11. Saige
11
SAIGE
“ T hanks for walking me home,” I say, pushing my nerves away as Bridger shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts and rocks back on his heels.
He’s awkward and unsettled, the lightness in his eyes absent as he looks at me and then looks away. “Sure.”
“Bridger, I?—”
“Listen,” he says, cutting me off, the single word so much heavier than I anticipated, “I appreciate you sharing what you did, but maybe it’s best if we just figure out how to be neighbors—be civil and all that while I’m here.”
While I’m here.
Swallowing hard, I stand a little taller and force myself to say the words. “I don’t want to just be your neighbor.”
He shrugs. “I don’t like games so I’m done chasing you. I don’t want to be the guy you’re constantly wondering about when I’m on stage. I don’t want to defend myself because you can’t get over something that happened in your past. I won’t be some stereotype.” Pulling his hands from his pockets, he drags them down his face, his expression almost pained when he says, “And honestly, Saige, I’m fucking hurt. But that’s my problem. I thought you’d see me but you don’t. And it’s fine…and we’re all good so, goodnight, I guess.”
He takes a step back and then another, and my heart hammers in my chest. “Then it’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what?”
“To chase you.” The words sort of tumble out, but I don’t want to take them back.
Bridger snorts. “Why?” He spreads his arms wide. “Why now?”
Closing the distance between us, I resist the urge to touch him, to fist his shirt in my hands and pull him close. “Because I didn’t trust myself and I still don’t know if I do now, but”—I don’t look away—“that’s my problem.”
“Doesn’t that just mean that we’re not right for each other?” he says, his voice low and a little husky. “Why bother if it’s just going to crash and burn?”
I open my mouth and then close it again, blinking hard to keep my traitorous tears at bay, the realization hitting that I’d been too stubborn—too scared—to take a chance on something real with the man in front of me. I’d been a bitch, tonight especially, when all he’d ever been was nice.
“I’m sorry I hurt you tonight. And I’m sorry I didn’t know how to say yes,” I whisper, unable to meet his gaze. I’m sorry I was too cold, too broken and jaded to try again.
“Dammit, don't cry.” He sighs, his hand reaching for me as I swipe the lone tear away, embarrassment joining self-loathing and shame in the pit of my stomach. He shouldn’t see me like this.
“I’m not.”
“Saige.”
“Do I have a chance to fix this or not?” I ask, steeling myself for the rejection I deserve but hoping with every fiber in my being it doesn’t come. I haven’t wanted this in so long it feels like I’ve forgotten how to do it at all.
“What do you want?”
“You if you’re willing to let me try.”
“I don’t want to play games.”
“No games, but it doesn’t mean you’re not a prize,” I say, going for levity and silently cheering when his lips twitch the slightest bit.
“Cute.”
“You are.”
“Seriously, where was this ”—he motions between us—“earlier? I mean, we could’ve been making out somewhere by now.”
“I know, I just?—”
“Wow, didn’t even refute the making out thing.”
“I forget that people have feelings sometimes.”
“Okay…”
“I told you I wanted to put you in that box with my ex because he didn’t have any. The people we hung out with didn’t either, and even though the logical part of me knows that entire time in my life was toxic—the relationships, the environment, just everything— tonight I didn’t want to use logic.”
“I think you wanted to make this better but it’s getting worse,” he says like he’s hoping I’ll save us both by stopping. But I can’t. If he’s going to want to see me after tonight, he needs it all.
“That’s what I mean, though. I haven’t been that person in a long time, and I try really hard not to be. But when you moved in, all of it came flooding back, and I’ve been trying so hard to keep it at bay.”
“I’m still not him, Saige; I’m not any of them.”
“I know, but do you think they weren’t charming? Persuasive? I’ve seen it all, and the only way I know how to protect myself now is to be closed off and suspicious.”
“Yeah, well, I like that version too.”
“But I didn’t want to like you.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, canting his head slightly to the side. “But you do.”
“Yes.”
His grin is slow as it moves across his face, a subtle victory dance for the admission.
“So, what now?”
“Now, I’m going to go inside and soak in the tub while I figure out how to date the bass player from TCA.”
“Had to throw in the part about the bath, didn’t you?”
“I could have added the part about getting myself off too, but I didn’t want to compromise your sweet sensibilities,” I taunt, making him groan and take another step back.
“You’re not gonna tempt me to get out of doing the work.” He says the words, but his tone is disbelieving like he’s not quite on board with them either.
“I’m not afraid of putting in the work, Band Camp.”
“I guess we’ll see now, won’t we?”
“I guess we will.”