“I just need to grab my blow-drier and stuff.” I hand him the towels, then scoot around him into the bathroom to get the things I’ll need to finish getting ready. Once I have everything in hand, I leave him to figure out the shower on his own.
Chapter 3
Bridgett
Fancy Gadgets and Shiny Objects
With my belly full of butterflies that refuse to settle, I open the door to the hall bathroom. I heard Noah walk past the door about five minutes ago while I was doing my makeup, so I know the coast is clear.
I scoot down to my room, close the door, and then head for the closet to find something to wear. I settle on a pair of jeans and a cream sweater with ankle boots that match, then tie a scarf around my neck and grab my jacket before leaving the room. When I reach the end of the hall, I find Noah sitting on the couch, dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers, with a baseball cap on his head. Where he even buys clothes to fit his large frame is a mystery to me.
“Ready?” he asks, and I realize I’m staring at him like some kind of idiot.
“Yeah, sorry. I just need to grab my phone.” I quickly go to the kitchen to unplug it and turn it on. As soon as the cell comes to life, a message from my ex appears on the screen, probably from last night.
Conner: The car belongs to me. It’s in my name. I don’t give a fuck what your lawyer has to say about it.
I grit my teeth and open our chat to write him back.
Me: YOUR car was totaled last night after I was carjacked. You can call the police station and figure out where to pick it up.
“Everything okay?” I jump at the question and turn to face Noah, realizing that in my frustration, I forgot he was here.
“Yep, just texting Conner about the car situation since I didn’t get a chance to do it last night.” I tuck my phone into my bag and look up, finding Noah studying me closely. Really, the guy must be the best interrogator among the people he works with because just one look from him would have me spilling my whole life story in seconds. Like that kid in The Goonies who told the puking story when he was picked up by the bad guys after his friends. “I’m ready if you are.”
He steps to the side, and I walk to the door as he grabs his bag from the floor next to the couch. When we get outside, I lock up. But instead of heading for the parking lot, he stands behind me like some kind of oversized sentinel, making me feel awkward. When I’m done, we walk down the sidewalk. Having seen his truck before I’m not surprised by its size. If he were a different man, I would assume he was attempting to make up for some physical attributes he lacks, but the lifted black-on-black 4x4 fits him perfectly. And, really, he would look odd getting into a smaller vehicle.
Instead of going right to the driver’s side, he walks me to the passenger door and opens it for me to get in. It takes a couple of tries to get my ass up into the seat, but when I finally do, he closes the door before heading around the truck bed. As I put on my seat belt, I look around the interior. There’s not an upgrade in sight, and something about that causes me to relax. He’s a normal guy—just a nice, normal guy—not one impressed by fancy gadgets and shiny objects.
“Where do you want to eat?” I ask as soon as he opens the door, before he even has a chance to get behind the wheel.
“Have you been to Maple Biscuits?” he asks, and I shake my head. He flashes a grin that causes those pesky butterflies to speed up. “You’re in for a treat.”
He starts the engine and backs out of the parking spot before putting on his seat belt. As he drives, I pull up the menu for the restaurant on my phone, wanting to make sure I have enough money to cover his meal and mine, then inwardly groan when Conner Calling appears on the screen.
“You gonna answer that?” he questions, and I want to say no, but given what happened last night, I know I don’t have a choice.
“Unfortunately,” I mumble, then click the green phone symbol and put it to my ear. “Conner.”
“You were carjacked?” he shouts in greeting, and I pull the phone slightly away before answering.
“Yes.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just fucking come home already, Bridgett.”
“It could have happened anywhere. And, as I told you before, I’m not going back.”
“What do you want from me?” he yells. I can picture his handsome face—red with anger—and his hair a mess because he always rips his fingers through it when he’s mad or not getting his way. “Do you want me to write my name in blood and say I’ll never cheat again? That I’m okay with not having a kid? If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”
“All I want is for you to sign the divorce papers.” I keep my tone even, knowing he’s already on edge.
“Fuck you! You think I can’t have better than you? That I can’t do better than you?” he rages in my ear. “You’re the worst lay I’ve ever had, and you wonder why I cheated every fucking chance I go—”
His words end when Noah snatches the phone out of my hand. I jerk my head to the side to watch in horror as he puts my cell to his ear and growls, “Do not call her number again. If you need to get information to her, have your lawyer talk to hers.” And with that, he disconnects and dumps my phone in the cupholder between us, then turns to look at me. “You are not talking to him.”
“You just—”
“Never again, Bridgett,” he cuts me off. “That guy…” His jaw clenches. “Never again.”
With my throat tight and my face feeling like it’s on fire, I nod. Obviously, he heard what Conner said. If that isn’t humiliating, I don’t know what is. It’s not the first time Conner has blamed his infidelity on me, but knowing that someone else heard him? That Noah heard him say I’m so bad in bed he had to go elsewhere, it’s…well, I don’t even know what it is.
I stare out the window for the rest of the drive, refusing to give in to the urge to cry like I want to. Unluckily for me, we reach the small plaza where the restaurant is, and far too quickly. With my insides twisted into a knot, Noah parks his truck. As soon as he comes to a stop, I hop out, needing a second of fresh air to pull myself together a little more. Especially before I have to sit across from him in a restaurant with no choice but to face him.
“Yo!” he bites out. I spin around and find him storming in my direction. “Next time you get out of my truck before I’ve even put it in park, we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Wh…? What?” I back up a step as he closes in on me.
“I get you’re upset about what that douchebag you married said, but you will not put yourself in danger. Do you understand?”
“I wasn’t in danger,” I say quietly. He makes a deep growling sound in the back of his throat that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as his eyes narrow scarily. “I mean, okay,” I quickly amend.
“Okay,” he grumbles, not looking any less angry. I shift on my feet as his eyes bore into mine.
“Should we go eat?” I blurt, wanting to end the awkward stare-down between us.
“Yes.” He grabs my wrist, startling me. My skin burns from his touch—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes me very aware of his proximity—and I oddly miss it when we reach the restaurant, and he lets me go to open the door.