13. Bridger
13
brIDGER
“ N ot getting your number was a huge oversight,” Saige calls as she pushes open the gate and walks onto my patio a couple of nights later. Her confidence seems to be back, the badass woman that had gotten my blood pumping stalking into my yard.
“You didn’t ask for it,” I tell her, noting the way her leggings hug her curves, her ass at eye level and completely bitable as she stands next to the lounge chair.
Like I’ve offered her a challenge, she sets the small cooler in her hand on the ground before grabbing another lounger and pulling it next to me. “Bridger?”
“Yeah?” One hand fisted on my thigh and the other strangling my beer bottle, I watch as she lowers herself down into the chair, her body turned to face me.
“Can I have your phone number?”
“Uh-huh,” I manage, picking my phone up from where I set it on the ground and unlocking it before handing it to her. “You gotta put it under Beautiful.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“But that’s what I call you.”
“And how many others?” She waves her hand in front of her face like she didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Don’t answer that.”
“Saige, I’ve told other women they’re beautiful, but I’ve never wanted to reserve it for one woman like I do for you.”
She lets out an adorable little growl as she stabs at the screen, her dark hair falling in loose waves in front of her face.
“Here,” she says as she hands my phone back. “I brought snacks.”
“What kind of snacks?”
“Girl dinner snacks.”
“Is that the stuff you put on one of those fancy wood boards?”
“Charcuterie?”
“Sure,” I reply because I’m not sure I can even pronounce it.
“Yeah, it’s cheese, olives, veggies, crackers, salami—things like that.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Ah, but I did the work for you,” she says, her perfume a light floral mixed with the faintest hint of sunscreen. It shouldn’t be alluring but it is— she is.
“Selfless,” I tease, as she pulls everything out and hands me a little plate.
“Did you have fun with your sister?”
“Are you asking if we talked about what happened the other night?”
“I’m asking if your sister hates me.”
“I think hate is a strong word,” I say carefully.
“It’s fair. I probably wouldn’t like me either.”
“I’m sure Wells feels the same about me right now.”
“I didn’t talk to him—or anyone for that matter.”
“What?” I ask, both surprised and a little sad that she’d obviously been hurting and had just gone through it alone.
“I’m not much of a sharer,” she replies flippantly. “I’m glad you have Lettie, though. You guys seem close.”
“We always have been and she’s protective, but after we almost lost our father a little over a year ago, everything kind of shifted—being more present with each other, you know? I’d like to spend more time with my parents, but they won’t even let me fly them down here. That’s a whole other issue.”
“How’s your father now?” she asks, her voice wobbling just a little.
“He’s doing great. And before you ask, it started as a routine hip surgery that turned septic. We all flew in to be there—me and Lettie, and when Corbin found out he dropped everything to be with us.”
“What’s going on with those two?”
I snort. “I think she’s mad at him so they probably hooked up.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” Her tone is laced with disbelief.
“Nah, they’ll come to me when they’re ready, or they’ll work it out and I won’t have to be involved. But either way, they’ll get past their shit and see that they’re perfect for each other.”
“How are you always so optimistic?”
“I like being happy. And I like the people around me to be happy.” The words are simple, so matter-of-fact, that I can’t help but smile. “What makes you happy?” I murmur as my gaze locks on hers.
“Live music,” she admits. “Billy Joel was my first concert.”
“What?” I ask, catching the sweet scent of her shampoo as she turns her head to look at me.
“My first concert. My parents got me tickets for Christmas when I was ten. It was the absolute best day of my life. I knew every song, and it felt like the energy in that stadium was a living, breathing thing.” Looking up at the stars, she adds, “It was addictive.”
I hear what she’s saying, but I don’t want to share my truths—not really.
“I took Lettie to see One Direction,” I tell her, exhaling and wishing she was sitting on this lounger instead of the one next to me. “I’d been to some small shows—local bands and whatever—but that was the first actual concert I went to. I mowed a bunch of lawns so I could get us matching T-shirts.”
“That’s really cute.”
“Pretty sure she still has hers.” Chuckling, I add, “Speaking of T-shirts…”
“Hmm?”
“I heard I’ve been shoved into the back of your closet.”
Chuffing out a laugh, she shakes her head. “That girl is my favorite, but she can be terrible at keeping secrets.”
“She’s pretty awesome. Hit me with like twenty rapid-fire questions when I went to the bar to talk to Wells.”
“That definitely sounds like her.”
“Are you gonna tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Is my shirt out of time-out yet?”
“It’s not your shirt; it’s a TCA shirt that I happen to like.”
“Uh-huh, and…”
“And it is still located in the back of my closet.”
“Ouch.” I chuckle.
“Are you saying I should go rescue it instead of sitting out here with you?”
“Not a chance, Beautiful. Not a damn chance.”