EXCEPTional

Ch. 22 (Bridget)

*Bridget*

"I broke up with her."

My eyebrow arched. The last thing I had been expecting today was to see Chance at my apartment door, looking like he'd just pulled an all-nighter and telling me he broke up with someone. So needless to say, I was confused.

"Um, what?"

"I broke up with Adriana," he clarified. He let himself inside, squeezing by me. He shook off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. He stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips.

After closing the door, I looked at him, still baffled. "What are you doing?"

"No idea," he responded cheerfully. He gave a swift shrug before he whipped around and then flopped onto the couch.

"Okay," I drawled out. I walked over to him and crossed my arms once I stood in front of him. "So, um, you broke up with Adriana," I stated, hoping he'd continue the line of conversation.

He nodded. "Yep."

I shot him a dry look. "And?" I prompted.

He blinked innocently at me. "And what?"

My eyes rolled. "And, how'd it go?"

He broke eye contact, looking to the left of me. "It was a breakup. Those never really end up hunky-dory."

Sighing, I collapsed beside him on the couch. I tucked a leg beneath me and inquired, "Okay, true, but what happened exactly?"

"I went to her hotel room," he stated, resting his head back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling, "and asked her why she wanted to date me. Her reason was basically because there are a lot of perks to dating me."

I snorted. "Perks?" I repeated, incredulous. "More like tortures. I mean, the spotlight on you all the time? That does not sound like a perk to me."

He glanced sideways at me, giving me a half-heartfelt smirk. "Adriana was bred for the spotlight," he pointed out.

I considered that a moment, and eventually nodded in consent. "That is true. So after that, you broke up with her?" I assumed.

"I told her we were together for the wrong reasons and that I want to be with someone for the right reason."

With a slight grin, I asked, "Was she pissed to hear that?"

An eyebrow quirked on his angelic face. "Do you get pleasure from other people's pain?"

I glared at him. "I just asked because I thought maybe it'd make you feel better."

He released a weak chuckle. But his expression became crestfallen and his eyes closed. He rubbed them, sighing. He looked at me after a moment and inquired, "Does breaking up with someone a few days before your one-year anniversary make you an asshole?"

I understood the implication in the question and answered, deadpan, "Yes, you're a douchebag."

Groaning, he rubbed his face and sighed again. "Shit. That's just great."

"But you'd be a bigger asshole had you waited until your one-year happened," I informed him. "It's like, 'Happy one-year, sweetheart. Now I'm breaking up with you.' That would have been a bigger douchebag thing to do."

He chuckled shortly. "Oh good. So I'm only a douchebag, not a big douchebag. That's really reassuring."

I patted his arm. "Sure thing, angel-face." I got off the couch and called over my shoulder, "Want some ice cream or something?"