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“You look good,” she mused, dropping her eyes to my drenched shirt, the sleeves cut off so it hung loose around my torso.
I knew that look. “What’s up, Bridge?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, cozying up next to me, her painted fingernail dragging along my shoulder. I stared down at her hand, tempted to push it away. We weren’t strangers but not exactly in a spot where she could show up like this either. “I just…” She drew an invisible little heart on my bicep. “I want to know where we’re going.”
“Where we’re going?”
“Yeah, we’ve been dating for a few months now.”
I didn’t thinkdatingwas the technical term for what we were doing. Friday night booty calls and occasional midweek hookups did not a relationship make, but I let it slide. She skimmed her finger down to my forearm. “I want to know how you feel about me.”
I backed away and shoved my fingers through my wet hair so her hand dropped from my arm. “You’re a good friend, Bridget.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, friends.” I checked the time. It was almost seven, and I needed to get rid of her. Gemma was going to be here soon. “I’m going to take a shower.” I moved to the door, but she didn’t take the hint.
“Jason, we’re more than friends. We’ve been going out for months,” she said, curling her fingertips over the waistband of my shorts. “I want you to admit it.” When she leaned in to kiss me, I leaped away from her, but my cell rang at the same time, leaving Bridget still by the table with my phone.
“I’ll get it.” She reached for it, her intent on demonstrating how much we were notjust friendsapparent. Before I could say otherwise, she answered in her syrupy voice. “Jason Mitchell’s phone.”
The volume was loud enough that I could hear Gemma on the other end. “Hello?”
“Hi, who’s this?” Bridget asked.
“It’s Gem. Is Jason there?”
I cringed at the waver in her voice.
“Yes, hold on a sec.” Bridget passed the phone off. “It’s some girl.”
I took it, stalking away from Bridget. “Gemma, hey, sorry about—”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight,” she said like it was all one word.
“Look, I know this—”
“I’m not really feeling well.”
“Gemma, I’m sorry. It’s not what—”
On the other end, she huffed. “It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. I’ll see you around.”
Then she ended the call, leaving me staring at my phone.
Bridget teased her hands over my back. “Who was that?”
“The daughter of Frank’s fiancée,” I said not hiding the frustration lacing my words. No doubt she was the reason Gemma bailed.
Not recognizing the problem she’d inadvertently caused, Bridget massaged my shoulders. “You said you wanted a shower. Can I join?”
I shrugged away from her hands, but she inched closer, snaking her arms around my neck. When she tried to kiss me, I pressed my hands against her shoulders, gently removing her grip on me. “Go home, Bridget.”
Put out, she tried one more time to kiss me, though I shook my head and ushered her out of the door before collapsing on my couch.
I fucked up.
And I suspected Gemma didn’t give second chances very often.
