Maybe Now
Page 59
There isn’t a thing I could signs or words I could say that could top the meaning in what he just spoke to me.
I reach over and hit play on our song again. He grins as I clasp my hands behind his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, and we dance.
I wanted to send Brennan a rough cut of the song Sydney and I wrote tonight, but I needed my laptop to do it. Which is why we just showed up at my apartment and placed ourselves in this horrible predicament.
Us, standing at the door.
Warren’s ass, staring back at us from the couch.
It’s so…pale.
Sydney spins around as soon as we walk through the apartment door. She’s covering her eyes, even though she’s not facing the direction of Warren’s ass anymore. She’s shaking her head like she wishes she could unsee what she just saw. I wish that, too.
I think Bridgette might be yelling now. Thank God I can’t hear it. All I see is Warren covering her up with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. Mental note to wash that blanket tomorrow.
Warren covers his junk with a throw pillow. Wash the pillow, too.
“Knock much?” he signs.
“Lock doors much?” I sign back. I grab Sydney’s hand and pull her to my bedroom. When we’re safe from Warren’s nudity, she finally opens her eyes.
“I’m never sitting on that couch again,” she says, walking to my dresser. She kicks off her flip-flops. I point to the restroom, and she nods. Right before I walk away, she says, “I’m gonna borrow sunblock.”
I’m in the bathroom with the door shut before I realize what she said didn’t make sense. Or at least I didn’t read her lips right. Sunblock? It’s nighttime. She doesn’t need sunblock. What did she say if she didn’t say sunblock?
Some socks.
She’s gonna borrow some socks.
Shit! The ring!
I swing open the bathroom door, but it’s too late. The sock drawer is open. The box is in her hands. The box is open, and she’s looking down at the engagement ring with a hand covering her mouth.
My old landlord texted me this morning and said she had some of my mail, so I decided to drive to San Antonio to meet up with Jake rather than have him drive to Austin. I texted him after I picked up my mail to let him know he didn’t have to come to me for dinner. He responded almost immediately with his address. That text was followed by another that read, Key under the rock next to the grill on the back patio. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.
That was seven hours ago.
He’s texted several times since then, apologizing profusely. He got called into an emergency surgery. I keep reassuring him that it’s fine. I even offered to come back another time, but he made me swear I wouldn’t leave before he got home.
So…in an attempt to make hanging out for seven hours in the home of a guy I’m not officially dating a little less strange, I’ve kept myself busy. I think I underestimated Jake’s honesty when he said he was a messy person. Because…even after a trip to the store for cleaning supplies and hours of straight work…this place still isn’t spotless. I’ve done four loads of laundry, two loads of dishes, made his bed for what I’m sure is the first time ever, scrubbed both bathrooms, and now I’m prepping dinner.
I came to his house prepared to stay the night. I’m not sure if that’s something he’ll ask me to do, but just in case, I brought my medications, an extra set of clothes, and my respiratory vest. The thought of using it in front of him is embarrassing, but the thought of avoiding my responsibilities and ending up sick again would be even more embarrassing.
I do get the feeling he’ll want me to stay the night. Our texts started getting flirty a couple of hours ago. The last text I sent him was a picture of my hand touching his sparkling clean kitchen sink, and he responded with, That is the sexiest fucking picture I’ve ever seen.
I’m layering the cheese on the pizza when I hear his key in the front door. When he opens it, I get this tiny little quiver inside my stomach. It’s so dumb, but I like him so much. It helps that he’s fun to look at. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and a light blue shirt with a black tie. And a smile. He tries to take in his kitchen as he walks closer to me, but his eyes keep falling back to mine. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he’s been waiting for this moment all day.
“Do you wear scrubs at work?”
He tosses his keys on the counter. “Yes. Most days, but I keep them at work. Sterilization purposes.” He begins to undo his tie while he stares at me. “You should move in with me.”
I laugh at his deadpan humor. “No, thank you. I have no plans to be your maid.” I face the counter again and finish putting the toppings on the pizza.
Jake walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, missing the way he feels and smells. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “If you were my maid, I could pay you in orgasms.”
“After today, I think I’m already due one or two.”
He laughs against my neck. “Considering the pristine condition of my kitchen, I owe you quite a few.”
I toss the chopped onion onto the the pizza and wash my hands. He’s still behind me, his arms around me. “Are you spending the night?” He sounds hopeful.
I don’t want to seem desperate, so I fail to admit my change of clothes is already in his bedroom in my backpack. “We’ll play it by ear,” I tease.
I feel him shake his head, and then he spins me so that I’m facing him. “No, I say we go ahead and call it now. Stay the night.”
