Kings and Queens

Mike’s POV

I clipped Arnold’s leash onto his collar and led him out the front door. Last night, at the club, I’d convinced Bridgette to go for a walk with our dogs after her fitting for whatever it was that she was doing Friday. I was well aware of her success, hell I’d seen the movie that had launched her to stardom, but I wasn’t completely sure what that level of notoriety entailed.

Getting to their porch, I knocked on the door, hoping she would answer the door and I wouldn’t have to go through her sister. I liked Langley, but she seemed a little stiffer than her younger sister.

It wasn’t the younger Washington sister that answered the door, but their yellow lab puppy was on Langley’s heels and Arnold was through the door before I was.

“Her fitting’s running late,” she explained. “You can come in and wait if you want. She shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Hi, Mike!” I heard Bridgette’s voice in the living room as we rounded the corner. “Sorry about this.”

I went to respond, but was stopped in my tracks by the sight before me. On the footstool stood Bridgette, dressed in a long, pale pink gown. I had to make sure that my jaw wasn’t on the floor.

“Wow,” I breathed. “That looks…”

She blushed and moved a brunette wave out of her face. “Thanks. I’ll be done in a minute and we can, okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak. The small dip in the neckline was enough to get you thinking and the cover of her latest magazine that I’d seen on stands at the grocery store wasn’t helping.

Langley was perched on the couch, both dogs fighting for her attention, but I saw a knowing smirk on her face.

“What?”

“Real smooth, lover boy,” she grinned. “Real smooth.”

I shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

Langley held up two fingers. “One, no. She’s my sister and even I know she’s gorgeous. Two, don’t act like a cocky bastard.”

“Who said anything about being cocky?” I sat down next to her. “Wasn’t I just the person you were calling ‘lame’?”

“Not calling,” she shook her head. “Inferring. But seriously, she deserves a lot.”

“Okay,” Bridgette’s voice got closer again and she came from the hallway with a woman I assumed was her stylist behind her. “I’m ready. See you, later Lang. Thanks, Trish!”

I tried to keep my eyes off her ass as she picked her phone up off the ground and handed me a water bottle that had been sitting by her shoes. The tight, stretchy yoga pants she wore and the hoodie that obviously had no shirt underneath wasn’t helping in that department.

“It looks pretty empty,” she said as we emerged onto the beach. “I think we’ll be alright letting them off.”

“You’re such a rule breaker!” I teased.

“Oh, that’s me,” she laughed “Bad to the bone.”

I liked that we already had a friendly banter. It made talking and getting to know each other easier.

“So how do you like LA?” she asked as we slowly followed the dogs as they jumped in the waves. “That’s a stupid question. You’ve been here for a while already.” A blush crept up Bridgette’s face.

“I like it,” I smiled, assuring her. “I can get out a little bit more around here. I don’t have people hounding me while I’m out at the grocery store.”

She laughed. “I know the feeling. Nothing says ‘I love my fans’ like signing an autograph while picking up cramp meds.”

“Try a pack of condoms,” I smirked and laughed as her eyes went wide.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “About a year ago in Philly, I was out and this young kid came up to me. It was bad.”

“Oh my god,” Bridgette buried her face in her hands. “I would die.”

“Well of course you would,” I said as she threw a Frisbee I’d brought out to Arnold and Rhonda. “You’re America’s sweetheart.”

She laughed. “Hardly. But I guess it’s an okay image to have.”

She bent to pick the Frisbee as Arnold left it at her feet and her hoodie rode up, giving me a glance at her hip. The distinct outlines of an inked image were there.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I stopped her from throwing the disc and grabbed her wrist. “What is that?”

Bridgette turned away, smiling shyly. “I told you I wasn’t the perfect, American girl.”

“What is it?” I prodded her. “An anchor? Or no, a bird? Maybe it’s a-,”

“It’s a Latin quote,” she said suddenly.

“You speak Latin?”

“You don’t speak Latin,” Bridgette explained. “Unless you’re the Pope, which I am not. But you can write it and read it and I took five years of it; 8th grade through my senior year.” She laughed bitterly. “Nobody would ever guess that I’m fluent in a dead language.”

“You’re not the ‘smart’ sister?” I instantly regretted it as soon as it was out of my mouth.

“No,” she didn’t seem mad. “That was always Langley. Or that’s how people assumed it was.” Bridgette shrugged. “But it’s whatever.”

“So,” I urged her. “Tell me something in Latin!”

“You don’t speak Latin,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s a dead language.”

“Just say something.”

Bridgette sighed and looked at me for a long minute. “Alis volat propriis.”

I stared at her. “That sounded pretty. But, uh, what’s it mean?”

She laughed. “She flies with her own wings. You know, do your own thing?”

“I don’t need it translated into jock, thank you,” I rolled my eyes.

“Just checking.”

We spent a while longer out on the beach and then turned around, back towards our houses. Rhonda and Arnold ran ahead of us, jumping and barking. On her back porch, we stood in front of each other not talking.

She had a small smile on her face and her hair gathered to the side. “This was fun. I’m glad we went, Mike.”

“Yeah, I agreed,” I put a hand on the back of my neck. “Listen, I know you’re probably busy with your premiere and stuff. But, I was thinking… maybe you’d want to do dinner? We could meet up-,”

“With the others? That sounds great!” she smiled.

Definitely not where I was going.

“I’m free tomorrow. I know you guys leave for a road trip Thursday, right? We could have a little going away thing here. I can cook for us all. Invite some of the guys, whoever you want,” Bridgette had an excited smile on her face.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Sure.”

Smooth, Richards. Real fucking smooth.