I laugh in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”
Ridge leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. He looks at me and then he looks at Warren. “Rearview mirrors,” he says. “It’s like a sound system for deaf people.” He leans back in his seat. “Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
Warren laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.
“Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
“Stop talking about us…”
“Us.”
He refers to himself and Sydney as an us now. And he speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn’t quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.
I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Ridge leave to go stay the night with his ex-girlfriend, or sitting in his apartment, alone with Bridgette.
As soon as Warren and Ridge left, Bridgette’s phone rang. She answered it and walked to her bedroom without acknowledging me. It sounded like she may have been talking to her sister, but that was an hour ago. Then I heard her shower start running.
Now, here I am, cleaning their kitchen and doing their dishes. I know Ridge told me not to worry about it, but I won’t be able to sleep if I know there’s food out all over the counter.
I load the last of the silverware when Bridgette walks out of her room with pajamas on. Her phone is to her ear again, but this time she’s looking at me. “You aren’t like gluten-free or vegetarian, are you?”
Wow. We’re really doing this. And wow. I’m actually a little bit excited. I shake my head. “I’ve never met a slice of pizza I didn’t like.”
Bridgette puts the phone on the bar and puts it on speaker as she opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. She hands it to me, expecting me to open it, so I take it and look for the bottle opener.
“Pizza Shack,” a guy says, answering her call. “Will this be carry-out or delivery?”
“Delivery.”
“What can I get you?”
“Two large pizzas with everything. One thick crust, one thin.”
I open the wine bottle while she continues to order.
“Do you want all the meats?”
“Yeah,” Bridgette says. “Everything.”
“You also want feta cheese added?”
“I said I want everything.”
There’s a tapping sound, like fingers against keys while the guy takes a moment to enter the order. “Do you want pineapple?”
Bridgette rolls her eyes. “I’ve said everything like three times. All the meats, all the vegetables, all the fruits. Whatever you have, just put it on there and bring us the damn pizza!”
I pause and glance over at her. She makes a face at me like she’s on the phone with the biggest idiot in the world. Poor guy. He doesn’t ask her any more questions. He takes her address, and she gives him Warren’s debit card number before she ends the call.
I’m curious to see what kind of pizzas we’re about to get. I pray that restaurant doesn’t have sardines or anchovies. I pour two glasses of wine and hand Bridgette one. She takes a sip and then folds her arms over her chest, holding the wine glass to her lips as she looks me up and down.
She’s really pretty, in a sexy way. I can see why Warren is so drawn to her. They really are the most interesting couple I’ve ever met. And when I say interesting, I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment.
“I used to hate you,” Bridgette says, matter-of-fact. She leans against the bar and takes another drink of her wine.
So casual, like this is how people are supposed to interact with other people. She reminds me of one of my friends from childhood. Her name was Tasara, and she said anything and everything that was on her mind. I swear, she spent more days in detention than she did in class. I think that’s why I was drawn to her, though. She was mean, but she was honest.
It’s one thing when you’re mean and you lie. But it’s a lot more endearing when you’re just brutally honest.
Bridgette doesn’t seem like the type to waste time on lying, and for that reason, her comment doesn’t offend me. And if I’m going to dissect her words, I have to acknowledge that her sentence was past tense. She used to hate me. That’s probably the best compliment I’ll ever get from her.
“You’re starting to grow on me, too, Bridgette.”
She rolls her eyes, then walks past me to the cabinet below the sink. She reaches for the Pine-Sol and then grabs two shot glasses. The wine isn’t enough?