I laugh, because he doesn’t look like your typical momma’s boy.
Ridge finds the song and presses play. He sets the phone on his thigh and then wraps his arms around me again as I listen. Almost as soon as it starts to play, the text notification goes off on Ridge’s phone. I look down at it.
Maggie: Guess what? I’m finally riding in a TESLA!!!
Ridge must see the text as soon as I hear it and read it, because his legs stop swinging and he stiffens. We’re both looking at the phone, and I know he’s waiting on my reaction, but I don’t know how I should react. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling right now. It’s just all too weird. I reach over and swipe up on her text so it’ll disappear. Then I pause the song and say to Price, “I’ll listen to it later. It’s too loud in here.”
Ridge wraps his arm tighter around my waist as he picks up his phone and begins texting with one hand. I don’t know if he’s responding to her or not, but I guess it’s not my business. Is it? I don’t even know if I should be mad. I don’t think I’m mad. Confused is a better word for it. Or maybe uncomfortable is the best way to describe what I’m feeling.
Ridge pulls on my hand so I’ll turn and look at him. I’m still standing between his legs, but this time I’m facing him, looking at him, trying not to let him read my thoughts. He puts his phone in my hand, and when I look at it to read whatever he’s written in his note app, he lowers his forehead to mine.
She’s my friend, Sydney. We text sometimes.
As I’m reading the note on his phone, his hands are sliding softly down my arms in a comforting gesture. It’s amazing how much more he can communicate non-verbally as a result of being so stifled by his verbal communication. By pressing his forehead to mine as I read what he typed, it’s as if he’s silently saying, “We’re a team, Sydney. You and me.”
And the way he’s sliding his hands down my arms is equivalent to a thousand verbal reassurances.
I expected that he still talks to Maggie. What I didn’t expect was for it to bother me like it is. But it’s not because I think Ridge and Maggie are in the wrong. It’s because I feel like I’ll always be the girl who came between them, no matter how friendly they remain. I can be friendly with every single friend Ridge ever has, but I’m not sure I could ever be friends with Maggie, so the fact that he is friends with her makes me feel like a third-wheel to that friendship.
It’s a strange feeling. And one I don’t like, so I can’t help but have a noticeable reaction. Especially to Ridge. He notices every non-verbal reaction I have because that’s the focus of his communication.
I hand Ridge’s phone back to him and force a smile, but I know my feelings are probably written all over my face. He pulls me in for a reassuring hug and then kisses the side of my head. I press my face against his neck and sigh.
“God, you two are so cute together,” Brennan says. “It makes me want a girlfriend. For like a whole week, maybe.”
His comment makes me laugh. I pull away from Ridge and turn around, leaning my back into him again.
“You’re about to have one for more than a week,” Spencer says. “Sadie’s opening for us for the next two months.”
Brennan groans. “Don’t remind me.”
I welcome the distraction. “Who is Sadie?”
Brennan looks at me pointedly and says. “Sadie is Satan.”
“Her name is Sadie Brennan,” Warren says, standing up. “Not to be confused with Brennan Lawson. Coincidence that they share part of a name, and also a coincidence that Brennan thought she was a groupie the first time he met her.”
Brennan grabs a roll of paper towels off the bar and throws them at Warren. “It was an honest mistake.”
“I think this is a story I need to hear,” I say.
“No,” Brennan says firmly.
At the same time Brennan says no, Warren pipes up and says, “I’ll tell it.” He flips one of the table chairs around backward and sits down, facing us. “Brennan has a routine,” Warren says and signs. “Sounds of Cedar isn’t a widely known band, but locally, you know they have a decent following. Quite a few fangirls who come to the meet-and-greets after the shows.”
Warren is signing everything for Ridge, so it makes me laugh when Brennan’s head falls back and he groans, then signs, “Shut up,” at the same time he says it. It’ll never get old that they sign everything for Ridge. It’s like it’s second nature and they don’t even realize they’re doing it. That’s my goal. I want to learn to communicate that way to the point where Ridge and I have absolutely no barriers.
“Sometimes after the shows, if Brennan thinks a girl is cute, he’ll slip her a note with his hotel information, asking if she wants to chat in private. Five times out of ten, they show up an hour later at his hotel room door.”
“Ten times out of ten,” Brennan corrects.
God, he and Ridge are so different.
Warren rolls his eyes and continues. “Sadie happened to be one of the girls he slipped a note to. But what he didn’t know was that she wasn’t at his meet and greet as a fan. She was there looking to talk with him about a gig. And what she didn’t know is that Brennan slips someone his number after every show with the intention of hooking up. She thought he slipped her a note because he wanted to chat with her about opening for the band on our upcoming tour. So, when she showed up at his hotel room that night, let’s just say there was a lot of confusion.”
I look at Brennan, and he’s running his hand down his face like he’s embarrassed. “Dude, I hate this story.”
He might hate it, but I’m enjoying the hell out of it. “What happened?”
Brennan groans. “Can’t we just end the story here?”
“No,” Warren says. “This is where it gets good.”
Brennan looks so embarrassed, but he continues the story himself. “Let’s just say it took her a few seconds to realize what I assumed she was there for, and it took me more than a few seconds to realize she wasn’t there because she wanted me to take off her shirt.”
“Oh, no. That poor girl.”
Brennan makes a face. “Poor girl my ass. I told you she’s Satan. She makes Bridgette look like an angel.”
“I heard that,” Bridgette yells from her room.
Brennan shrugs. “It’s true.”
“She’s not that bad,” Price says to Brennan. “She just hates you.”
“But…she’s opening for you guys on the next tour? She must not hate you too much,” I say.
Brennan shakes his head. “No, she definitely hates me. But she also has mad talent. That’s the only reason why she got the gig.”
“Do you have any of her songs?” I ask. “I want to hear one.”
Brennan scoots closer to us and hands me his phone after pulling up a YouTube video. Ridge scoots me over and hops off the bar to set out plates for the Chinese food. I can’t help but stare at the video on Brennan’s phone in complete awe. The girl is really pretty. And she’s super talented. I watch the first video, and then another, and then a third before I realize Brennan hasn’t moved a muscle. He can pretend he isn’t into her all he wants, but he holds his breath through every video, never taking his eyes off the screen.
We’re watching the fourth video when the food arrives. We all make our plates and sit around the table. It’s the first meal Ridge and I have eaten together as a couple. He’s sitting right next to me with his left hand on my thigh. We’ve eaten a lot of meals at this table together while forcing ourselves to sit as far apart from each other as we possibly could. It feels good to finally be able to touch him—sit close to him—and not fight everything inside me that was growing.
I like this.
The door to the bathroom between Warren and Bridgette’s old bedroom swings open. Bridgette is standing in a towel, sopping wet from the shower. Her eyes scan the table until she finds Warren, and then she tosses something at him, hitting him in the chest. Whatever it is falls onto his plate. Then the door slams.