Page 13 of Saving You

“The worst.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he grabbed it, glancing at the screen. It was Frey. “Looks like Frey’s on his way back. I better check out and get home.”

Adele dragged him into a quick hug before he could walk off. “Call me soon. I’m free closer to the weekend if you are.”

“Let me make sure I’m not missing school shit, and I’ll let you know.” Ridge broke away, throwing a wave to Gage, who reappeared as he was walking off, and then he hurried toward the checkout.

He grabbed a few comfort items on the way to the till—a massive bag of Doritos from a sale display and a pile of Reese’s cups because they were the only things that could take the edge off sometimes. He checked out with a friendly woman who leaned in a little too close and hinted a little too hard about being free over the weekend.

He was an expert at pretending to be a big himbo who didn’t get it when people were flirting with him though, which saved him from being direct or mean. She watched him walk away, disappointed but not hurt, which was what he was going for. He was inherently a people pleaser, and there were days hestruggled not to do things on someone else’s terms just because it would make them happy.

Of course, becoming a single dad had cooked a lot of those moments out of him. Ina was his priority, and when it came to her, nothing else mattered.

“Ridge!”

Someone called his name right as he was slamming his trunk, and he might have been annoyed, but he recognized the accent immediately and spun around. Oz was a few feet away, both hands shoved into his pockets, looking a little unsure if he was allowed to address Ridge in public without Ina being there.

Ridge lifted his hand and signed, ‘What’s up?’

Oz’s lips twitched up into a smile, and he crossed from his car to Ridge’s. He didn’t take his hands out of his pockets to sign. “I have to pick up a few things for the birthday party, and I just remembered I forgot to check if you have any allergies.”

For the smallest second, Ridge thought maybe that was an excuse—but that was wishful thinking. He did his best not to get lost in Oz’s eyes or the freckles across his cheeks. “Chamomile,” he said aloud, then spelled it on his hand in case Oz couldn’t pick it up.

Oz’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

‘True-biz,’ Ridge signed. “My grandma gave me tea when I was, like…four, I think? I had a stomachache, and she said it would help. I swelled up like that purple kid on Willy Wonka and had to stay in the hospital for three days.”

Oz grimaced. “Must have been rough.”

“I don’t remember it. My uncle took a couple of photos before the paramedics got there. He thought it was hilarious.”

“He sounds like a dick,” Oz said, and his voice was very tense. Ridge had a feeling Oz knew a little too well what it was like to have asshole family who took pleasure in pain.

“There’s a reason I haven’t seen him in fifteen years—and why he’s never going to meet my daughter.” Ridge leaned back against his trunk, folding his arms over his chest. He swore he saw Oz eye his pecs, but his gaze was back up to Ridge’s mouth before he could investigate. “So, no chamomile-flavored stuff, and I think we’ll be good.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Oz told him. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look…the party might be weird?—”

Ridge waved his hand to cut him off. ‘If you don’t want me to go,’ he said, switching to sign, ‘I don’t have to.’

“No,” Oz said loudly, and then his ears turned pink with his blush, and he cleared his throat. “I’d love to have you there. My mom and sister have been acting really weird. Like a mile up my ass about what time I’m going to get there and how long I’m staying. I’d really like an ally in case everything goes sideways.”

“You’ve got me,” Ridge said firmly.

Oz bit his lip, then cleared his throat. “I appreciate it.”

Ridge wanted to hug him. The poor guy looked like no one had given him any kind of affection in far too long. And he had a gut feeling that Oz previously had to beg for scraps, which pissed Ridge off even more. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Every time he tried to get friendly with Oz, he was shut down. This was now his moment—maybe. Probably. He was going to be careful with it.

“So, I got ice cream in my trunk?—”

“Oh, right. Yes,” Oz said in a rush. “I should let you go. See you soon.”

Ridge nodded, then shot him finger guns and turned away before Oz could see the abject humiliation on his face.

Finger guns? Seriously? What the actual fuck was wrong with him? He was never this much of a doofus when he was picking guys up at the club.

Why did this one, mostly grumpy, not-quite asshole get him all flustered like he was some seventeen-year-old trying to ask a boy out for the first time?

Christ, he needed to get laid. It was becoming his number one social priority.

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