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“You’re her beard.”
“Yes.”
“All this time?”
“All this time.” I sighed.
“And Bridget?”
“Right person, wrong fucking time.”
“Call her.”
“I have! Jesus. I’ve called, texted, emailed. Nothing.”
“Okay, calm down.” When I growled, he added, “Or don’t. It was like, two days and all, but you love her, don’t you?”
I tried to explain how I felt to Dex, in a way he’d specifically understand. “If love feels like someone hit you in the chest with a slapshot, then yeah.”
41
BRIDGET
* * *
I woke up when the side of my bed dipped.
“Leave me alone,” I mumbled, snuggling into my covers even further.
“Let me ask you something.”
It was Mal.
I pushed the pillow out of the way and reached for my glasses.
“What?” It came out as a one-word grumble.
No doubt I had horrible morning breath. If she got a whiff of it, that was her problem, not mine. I wanted to be left alone.
“What do you think your boss–the pervert, I mean–is doing right now?”
That was not a question I expected. I pushed up and leaned against my headboard. “What?”
“What do you think he’s doing right now?”
Really?
I pushed my hair out of my face and my fingers got caught on a snarl. It had fallen out of the hair tie yesterday and I hadn’t bothered to do anything about it. “It’s a little early, but probably at a strip club deciding if he likes a woman’s tits or ass better.”
She pursed her lips but nodded. “I can see that.”
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“My point is, he’s not thinking of you. At all. Same goes for Professor Dipshit. They got what they wanted and moved on.”
Depressing, much? “Is this a motivational speech, because it’s not really making me feel all that great.”
“If Maverick James is going to be lumped in with those two assholes, then he’s not thinking of you either.”