“Okay.” I’m way too easy. I move around him and slide the pizza onto the oven rack.
“How long does that take to cook?”
I close the oven door and turn around and face him. “About as long as it would take you to pay back one of the orgasms you owe me.”
Finally, he kisses me. Then he lifts me, carries me to his bedroom, and lays me on his perfectly made bed. He looks around for a moment when he realizes I also cleaned his bedroom. Then he leaves me lying on his bed while he walks to his bathroom. When he sees his spotless bathroom, he then walks toward his laundry room.
He eventually makes it back to the bed, where he crawls on top of me. “Maggie Carson.”
That’s all he says. Just my name, with a smile. And then he disappears from my line of sight as he makes his way down my body, to the button on my jeans.
He thanks me, and when he’s done, we still have five minutes to spare before the pizza’s ready.
“It’s not what you think,” Ridge says.
I lift my gaze and drop my hand from my mouth. “I think it’s an engagement ring. Is it not?”
Ridge shakes his head as he walks over to me and says, “No. Yes. I mean…it is, but it isn’t. It is an engagement ring…but…it isn’t yours.”
He’s treading very carefully, so it takes me a moment to realize why there’s nothing but a cautious, regretful look in his eyes. I look back down at the ring that isn’t meant for me. “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know you ever proposed to her.”
He shakes his head, almost adamantly. “I didn’t.”
The poor guy looks terrified of my potential reaction. What he can’t see is how fucking relieved I am. We haven’t even been officially dating for a whole month yet. If he had already bought me a ring with the intention of proposing, I probably would have cried, but not from feelings of joy. I’m pretty sure, based on how I’m feeling right now, I would have been scared. Which is weird. I love Ridge more than I could ever love anyone, and I would love to be his wife. I would love to be married to him. But I want to enjoy the stages of our relationship for as long as we can.
I would love to be his fiancée, but I love being his girlfriend just as much. I want more of the boyfriend/girlfriend thing before we move it to the next level.
I laugh, clutching my chest. My heart is beating so fast. “My God, Ridge. I thought you were about to propose to me.” I sit on the bed, still clutching the box. “I love you, but… Too soon.”
All the tension in his neck and jaw eases with my response. “Oh, thank God,” he says, running a hand down his face. But then he tries to quickly recover. “Not that I don’t want to propose to you. Just…yeah. Someday.”
I reach over and hit play on our song again. He grins as I clasp my hands behind his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, and we dance.
I wanted to send Brennan a rough cut of the song Sydney and I wrote tonight, but I needed my laptop to do it. Which is why we just showed up at my apartment and placed ourselves in this horrible predicament.
Us, standing at the door.
Warren’s ass, staring back at us from the couch.
It’s so…pale.
Sydney spins around as soon as we walk through the apartment door. She’s covering her eyes, even though she’s not facing the direction of Warren’s ass anymore. She’s shaking her head like she wishes she could unsee what she just saw. I wish that, too.
I think Bridgette might be yelling now. Thank God I can’t hear it. All I see is Warren covering her up with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. Mental note to wash that blanket tomorrow.
Warren covers his junk with a throw pillow. Wash the pillow, too.
“Knock much?” he signs.
“Lock doors much?” I sign back. I grab Sydney’s hand and pull her to my bedroom. When we’re safe from Warren’s nudity, she finally opens her eyes.
“I’m never sitting on that couch again,” she says, walking to my dresser. She kicks off her flip-flops. I point to the restroom, and she nods. Right before I walk away, she says, “I’m gonna borrow sunblock.”
I’m in the bathroom with the door shut before I realize what she said didn’t make sense. Or at least I didn’t read her lips right. Sunblock? It’s nighttime. She doesn’t need sunblock. What did she say if she didn’t say sunblock?
Some socks.
She’s gonna borrow some socks.
Shit! The ring!
I swing open the bathroom door, but it’s too late. The sock drawer is open. The box is in her hands. The box is open, and she’s looking down at the engagement ring with a hand covering her mouth.
My old landlord texted me this morning and said she had some of my mail, so I decided to drive to San Antonio to meet up with Jake rather than have him drive to Austin. I texted him after I picked up my mail to let him know he didn’t have to come to me for dinner. He responded almost immediately with his address. That text was followed by another that read, Key under the rock next to the grill on the back patio. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.
That was seven hours ago.
He’s texted several times since then, apologizing profusely. He got called into an emergency surgery. I keep reassuring him that it’s fine. I even offered to come back another time, but he made me swear I wouldn’t leave before he got home.
