Page 101 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
“She wasn’t your responsibility.”
“My party. My responsibility. She got drunk, and when I woke up the next morning, she was in my bed. I went to bed alone, so I don’t know how the fuck that happened.”
“It’s not easy being you.”
He laughed, easing some tension, and I felt my shoulders relax. I loved his laugh. I loved so many things about Ridge.
I groaned. What the hell was I doing? How did this happen?
“Hey, Cherry.”
“Yeah?”
“You wanna hang out?”
More than anything. “I would, but I’m home with Wren. She’s asleep, so I can’t leave.”
“I’m coming over.”
“What?” I jackknifed off my bed. “No. You can’t. If Wade comes home, he’ll shoot you.”
Ridge snorted. “Fuck him. I’ll park down the street. Answer the door.” He cut the call before I could protest any further, and I went into panic mode.
There was a good reason I never invited anyone to my house. As much as I tried to act cool and tough, I was embarrassed. The walls, once white, were tinged with yellow from my mother’s nicotine addiction. The linoleum floors were the color of puke, and no matter how many times I’d scrubbed them, they never really got clean. The beige living room carpet was stained, and the furniture was ratty.
Our house smelled like cigarette smoke and neglect. And even though Ridge had been here before, I didn’t think he’d had a chance to take in his surroundings.
I watched him stride up the street, past the rusty chain-link fence around our front yard and over the dirt patch with weeds that doubled as our driveway. By the time he climbed the rotting wood steps to my porch, I felt nauseous.
I opened the screen door, and he stepped inside. He inspected the front door and jiggled the handle.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You don’t lock your doors at night?”
I shrugged. We didn’t exactly live in the inner city. The biggest danger to me already lived in my house. “It’s too hot. We don’t have A/C.”
“Lock your doors when you’re home alone.”
He strode down the small hallway and walked into my bedroom like he owned the damn place. I shut my bedroom door and locked it. “There. Locked.”
I leaned against the door and crossed my arms over my chest, watching him. He was wearing a gray T-shirt with black athletic shorts and the Adidas slides he always wore after football practice. And how would I even know that?
Ugh. Imighthave caught a few practices.
He stood in front of my window and peered into the darkness. Then he turned from the window and wandered over to my dresser. He checked out the photos of Quinn and me and the ones of Wren that I’d tucked into the mirror frame.
Ridge uncapped the bottle of Jo Malone Pomegranate Noir that Quinn gave me last Christmas. It was too expensive, and I’d tried to give it back, but she got mad. She knew I loved it, so she’d bought it without a second thought.
“I always wondered what it was,” he said, setting the bottle back on my dresser.
“Mystery solved. What are you doing?” It felt so intrusive to have him in my room, checking out my things.
“You’ve seen my world. I wanted to see yours.” He flopped onto my bed, just a mattress and box spring on the floor, and tucked his hands under his head.
“Your world is beautiful. Mine is ugly.”
He patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come here.”
