EXCEPTional

Ch. 20 (Bridget)

*Bridget*

I glanced over to find Sheila wearing a pink dress that hugged her every curve and gave view of her ample bosom. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and with her hair away from her face, it made her eyes look bigger and browner. I took note of the light sprinkling of glitter on her cheeks, and an eyebrow quirked.

Sitting up, I inquired, "Going out with the girls?"

She finished applying her extra-sparkly lip gloss and smacked her lips. As she put the tube back in her clutch purse, she announced, "It's four o' clock, which means it's happy hour." She turned to give me a smile.

"You're awfully dolled up for going to a bar," I remarked, giving her appearance a once-over with an arched brow.

A grin tugged at her mouth. With a one-shouldered shrug, she pointed out, "You never know when you're gonna get picked up. Oughta look good for the oglers."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, have fun."

She rested a hand on her hip, bending a leg. She gave me a gentle smile, offering, "You wanna come with?"

Laughing shortly, I shook my head. "I don't have enough time to get as done up as you," I pointed out.

"So just put on some skinny jeans and a V-neck," she suggested, offhanded.

I shot her a look. "They're your friends, Sheila."

Her other hand went to her free hip. "Bee, they would love you. Come with me, please."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said, smiling. "You go. Have fun for the both of us."

She sighed, but then shrugged. "Well, okay. But you can't say that I didn't try. See you later."

My eyes returned to the television set, realizing it was a commercial. I groaned and flopped back, laying my head on the throw pillow at one end. I gazed blankly as the TV advertised some kind of kitchenware.

I had gotten off work early that day, mostly because there was literally nothing for me to do. No articles had been placed on my desk, and I had finished the one I'd gotten yesterday, since it was quite short. I had sifted through all my emails, and I even cleaned my desk, reorganizing the drawers. Once three-thirty hit, I was bored out of my mind. So I packed up, clocked out, and went home early.

A part of me sort of expected to get a text or a phone call from Chance when he showed up at Brimwell Publishing and I never came down at my usual time. But my phone had been quiet all day—not a single text or phone call. Which surprised me, because if I knew anything about the male model, it was that he enjoyed annoying me.

The commercials finally ended and my show returned. I watched the last fifteen minutes of the episode, debating whether I wanted ice cream or to skip my before-dinner snack.

Groaning, I sat up and turned off the TV. I tossed the remote aside and stood, stretching. Before I could make my way to the kitchen, the doorbell rang and I froze, wondering who could possibly be waiting at the door.

I peeked through the peephole and, to my astonishment, I saw a mop of silky, golden blond hair and a pair of green eyes. I unlatched the locks and opened the door.

"What are you doing here?"

He shuffled inside with a sigh. As he walked, I took in his appearance: hair disheveled, like he had run his fingers through it too many times, eyes filled with a myriad of emotions that ranged from irritation to regret, wrinkled clothes, and constant movement.