ExtraOrdinary

Ch. 21 (Chance)

*Chance*

I had my speech prepared, ready to go, but when that door opened and I saw her, everything disappeared. I hadn't expected to see Bridget donning a baggy T-shirt that I assumed to be one of her father's old shirts and a pair of navy blue spandex shorts peeking from beneath. Her hair was up in a messy bun that had been thrown up in either a hurry or lethargy.

She looked at me with wide and gorgeous green eyes, not a hint of makeup on her face, aside from the slightest smudge of mascara beneath her eyes. "What. . .? What the hell are you doing here?"

With a nervous chuckle, I rubbed the back of my head and tried not to stare—which was harder than you'd think. I mean, I had never seen her so natural or messy—and she was kinda hot like that.

Anger flashed across her face, bringing a slight pink to her cheeks. She demanded, "How'd you get here? How do you know where I live?"

I took several steps backwards and put my hands up in surrender. "I drove you home yesterday and I have a good memory."

It was plausible. And I probably could've made it on my own from memory. But I wasn't going to tell her about the yellow sticky note on my car's dashboard—it was best not to admit to stalker tendencies aloud.

Bridget studied me, her eyes apprehensive and her mouth drawn in a thin line. Hesitant, she inquired, "Alright, so what the hell do you want?"

I grabbed her jacket which I'd thrown across the guardrail on her porch. I showed it to her and stated, "You forgot it in my car."

She took it from my hands and threw it aside haphazardly. "Oh, sorry about that. And, uh, thanks for bringing it back." She looked awkward.

A broad smile spread across my face as I looked at her. Even without makeup, she was gorgeous. Although, she never wore much as it was. Still, it was refreshing to see her in her natural beauty.

"So you slept in late," I mused, starting light conversation since I wasn't ready to leave yet.

Bridget shifted her weight onto her other leg and brushed her bangs aside. "Yeah, my friends spent the night. And it's not even ten yet," she informed me, arching a brow as though to challenge the concept that sleeping in 'till ten was considered "sleeping in."

Suddenly, a figure appeared behind her. He had broad shoulders, a beer belly, and messy brown hair. The glare he was giving me mirrored the ones I got from Bridget. He was definitely her father.

"So what does the male model want?" he asked gruffly, the threat in his voice explicit.

Bridget looked behind her and answered, "He was returning my jacket from yesterday."

He raised his eyebrow. By the look on his face, it was clear he'd jumped to the conclusion that we'd fooled around in a car somewhere.

She had gathered that he'd come to such a conclusion, because she added, "He took me home yesterday. Nothing happened, dad."

As he glared at me piercingly, I knew why Bridget had said that her father was the overprotective type. Had he a knife in his hands, I was pretty sure he'd stab me and tell me to leave his daughter the hell alone.

I nodded, looking right into the man's eyes, reaffirming her statement that nothing had happened during the drive to her place. Despite how much I had wanted something to.

"Well, at least he brought it back." While he did look at me, in that "damn you to hell", unadulterated hatred way, he never addressed me directly. He'd just make comments about me to his daughter. He did not like me, but I was pretty sure it wasn't a personal thing—Bridget's dad probably hated all men who came to his daughter's door, or maybe just all men in general who could possibly take his daughter away.