“Good,” Bridgette says. “Because if I’m pregnant, you need to get a real job so you can raise this child.”
“You aren’t pregnant, Bridgette,” Warren says, rolling his eyes. “You craved a pickle. You’re so dramatic.”
This entire conversation is making me want to ensure Ridge and I use double the protection from now on. I take my birth control religiously, but there’s been a time or two that we haven’t used a condom. Never again, though.
Bridgette picks up one of the pregnancy tests and presses her hand against her forehead. “Oh, fuck.” She turns and tosses the stick toward Warren. It hits him in the cheek and then he fumbles as he tries to catch it.
“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?
I kiss him on the cheek and fold his arm over me as I snuggle against him. I wait to see if he speaks again, but he doesn’t. He just sleeps.
•••
I was awake by seven, but Ridge was still asleep. He woke up sometime in the middle of the night and took off his jeans and shoes, but then went right back to sleep.
I was making a pot of coffee when Warren walked out of his bedroom and told me to stop. “I’m treating you to breakfast, remember?” Then he went to wake up Ridge, but Ridge told him he needed two more hours of sleep.
“Let’s let him sleep,” I said. “Let me go change out of my pajamas and we can go.”
Warren told me no, that the place we’re going to eat actually requires pajamas.
I have no idea where we’re going, but Bridgette wanted to sleep in, so now it’s just me and Warren, going to breakfast in our pajamas to celebrate Bridgette’s negative pregnancy test. Without Bridgette.
Nope. Not weird at all.
“Did this restaurant just open?” I ask Warren. “Is that why I’ve never heard of it?” He told me earlier it was called Fastbreak Breakfast, but it doesn’t sound familiar.
“We’re not going to a restaurant.”
I glare at him from the passenger seat, just as he pulls into the driveway of a hotel and drives around to the side of the building. “Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the car. He takes his keys with him.
I sit and watch him as he stands next to the side entrance to the hotel. I start to text Ridge to ask him what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into, but before I can type out the text, a businessman walks out of the side door and doesn’t even notice as Warren grabs the door handle and holds the door open. He waves me out of the car, so I get out and follow him inside, shaking my head. It’s finally registered why he told me to wear pajamas. Because he wants it to look like we’re guests here.
“Are you kidding me, Warren? We’re sneaking into a free continental breakfast?”
He smiles. “Oh, it’s not just any free breakfast, Sydney. They have Texas-shaped waffles here.”
I can’t believe this is his idea of treating people to breakfast. “This is stealing,” I whisper, just as we walk into the breakfast area. He reaches for a plate and hands it to me, then grabs his own.
“Maybe so. But it doesn’t count against your track record because I’m the one who brought you here.”
We make our plates and take a seat at an area by the window that’s not visible to the front desk. For the first ten minutes, Warren talks about school, since I was so intrigued by the idea of him actually sitting in a study group. He’s majoring in management, which is something else that intrigues me. Baffles me, even. I can’t imagine him in a position where he’s in charge of other people, but I guess he does manage Sounds of Cedar pretty well.
“You aren’t pregnant, Bridgette,” Warren says, rolling his eyes. “You craved a pickle. You’re so dramatic.”
This entire conversation is making me want to ensure Ridge and I use double the protection from now on. I take my birth control religiously, but there’s been a time or two that we haven’t used a condom. Never again, though.
Bridgette picks up one of the pregnancy tests and presses her hand against her forehead. “Oh, fuck.” She turns and tosses the stick toward Warren. It hits him in the cheek and then he fumbles as he tries to catch it.
“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?
I kiss him on the cheek and fold his arm over me as I snuggle against him. I wait to see if he speaks again, but he doesn’t. He just sleeps.
•••
I was awake by seven, but Ridge was still asleep. He woke up sometime in the middle of the night and took off his jeans and shoes, but then went right back to sleep.
I was making a pot of coffee when Warren walked out of his bedroom and told me to stop. “I’m treating you to breakfast, remember?” Then he went to wake up Ridge, but Ridge told him he needed two more hours of sleep.
“Let’s let him sleep,” I said. “Let me go change out of my pajamas and we can go.”
Warren told me no, that the place we’re going to eat actually requires pajamas.
I have no idea where we’re going, but Bridgette wanted to sleep in, so now it’s just me and Warren, going to breakfast in our pajamas to celebrate Bridgette’s negative pregnancy test. Without Bridgette.
Nope. Not weird at all.
“Did this restaurant just open?” I ask Warren. “Is that why I’ve never heard of it?” He told me earlier it was called Fastbreak Breakfast, but it doesn’t sound familiar.
“We’re not going to a restaurant.”
I glare at him from the passenger seat, just as he pulls into the driveway of a hotel and drives around to the side of the building. “Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the car. He takes his keys with him.
I sit and watch him as he stands next to the side entrance to the hotel. I start to text Ridge to ask him what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into, but before I can type out the text, a businessman walks out of the side door and doesn’t even notice as Warren grabs the door handle and holds the door open. He waves me out of the car, so I get out and follow him inside, shaking my head. It’s finally registered why he told me to wear pajamas. Because he wants it to look like we’re guests here.
“Are you kidding me, Warren? We’re sneaking into a free continental breakfast?”
He smiles. “Oh, it’s not just any free breakfast, Sydney. They have Texas-shaped waffles here.”
I can’t believe this is his idea of treating people to breakfast. “This is stealing,” I whisper, just as we walk into the breakfast area. He reaches for a plate and hands it to me, then grabs his own.
“Maybe so. But it doesn’t count against your track record because I’m the one who brought you here.”
We make our plates and take a seat at an area by the window that’s not visible to the front desk. For the first ten minutes, Warren talks about school, since I was so intrigued by the idea of him actually sitting in a study group. He’s majoring in management, which is something else that intrigues me. Baffles me, even. I can’t imagine him in a position where he’s in charge of other people, but I guess he does manage Sounds of Cedar pretty well.
