“Is it positive?” I ask.
Bridgette nods, running her hands down her face. “There’s a line! Shit, shit, shit, there’s a really long, visible line! Fuck!”
I look at one of the boxes. “A line just means it’s working. It doesn’t mean you’re pregnant.”
Warren is holding the stick between two fingers when he drops it back on the towel. “That has your pee on it.”
Bridgette rolls her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s a pregnancy test.”
“You threw it at me. There’s pee on my face.” He takes a hand towel and wets it under the faucet.
“You aren’t pregnant,” I reassure her. “It’s not a plus sign.”
She picks up another one of the tests and studies it, leaning against the counter. “You think?” She picks up one of the boxes and reads it, then sighs with relief. She pours the cup of urine out in the sink.
“Why didn’t you pour that in the toilet?” Warren asks with a grossed-out look on his face. This, coming from the guy who ate a bar of cheese after Bridgette tried to wash herself with it.
“I don’t know,” Bridgette says, looking at the sink. She turns the water on to rinse it out. “I’m distressed. I wasn’t thinking.”
Warren slips in front of me and wraps his arms around Bridgette, bringing her head to his level. He brushes her hair back gently. “I’m not going to get you pregnant, Bridgette. After our first scare, I wrap my Jimmy Choo up hella tight every time.”
I was on my way out of the bathroom to give them privacy, but I freeze when I hear Warren refer to his penis as a Jimmy Choo.
I turn back around. “Jimmy Choo?”
Warren looks at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, that’s his name. Ridge doesn’t nickname his penis after cool things?”
“Cool things?” I say. “Jimmy Choos are designer shoes.”
“No,” Warren says. “A Jimmy Choo is a rare Cuban cigar. Right, Bridgette?” he says, looking at her. “You’re the one who named him.”
Bridgette tries to keep a straight face, but she sputters laughter. She brushes past me and runs into the living room, but Warren is right on her heels. “You said Jimmy Choos were huge cigars!” They end up on the couch, Warren on top of her. They’re both laughing, and it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen them affectionate.
It’s disturbing that a pregnancy scare is what brings out the best in them as a couple.
Warren kisses her on the cheek and then says, “We should go celebrate with breakfast tomorrow.” He sits up and looks at me and Brennan. “All of us. Breakfast is on me.”
Bridgette pushes Warren away from her and stands up. “I will if I wake up on time.”
Warren follows her out of the living room and into their bedroom. “Girl, you aren’t even sleeping tonight.”
Their door closes.
I look at Brennan. He looks away from their door, toward me.
We both just shake our heads.
“I’m heading home,” he says, standing up to pack his guitar. He grabs his keys and walks toward the door. “Thanks for the sandwich, Sydney. Sorry I’m a brat. It’s Ridge’s fault for spoiling me for so long.”
“That’s actually good to know. If Ridge is the one who spoiled you, then I’m not going to have to break up with him for expecting me to make him sandwiches.”
Brennan laughs. “Please don’t break up with him. I think you might be the first thing that’s ever made Ridge’s life easier.”
He closes the door behind him, and I can’t help but smile at his parting words. He didn’t have to say that, but the fact that he did makes me think Brennan and Ridge are more alike than I initially thought. Both thoughtful.
After Brennan leaves, I lock the front door. I hear a thumping sound behind me, so I spin around and listen for a few seconds to see where it’s coming from.
Warren and Bridgette’s bedroom.
Oh. Gross. Gross, gross, gross.
I rush to Ridge’s bedroom and close the door, then crawl into bed with him. I wasn’t planning on staying here tonight. I still have homework I haven’t finished this weekend, and really do need to have some alone time in order to get it all done. Ridge is way too distracting.
“Syd,” Ridge says, rolling toward me. His eyes are closed, and I think he might even still be asleep. “Don’t…be scared…the chicken.” He signs the last word.
He’s talking and signing in his sleep. I grin at his nonsensical words. Did he talk in his sleep before he started verbalizing? Or is that something new?