Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(6)
Author: Colleen Hoover

Holy shit. Please say the name, please say the name. I have to know the name of this porn.

“Okay, okay,” the girl says, laughing. “I’ll stop bringing it up if you can promise I’ll be out of the dorms in three months.”

Bridgette shakes her head. “You know I don’t make promises. And are you forgetting about the time we tried living together for three months? Because I’m still shocked either of us came out alive. We get along better with distance, and you’re better off in the dorms, believe me.”

“Ugh. I know you’re right,” the girl says. “I just need to get off my ass and get a job. How’s that Hooters gig working out for you?”

Bridgette scoffs. “It’s the worst job I’ve ever had.” She turns around to pick up her phone and her eyes meet mine. I don’t even try to hide the fact that I was listening to her conversation. She glares at me as she picks up the phone and holds it to her mouth. “I’ll call you later, Brandi.” She ends her call and slaps her phone against the counter. “What’s your problem?”

I shrug. “Nothing,” I say, straightening up and walking toward the kitchen.

Don’t look at her shorts, don’t look at her shorts.

“I just didn’t realize you were capable of normal human interaction.”

Bridgette rolls her eyes and picks up the plate of food she just finished preparing. She begins walking toward her bedroom. “I can be pleasant to people who deserve it.”

When she reaches her door, she turns around and faces me. “I need you to drop me off at work in an hour. My car’s in the shop.” She disappears into her bedroom.

I grimace, because for some reason, the thought of taking her to work excites me, and my excitement disappoints me. I feel like I’m two different people right now. I’m a guy who finds his new roommate insanely attractive, but I’m also a guy who can’t stand to be around his bitchy new roommate.

I’m also a guy who’s about to do some heavy research into the porn industry, because I have to find that movie. Have to. It’s all I’m gonna be able to think about until I see it with my own eyes.

• • •

“What’s Bridgette’s last name?” I ask Brennan. I’ve texted him five times in the last half hour, trying to figure it out, but he hasn’t texted me back, so now I’m on the phone with him. I’m sure a little Google search of her name could help me find the title.

“Cox. Why?”

I laugh. “Bridgette Cox? Seriously?”

There’s a pause on his end of the line. “What’s so funny? And why do you need her last name?”

“No reason,” I say. “Thanks.”

I hang up the phone without giving him an explanation. The last thing Brennan needs to know is that his possible sister was in a porn film.

But Cox? That’s way too easy.

I spend the next fifteen minutes googling her name, looking for anything porn-related. I come up empty-handed. She must have used a fake name.

I slam my laptop shut when my bedroom door swings open. “Let’s go,” she says.

I stand up and slip on my shoes. “Ever heard of knocking?” I ask as I follow her through the living room.

“Really, Warren? Coming from the guy who’s walked in on me in the bathroom no less than three times in the past two weeks?”

“Ever heard of locking doors?” I say in response.

She doesn’t reply as she makes her way outside. I grab my keys off the bar and follow her. I am curious as to why she never locks the doors when she’s in the shower. My first thought leads me to believe that maybe she likes it when I walk in on her. Why else would she leave them unlocked?

Come to think of it, she also wears that damn uniform way longer than she needs to. She puts it on a good two hours before going to work and she leaves it on just as long when she gets home. Most people spend as little time as possible in their work clothes, but Bridgette seems to like flaunting her ass in my face.

I pause at the bottom of the stairs and watch as her ass makes its way toward my car.

Holy shit. I think Bridgette is into me.

She turns around after she tries to open the locked door. She looks at me expectantly and I’m still frozen at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her, my mouth agape.

Bridgette likes me.

“Unlock the car, Warren. Jesus.”

I lift the key fob and point it at the car to unlock the doors. Bridgette slides into her seat and flips the visor down, fingering at her hair. A smile slowly spreads across my face as I make my way to the driver’s side.

Bridgette wants me.

This is gonna be fun.

After I back the car out, I keep half of my focus on the road and half of it on her legs. She has one propped up on the dash and she keeps running her hand up and down her thigh. I can’t tell if she’s doing it in a seductive way or because she likes the sound of her fingernails scraping over her pantyhose.

I have to adjust in my seat and swallow the lump in my throat, because we’ve never actually been this close before for this long. The tension is thick, and I can’t tell if it’s all mine or if it’s a shared tension. I clear my throat and do what I can to not make this the most awkward ten miles I’ve ever had to drive.

“So,” I say, attempting to think of something to break the ice. “Do you like your job?”

Bridgette laughs under her breath. “Yes, Warren. I love it. I love when disgusting old men grab my ass night after night, and I especially love it when drunk guys think my boobs are an accessory and not an extension of my body.”

I shake my head. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to speak to her. I exhale and don’t bother asking her any more questions. She’s impossible to talk to.

Silence engulfs the car for another two miles. I hear her sigh heavily and I turn and glance at her, but she’s staring out the window. “The tips are good,” she says quietly.

I smile and look back at the road. I smile, because I know that’s as close to an apology as Bridgette is capable of giving. “That’s good,” I say to her, my way of telling her I accept her apology.

We’re quiet until we reach her work. I stop out front and she gets out of the car and then leans down and looks at me. “I need you to pick me up at eleven tonight.”

She slams the door shut without saying please or thank you or goodbye. And even though she’s the most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met in real life, I can’t stop smiling.