to have a moment of weakness. She doesn't seem like the type to give in as easily as she almost did.

Either way, I can't decide if I made the right move. Half of me rejoices in the fact that I was able to walk away, but the other half of me can't believe how stupid I was for passing up an opportunity like that. I could have had her, and now I more than likely won't ever. But it's for the best, because the last thing I need is to hook up with a roommate who could potentially be the sister of my best friend. But she makes it hard, pun intended, when she walks into the living room looking like she does right now. She's not in her work clothes, but what she does have on doesn't make it any better. She's wearing a thin tank top over a barely there pair of pajama shorts, and she's walked between me and the TV more times than I can count.

Shit.

Now she's heading toward me with books in her hands.

Shit.