Page 27 of Body Check
His eyes blink comically, like he’s suddenly morphed into the cartoon version of himself. “Your what-the-ever-loving-fuck?”
Okay, now I’m starting to get annoyed. He knows I’ve been seeing someone. I haven’t been hiding it. “It's new, but that’s the girl I’ve been telling you about. Bridgette’s it for me.” If my best friend has a problem with Bridgette—especially after seeing her for all of a minute—then he’s going to have a damn issue with me.
“Bridgette? That’s what you call her?” His question brings me back to the moment and the realization that we’re standing in the middle of campus. It’s midday and people are milling all around us. I’m not in the mood for his line of questioning, but I definitely don’t need to be interrogated like a hostile witness with a damn audience.
“Yeah,” I answer, not making any effort to hold in my annoyance, “because that’s her name. What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, making my way up the steps and out of the crowd.
“What’s her last name?” Blue asks, following me inside.
“What’s with the third degree?” I ask, heading straight to the quiet study rooms. There’s an empty one, so I stride inside and toss my bag on one of the chairs before turning to my best friend to find out what the hell his problem is.
“What is her last name?” he asks again.
I smirk at him while I tap my chin in mock concentration. “Hmmm.. let me think…oh, yeah, I remember. It's Why’sMyBestFriendBeingADickhole?”
“It’s not that,” he says, shaking his head.
I love the guy. We couldn’t be any closer if we were blood brothers. But right now, he’s really pissing me off. “Oh, really? How the hell do you know?”
“Because her last name is Mikalski,” he says, slumping down into one of the burgundy plastic chairs.
“It’s wh—” I stop cold when I realize two things. The first is that I don’t know the current last name of my future wife. The second is that I’ve heard the name Mikalski before.
Blue’s got that same wild look in his eyes now as he did in the courtyard. “I just watched you try to suck the lips off Birdie.”
“Who’s Birdie? My girlfriend’s name is Bridgette.”
“Yep,” He nods slowly. “It’s Bridgette Mikalski. Also known as Mickey’s twin sister, Birdie.”
My denial is immediate. “That asswipe does not have a sister that fine. That’s sweet. That fucking together. He’s…. And she…” Blue stays silent while my brain wrestles with itself. Bridgette has mentioned a twin brother she adores, and Mickey yammers on about everything and anything, so if he has a twin sister, he’s probably mentioned her a few dozen times, but I never pay any attention to him. Still, it’s impossible. “The fact that they both have siblings doesn’t mean they are siblings,” I tell Blue. “You’re wrong.”
My buddy laughs. “You’re telling me that Bridgette and Brannon Mikalski, who both stand around six feet tall, have red hair, and happen to be fraternal twins, aren’t related?”
“It’s a common last name,” I grumble, fully aware that what I’m saying is bullshit..
Blue rolls his eyes at me before pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on an icon. He passes the phone to me, and I see the image clearly before reading the caption. Bridgette’s standing next to Bran Mikalski, and they’re both sporting matching smiles while they lean over a birthday cake that readsHappy Birthday, Bran and Birdie!I’ve never seen the picture before, because I’m not on social media. Don’t give me that look. The phrase literally starts with the word social and that’s basically poison to me.
“You’ve stayed at her place a couple times this week. You’re telling me you didn’t see any family photos out on her shelves?”
“I wasn’t at her place to look at her decor. ” I mutter, wondering how the hell Bridgette, the most incredible woman I’ve met, is related to the walking, talking disaster we call Mickey.
“Does she know who you are?” Blue asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I might be confused as hell, but one thing I know for sure is that Bridgette didn’t orchestrate this mess. “What are you saying? You think this is a set-up? Fuck you.”
“Yeah, the guy’s not that clever,” Blue agrees. “So… what are you going to do?”
I sigh audibly. “I better get fucking used to him, I guess. Jesus, holidays are gonna be awkward. I can just picture it now. ‘Hey, daddy, why does Uncle Mickey have a black eye?’” I mimic, pitching my voice high. “‘Cause he’s shit-for-brains, Junior.’”
My buddy’s got that stupefied look on his face again. “Uh…whaaaaat?”
“You’re right,” I concede. “I’d never name a kid Junior.”
“Hold up. You’re still going to pursue her?” he asks, like that’s actually a legitimate question.
“Fuck, yeah,” I answer. “I’m still going to breathe air, too.”
13