So…in an attempt to make hanging out for seven hours in the home of a guy I’m not officially dating a little less strange, I’ve kept myself busy. I think I underestimated Jake’s honesty when he said he was a messy person. Because…even after a trip to the store for cleaning supplies and hours of straight work…this place still isn’t spotless. I’ve done four loads of laundry, two loads of dishes, made his bed for what I’m sure is the first time ever, scrubbed both bathrooms, and now I’m prepping dinner.
I came to his house prepared to stay the night. I’m not sure if that’s something he’ll ask me to do, but just in case, I brought my medications, an extra set of clothes, and my respiratory vest. The thought of using it in front of him is embarrassing, but the thought of avoiding my responsibilities and ending up sick again would be even more embarrassing.
I do get the feeling he’ll want me to stay the night. Our texts started getting flirty a couple of hours ago. The last text I sent him was a picture of my hand touching his sparkling clean kitchen sink, and he responded with, That is the sexiest fucking picture I’ve ever seen.
I’m layering the cheese on the pizza when I hear his key in the front door. When he opens it, I get this tiny little quiver inside my stomach. It’s so dumb, but I like him so much. It helps that he’s fun to look at. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and a light blue shirt with a black tie. And a smile. He tries to take in his kitchen as he walks closer to me, but his eyes keep falling back to mine. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he’s been waiting for this moment all day.
“Do you wear scrubs at work?”
He tosses his keys on the counter. “Yes. Most days, but I keep them at work. Sterilization purposes.” He begins to undo his tie while he stares at me. “You should move in with me.”
I laugh at his deadpan humor. “No, thank you. I have no plans to be your maid.” I face the counter again and finish putting the toppings on the pizza.
Jake walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, missing the way he feels and smells. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “If you were my maid, I could pay you in orgasms.”
“After today, I think I’m already due one or two.”
He laughs against my neck. “Considering the pristine condition of my kitchen, I owe you quite a few.”
I toss the chopped onion onto the the pizza and wash my hands. He’s still behind me, his arms around me. “Are you spending the night?” He sounds hopeful.
I don’t want to seem desperate, so I fail to admit my change of clothes is already in his bedroom in my backpack. “We’ll play it by ear,” I tease.
I feel him shake his head, and then he spins me so that I’m facing him. “No, I say we go ahead and call it now. Stay the night.”
“Okay.” I’m way too easy. I move around him and slide the pizza onto the oven rack.
“How long does that take to cook?”
I close the oven door and turn around and face him. “About as long as it would take you to pay back one of the orgasms you owe me.”
Finally, he kisses me. Then he lifts me, carries me to his bedroom, and lays me on his perfectly made bed. He looks around for a moment when he realizes I also cleaned his bedroom. Then he leaves me lying on his bed while he walks to his bathroom. When he sees his spotless bathroom, he then walks toward his laundry room.
He eventually makes it back to the bed, where he crawls on top of me. “Maggie Carson.”
That’s all he says. Just my name, with a smile. And then he disappears from my line of sight as he makes his way down my body, to the button on my jeans.
He thanks me, and when he’s done, we still have five minutes to spare before the pizza’s ready.
“It’s not what you think,” Ridge says.
I lift my gaze and drop my hand from my mouth. “I think it’s an engagement ring. Is it not?”
Ridge shakes his head as he walks over to me and says, “No. Yes. I mean…it is, but it isn’t. It is an engagement ring…but…it isn’t yours.”
He’s treading very carefully, so it takes me a moment to realize why there’s nothing but a cautious, regretful look in his eyes. I look back down at the ring that isn’t meant for me. “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know you ever proposed to her.”
He shakes his head, almost adamantly. “I didn’t.”
The poor guy looks terrified of my potential reaction. What he can’t see is how fucking relieved I am. We haven’t even been officially dating for a whole month yet. If he had already bought me a ring with the intention of proposing, I probably would have cried, but not from feelings of joy. I’m pretty sure, based on how I’m feeling right now, I would have been scared. Which is weird. I love Ridge more than I could ever love anyone, and I would love to be his wife. I would love to be married to him. But I want to enjoy the stages of our relationship for as long as we can.
I would love to be his fiancée, but I love being his girlfriend just as much. I want more of the boyfriend/girlfriend thing before we move it to the next level.
I laugh, clutching my chest. My heart is beating so fast. “My God, Ridge. I thought you were about to propose to me.” I sit on the bed, still clutching the box. “I love you, but… Too soon.”
All the tension in his neck and jaw eases with my response. “Oh, thank God,” he says, running a hand down his face. But then he tries to quickly recover. “Not that I don’t want to propose to you. Just…yeah. Someday.”
