Page 55 of Body Check
“I need dance lessons.”
When I return to my car an hour later, I slide behind the wheel and plug my phone into the charger. The screen lights up with messages, and I go through them one by one.
Blue: I finished the slides for the stats project. Look over them and lmk what you think.
Ollie: Does anybody own a fondue pot? And if not, who wants to make dinner Thursday night?
Mom: Just checking in. We got dad’s bloodwork back and everything looks okay so far. They’re going to send it out for more testing, so we’ll see. For now, the doctor wants to increase his meds and put him on something for anxiety. I’m hoping that helps. Fingers crossed. Love you.
Bridgette: Are you busy? Can I stop by? Or meet up?
I give Blue’s message a thumbs up, I ignore Ollie’s, and I reply back to my mom and tell her I’ll swing by this week for lunch, and that I love her and dad. And yes, I tell my parents I love them. How many times do we have to go through this? I’m a grumpy asshole, but I’m not soulless.
And then, I call my girlfriend. Our texts are usually casual or flirty, and she doesn’t sound like herself. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, Dove, everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well, no. I don’t know. Nothing’s seriously wrong. I’m just having one of those days, you know?” she asks, and the waver in her voice fucking kills me.
“I get it,” I tell her. “I had to head out for a bit, but I’m on my way back to campus now. Do you want to meet at my place or yours? Do you need caffeine or chocolate or both? And do you need a punching bag, because we’ve got one in the basement.”
“I can meet you at your place, I’ll never turn down a white chocolate cinnamon latte, and I definitely don’t need the punching bag. It’s a nice thought, but I’ve got a fresh set of tips on.”
I find myself smiling. I probably look like a feral animal as I’m driving down the road, but I don’t care. “Give me thirty. Whatever is wrong, I’ll make it better.”
We say goodbye and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Bridgette that I love her, but I hold back. Not that it’s too soon—I don’t give a shit about anyone else’s timeline. I’m all in where Bridgette Mikalski is concerned. Whether it’s been two months, two years, or two decades, she’s mine and I’m hers. But I feel like the first time I say those words, it should be in person. There should be candles or some shit. I’ve got to get romantic.Maybe I should ask Howard. I didn’t see a wedding band on his ring finger, but when we left the dance hall, Barb was holding his right hand and Peggy was holding his left. Clearly, he’s got moves.
When I pull into the driveway, I see Bridgette’s car, but it’s empty, so I head inside. Ollie’s making a mess in the kitchen. I guess someone had a fondue pot after all.
“Sparky!” he hollers. “Would you like a cheesy teenie weenie?”
“Number one, don’t fucking call me that. Number two, hell fucking no, and number three, have you seen my girlfriend?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I spot Mickey by the fridge. He’s glaring daggers at me, but I can’t fucking worry about it.
Ollie looks at Mickey, then at me, as if he’s deciding which one of us he wants to piss off. After a minute, he takes a bite of the tiny hot dog on his even tinier fork. “She’s up in your room.”
“Thanks,” I say, turning on my heel and taking the steps two at a time. Bridgette’s sitting on the couch in the little common area at the top of the steps and though she’s all dolled up as usual with her hair in loose waves, her body filling out every stitch of fabric on her dress, and her makeup expertly applied, she looks wrecked.
Without a word, I reach for her, twining our fingers together and pulling her up so we’re face-to-face. Now I can see the unshed tears that shine in her eyes. I’m about to forget what I vowed to coach earlier today. I swear to god, if Mickey’s the reason she’s this upset, I might just get benched for the season. “Did he say shit to you? What the hell happened?”
“Who? Bran? God, no. I haven’t seen him today, and I know the two of you don’t bring out the best in each other, but he really is a great brother. He’s not the reason I’m fighting back tears. That distinction goes to my horrible cousin, Jocelyn.”
“The one who’s getting married?” I ask. She nods as I squeeze her hand and lead her into my room. I toe off my sneakers by the door and peel off my hoodie and toss it in the hamper.
“Is that really necessary?” she says, laughing. “I swear you start to strip every time I come over. And I have to get back to the salon in a bit, so I’m not sure I have time for the kind of fun you might have in mind.”
“First of all,” I tell her, dropping a kiss on her forehead, “It’s fucking hot in here. And I’m not naked. I’m wearing sweats and a tee. And, I hear you bitching, but I don’t hear you complaining. Finally,” I say, sitting on the edge of my bed and pulling her into the space between my thighs, “I’m not here for fun. I’m here for whatever you need. Sexy time is always on the menu, of course, but so is cuddle time. And rant time. And, my personal favorite, anything-Bridgette-wants-time.”
“Those are all really good options. Let’s start with rant time and go from there, okay?”
“I’m ready,” I tell her, setting my hands on the small of her back, just above that luscious ass of hers.
“I had a dress fitting for the wedding today. It should have been fine. Quick. Painless. The wedding is in Jersey, but there’s a local bridal shop that carries the dress she chose for me, so the plan was for me to go there, get it altered, and be good to go. But instead of seeing the seamstress when I walked in, I saw Jocelyn. And my aunt Patti. And my mom. The terrible trio made a pilgrimage to Maryland to watch me try on a dress. And I’m sure that doesn’t sound too bad, but it wasn’t some sweet reunion. It wasn’t even, ‘Hey, we felt like taking a drive. Surprise!’ It was an ambush. They picked and poked and prodded the whole time. The seamstress looked so stressed, and when Aunt Patti tried to come into the dressing room to offer her totally uneducated advice, I thought they were going to kick her out. It was so embarrassing."
Jesus. “Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are?” I ask.
“That’s the crazy thing. I know I’m beautiful. I know I’m sexy. I love my body, and I love the look in your eyes when you see it. I did a freaking pole dance the other night. How is it possible that I can be so confident and feel so good and then three nasty, small-minded women can make me crumble in less than an hour? I have come so far. So fucking far. So why do I let them get to me?”
She lets go of my hands and takes a step back from me and even though I need to be close to her, she needs to get this out. She’s pacing around my room, letting the words fall from her lips as she thinks about her day.
