Maybe Not (Maybe #1.5)(25)
Author: Colleen Hoover

“When she said that, it made me feel . . . happy. And I realized that I’m never happy. I was an unhappy child and I’m an unhappy adult and nothing in my life makes me feel the way you do. So I just . . . I think that’s what this feeling is. I think I’m falling in love with you.”

A small droplet of a tear escapes from the corner of her eye and as much as I want to bottle it up and save it for all of eternity, I pretend not to notice it, because I know that’s what she would prefer. I kiss her lips again before pulling back and looking her directly in the eyes. “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

She smiles and reaches her hand up to the back of my head, slowly pulling my mouth to hers. She kisses me softly and then gently pushes me onto my back. She eases herself on top of me and presses her hands against my chest.

“I think I should clarify that I never said I was in love with you. I just said I was falling in love with you. There’s a difference.”

I grab her by the hips and pull her closer. “The only difference between falling in love and being in love is that your heart already knows how you feel, but your mind is too stubborn to admit it.” Then I whisper in her ear. “But take all the time you need. I have nothing but patience for you.”

“Good, because I’m not telling you I love you yet. Because I don’t. I might be on my way to that point, but anything could derail that.”

I can’t help but smile and kiss her after that little disclaimer.

After a few more minutes of kissing, she turns her head to the side and holds up a finger, silently asking me to stop. She pulls away and sits up on the bed, hugging her knees. She lays her head on her arms and squeezes her eyes shut. She’s quiet for several moments, and her reaction is unusual for her. She looks guilty. She doesn’t ever look guilty because she’s always too angry to feel any sense of guilt.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her.

She quickly shakes her head. “I’m the worst person in the world,” she whispers. She turns her head toward mine, slowly. I don’t like the look on her face.

She begins to scoot off the bed and I feel my heart dragging behind her. “It was a prank, Warren,” she says softly as she stands.

I rise up onto my elbows. “What do you mean?”

She turns to face me and her eyes are so full of shame, she can’t even look at me without wincing. “I was trying to get back at you for letting me think Sydney was deaf.” She opens the bathroom door and looks down at her feet. “I said all that because I was mad at you, not because it’s really how I feel. I’m not falling in love with you, Warren.”

I think you’re standing on my heart, Bridgette.

She glances over her shoulder into the bathroom, and then back at me. “I didn’t mean to take it that far. This is really awkward. I’m gonna go back to my room now.” She closes the door behind her.

I’m too numb to feel. Too numb to move. Too numb to process the words that just came out of her mouth. My throat hurts, my stomach hurts, my chest hurts, even my fucking lungs hurt and oh, my God, it hurts so much.

I fall back to the bed and bring two fists to my forehead.

“Hey, Warren,” she says from the doorway.

I look up at her and she still looks just as guilty. She waves her hand back and forth between us. “That whole thing that just happened? That was . . .” Her frown transforms into a shit-eating grin. “That was actually the prank!”

She runs and jumps on the bed, and begins dancing around me. “You should have seen your face!” She’s laughing and jumping, bouncing every aching part of me up and down on the bed.

I want to kill her.

She falls to her knees and leans over me, pressing her lips to mine. When she pulls back, I don’t want to kill her anymore. My whole body is miraculously healed by her smile. I feel better than I’ve ever felt. I feel stronger, more alive, happier, and somehow more in love with her than I was five minutes ago. I pull her against me. “That was a really good prank, Bridgette.”

She laughs. “I know. It was the best.”

I nod. “It really was.”

I hold her for several quiet minutes, replaying the entire scene in my head. “God, you’re such a bitch.”

She laughs again. “I know. A bitch who finally met the right asshole.”

Chapter Eleven

Guess who woke up in Bridgette’s bed again this morning?

Me.

And guess who’ll be falling asleep in Bridgette’s bed tonight?

That’s right. Me.

Both of those things are great, but not as great as this moment. Right now.

We’re both seated on the couch, and she’s lying between my legs with her head on my chest. We’re watching a movie where the actors actually stay dressed for the entire film. But it’s not really important what film it is, because Bridgette’s cuddling with me.

This is a first, and it’s incredible, and I love how she makes me appreciate such simple, mundane things.

Both of us glance at the door when we hear a key being inserted into the lock. The door opens and Brennan walks in. I immediately sit up on the couch, because he’s supposed to be in Dallas tonight. He has a show tomorrow, and I’m positive I booked him a hotel for the right night.

Bridgette sits up on the couch and looks at him. He smiles at her, but it’s a forced smile. He reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper. He holds it up. “This came today,” he says.

Bridgette squeezes my hand and that’s when I realize he’s holding the test results. I’ve known Brennan long enough to know by his reaction that he’s not happy about the results. I just don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing for Bridgette.

“Just tell me,” she whispers.

Brennan looks down at his feet and then up to me. The look in his eyes is enough for Bridgette to know that she’s not any closer to figuring out who her real father is than she was a few months ago.

She inhales a deep breath, and then stands up. She mutters a “thank you” to Brennan and begins heading toward her bedroom, but he grabs her by the arm and pulls her to him. He wraps his arms around her and gives her a hug, but in true Bridgette fashion, she doesn’t allow it to last more than two seconds. She begins to cry, and I know that Bridgette doesn’t want anyone to see her cry. She ducks her head and rushes to her room.

Brennan tosses the paper on the counter and runs his hands through his hair. “This sucks, man,” he says. “I felt like she really needed it to be true, and instead, it just adds to all the shit she’s had to deal with her whole life.”