Whitney is pointing at Conner and looking at me, “Did he just say . . .”
I nod. “I think he did, Whit. You need to watch your language around your kids.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and head for the front door.
Bridgette is standing over Brody, looking down at him. “Seriously impressive.”
He’s in the exact same position we left him in. “I told you he dies better than anyone I know.” I step over him and hold the front door open for her. We walk outside and she doesn’t even flinch or pull away when I slide my hand through hers. I walk her to the passenger side door, but before I open it, I turn her to face me and I press her against the car. My hand touches her forehead and I wipe away a wisp of hair.
“I never thought I wanted kids,” she says, glancing back at the house.
“But you do now?”
She shakes her head. “No, not really. But maybe if I could have Conner. At that age, for like a year, maybe two. Then I’d probably get tired of him and not want him anymore, but a year or two out of my life might be fun.”
I laugh. “So why don’t you kidnap him and bring him back when he’s five?”
She faces me again. “But you would know it was me who took him.”
I smile down at her. “I would never tell. I like you better than I like him.”
She shakes her head. “You love your sister too much to do that to her. It would never work. We’d have to kidnap someone else’s kid.”
I sigh. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, we should probably kidnap a celebrity’s kid. That way we could get ransom out of it and never have to work again. We could give the kid back, take the money, and spend the rest of our lives having sex all day.”
Bridgette smiles. “You’re so romantic, Warren. No other guy has ever promised me a kidnapping and ransom.”
I tilt her chin up so that her mouth is positioned closer to mine. “Like I said, you just haven’t met the right asshole.” I press my lips to hers and kiss her, briefly. I keep it PG in case Brody has come back to life and is watching us.
I reach behind her and open the door. She walks around me to climb inside, but before she does, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek.
To Brody or anyone else watching, that was just a kiss on the cheek. But knowing Bridgette like I know her, that was a whole lot more than just a kiss. That was her saying she doesn’t need anyone else.
That kiss on the cheek means we’re official.
That kiss on the cheek means I have a girlfriend.
Chapter Ten
“So you think it’s official because she kissed you on the cheek?” Sydney says, confused. She doesn’t get it. She’s like everyone else and sees Bridgette at face value, which is fine. Bridgette gives people a pretty rough face value, and that’s Bridgette’s right.
I stop trying to explain to Sydney my relationship with Bridgette. Besides, I kind of like that no one gets it. And even though we had this really crazy, non-sexual experience with the hand-holding and the cheek kissing the other day, it hasn’t affected us in the bedroom. In fact, last night we moved past the slow and steady streak we’ve been on and played out a fantasy of mine that involved her Hooters uniform.
“You should try to get a job at Hooters,” I tell Sydney. I know she’s been looking for work, and even though it doesn’t seem up her alley, the tips really are good.
“No thanks,” she says. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in those shorts.”
“They’re actually very nice shorts. Soft. Stretchy. You’d be surprised. And last night when Bridgette was pretending she was serving me a platter of hot wings, I reached down and . . .”
“Warren,” Sydney says. “Stop. I don’t care. How many times do I have to tell you I don’t care about your sex life?”
I frown. Ridge doesn’t really like to hear about it, either, and I can’t tell Bridgette because she’s a part of the story and it would just be redundant. I miss Brennan. He always listened.
Bridgette’s bedroom door opens, and I watch as her eyes search the living room for me. I can see a hint of a smile, but she’s good at making sure I’m the only one who sees it.
“Good morning, Bridgette,” I say to her. “Sleep well?”
Her eyes fall on Sydney, who’s seated next to me on the couch again. She looks away, but not before I see a flash of hurt on her face.
“Screw you, Warren,” Bridgette says, turning her attention toward the refrigerator.
Still, after holding hands and kissing my cheek, she thinks I’d ever mess with another girl?