She points to me. “Guy, this is Warren. Warren, this is Guy.”
I look at him. At all six-metro-sexual-douchebag-feet of him. “Your name is Guy?”
He doesn’t respond. He just looks at Bridgette like he’s a little uncomfortable that he just walked into her apartment and a guy is sitting on her couch. I bet he’d be really uncomfortable to know what I was doing on this same couch with Bridgette just twenty-four hours ago.
“Warren,” Bridgette says in a sickeningly fake, sweet voice. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?” She glances toward my bedroom, silently asking if I’ll go wait it out in there while she flirts in my living room with Guy. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s doing this on purpose. She’s testing me, and I’m about to ace this test.
“Sure will, Bridgette,” I say with a smile. I stand up and walk over to Guy, reaching out for his hand. “Good to meet you,” I say to him. He smiles and his apprehension eases when he sees I’ve loosened up. “You kiddos have fun. I’ll leave the bathroom door unlocked in case either of you needs to use it.” I point toward the bathroom, planting the seed.
Please, let him have to use the restroom. Please.
Bridgette can see that my last comment was out of character. She squints her eyes at me as I retreat to my room. I close the door and stay right next to it. I’m not about to miss a second of this. If she’s going to try and test me or torture me by bringing another guy home, she has to expect I’ll eavesdrop on their entire conversation.
I stand with my ear pressed to the door for at least fifteen minutes. In those fifteen minutes, I hear him go on and on about everything he’s good at.
Baseball.
Football.
Tennis.
Trivia. (He actually forced her to quiz him.)
Work. (He’s a salesman. He’s the best, apparently. Highest sales for the last four quarters.)
He’s a world traveler, of course.
He speaks French, of course.
Bridgette yawns four times during their conversation. I feel like this act she’s putting on is exhausting her more than it is me.
“Mind if I use your restroom?” Guy says.
Finally.
A few seconds later, I hear the door close to the restroom and I immediately open my bedroom door and walk to the kitchen. Bridgette is seated on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table. “You look bored to death,” I tell her.
“He’s riveting,” she says with a fake smile. “I’m having so much fun, I’ll probably ask him to stay the night.”
I smile, knowing that won’t happen. “He’ll never agree to that, Bridgette,” I tell her. “In fact,” I look down at my wrist and tap it. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be leaving as soon as he exits the restroom.”
She sits up straight on the couch and then comes to a quick stand. She stalks over to me, pointing her finger, pushing it against my chest. “What did you do, Warren?”
The bathroom door opens and Guy walks out. Bridgette faces him with her obnoxious, fake smile. “Want to hang out in my room?” she says, walking toward him.
He glances at me and I shake my head, quickly. For all he knows, I’m just warning him, man-to-man, that he better run while he still can.
I can tell he’s terrified after seeing what all I’ve planted in the restroom. He glances at the door and back at Bridgette. “Actually, I was just about to leave,” he says. “I’ll call you.”
The next few seconds are the most awkward seconds I’ve ever seen play out between two people. He reaches in for a handshake, she goes in for a hug, he backs away, afraid she’s about to try to kiss him, and his eyes grow wide with fear. He rushes around her and heads straight for the door. “Nice to meet you, Warren. I’ll call you later, Bridgette.”
And he’s gone.
She slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are as sharp as diamonds. I’m scared they’re sharp enough to slit my throat. I wipe the smile from my face and walk toward my bedroom. “Goodnight, Bridgette.”
Nice try, Bridgette.
Nice try.
• • •
“Son of a bitch!”
My bathroom door swings open and she marches straight toward my bed. I was studying, but I quickly throw my books aside when I see her coming at me. She jumps onto the bed, standing, and walks across it. She holds her hands up in the air and that’s when I notice she’s holding something. I notice it too late, though, because the cream squirts out of the tube and onto the top of my head.
“Hemorrhoid cream?” she yells, tossing it aside. She grabs another tube of cream that was tucked under her arm.