Chapter 29

Delilah

A headache, more from the banging on the door than the over imbibed wine from last night, taps away in my skull.

“Ivy,” I yell from in front of my bathroom mirror. “Can you get the door?”

She doesn’t respond, and the banging continues.

“Dammit,” I mutter and toss my eyeliner on the vanity.

Passing by Ivy’s room, I notice that she’s gone, bed made just like she does every morning.

“I don’t eat cookies,” I mumble loud enough for the visitor to hear as I turn the deadbolt on the door. “And I already found Jesus.”

“Tell me, Princess. Just how many times do you cry ‘Oh, God!’ each week?”

Lawson.

“More times than I can count,” I lie. “Depends on how good he is with his mouth.”

I watch his throat fight down an angry swallow. Not the response he thought he’d get apparently.

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look.” I turn away from him, leaving him standing in the doorway and walk to the kitchen.

The front door clicks closed, but I know he isn’t gone. He has a force that surrounds him. It literally affects the hair on my arms whether I can see him or not.

“I’m sure you have tons of stories to tell, a line of women fighting over the opportunity to choke on your cock,” I continue.

“Not even touching that one.” He pulls a chair out from the table and sits down, uninvited yet undeterred by my glare.

I rise up on my toes to get a cup out of the very top cabinet even though there are clean mugs in the dishwasher. I love torturing him, and I know how well it’s working when I look over my shoulder and find his eyes on the backs of my legs. The short skirt wasn’t something I did on purpose for him, but the everyday wardrobe choice is helping me right now.

“Like what you see?” I taunt as I make a cup of coffee, rudely not offering any to him.

“More than I could ever describe,” he whispers.

Keeping my back to him does nothing to abate the shiver running over my body.

“Why are you here?”

I lean my hip against the counter, refusing to join him at the tiny table. There are only two chairs, and he’s larger than life, so there’s no way I could sit without part of my body brushing against part of his. My fingers already tremble against my warm coffee cup. I’m certain if we just barely brush against each other, I’ll pounce on him.

“I’m here for you.” In my mind, it sounds like a seductive whisper, but from the look on his face, he said it like any normal person would.

“How very Denny and Izzie of you.”

“Huh?”

Seriously? Can you trust a man who doesn’t watch Grey’s Anatomy?

“The rental car?” he says with a tilt of his head like it’s supposed to remind me of something.

“Okay?” I give him the same head tilt. “I’m getting one later.”

“Right after you finish that coffee. I don’t allow liquids in my truck. Don’t want anything spilled on my seats.”

“One, I’m not going any damn where with you, and two, I’m not a child. I can drink in a vehicle without spilling shit.”

“I would tell you to hurry up; that I don’t have all damn day, but it would be a lie. I cleared my schedule for you.” His grin is almost contagious, but I catch myself before my lips part to mirror his.

“Nope.” I drink the last sip of my coffee and rinse the cup before placing it on the counter.

“Your dad told me to make sure you got one so let’s go.” He sweeps his arm out toward the door.

I stay exactly where I’ve been standing and give him a pointed look.

“You keep mentioning him. How often do you talk to him?”

“If you want my life story, Princess, you’re going to have to get into my truck.”

I need a rental car, and I also need answers, but I don’t know if I need them enough to be alone with him. I remind myself that I’m alone with him right now, in the apartment, where there are beds and a very comfortable couch.

“I’ll grab my purse,” I say and run out of the room.

He waits, somehow a little too close yet still too far away while I use my key to lock the apartment door, and his hand finds the small of my back as we descend the stairs. Once we’re buckled in, he cranks the truck and puts it in gear.

“Every day,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?”

His smile is blinding. “You asked how often I speak to Jaxon. We talk every day.”

“No way,” I hiss. “I don’t even talk to him every day.”

“And he misses you when you go days without checking in.”

Well, if that isn’t a kick in the gut.

“I’m trying to be independent,” I mutter, already guilty over my sporadic contact with my dads before he even mentioned it.

“I get it.”

“He doesn’t talk to me about you.” The meanness I hate so much rears its ugly head once again.

“You told him long ago that you didn’t want to know anything about me.”

I stiffen. “You talk about me? Did you tell him why I didn’t want to hear about you?”

He laughs at my ridiculous question. Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t live to tell the tale if he did.

“We talk about you all the time.”

I let that sink in and stare out the window. We drive, five minutes longer than it would take to get to the rental place.

“Where are we going?”

“Figured we could find someplace quiet to talk.” He looks over at me, and I instantly want to shut him down. If not for the sincerity and pleading in his eyes I would’ve. For some reason, today, being this close to him for the first time in years, I just don’t have the strength to push him away.

We ride in silence for another fifteen minutes, until he turns off of the highway, pulling into the State Park. Slowly, he drives along until he finds a deserted parking area near the water. He surprises me when he parks with the nose of his truck against the trees and the tailgate facing the water that’s on the other side of the lot. I anticipate him climbing out so we can sit and watch over the water, but he puts it in park and makes no move to get out.

“Tell me about your relationship with my dad,” I plead.

“Tell me about school,” he counters.

The fire in his eyes makes me think he’s asking more about the nightlife and parties than the core classes I took last year and have already registered for this year. I realize now why he parked the way he did. This way there’s nothing to look at but trees, so he’s forcing my hand. There are, however, worse things to look at than his sexy lips and clear blue eyes.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

“Don’t what?”

“Lick your lips and stare at my mouth.”

The corners of my mouth twitch before turning up with a wide smile.

“Tell me about my dad,” I insist.

“Tell me about the boys you’ve met at college,” he counters.

“Men,” I correct. “And I thought you said you haven’t been stalking me.”

“So there have been others?” I stare, stunned at how quick he is to ask about my romantic life. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business now,” he says with quiet authority.

The domination in his voice is exactly what was missing in the darting gaze of the boy from yesterday.

“You want details?” I ask, unclicking my seatbelt and shifting my weight. I bite my lip as he stares, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “You want the truth?”

“Always the truth,” he says, voice cracking at the end.

“You want to know that your voice does more to my body than their mouths, their fingers, their,” I lean over the console close to his ear, “cocks?”

“Stop,” he commands, loud enough that I back away into my seat.

I told myself that my choices were just that, mine. I reminded myself each time I cried after a boy dropped me off at the end of the night that I was getting exactly what I’d wanted. I wasn’t being used; I was the one doing the using. No regrets, I’d told myself each and every time.

I lived by that rule over the last three months. I was having fun, partying, and living life to the fullest.

Right now? This very second? I hate the woman I’ve become. I despise each of the three guys I used. More so, I hate the look of disappointment in Lawson’s eyes as he realizes I gave something away that should’ve belonged to him. I hate him even more, blame him, for who I’ve become.

“What?” I ask defensively, another mask to my pain. “No dirty talk from you? No declarations of how much better you’d be?”

“I’m not that angry kid that moved away from New Mexico, Delilah.” The intensity of his stare holds my eyes. “Now, I’m simply a man who knows what he wants.”

“What do you want?”

I swear if he says anything about my mouth on his cock, the police will never find his body.

“You,” he answers. One simple, three-letter word. How in the hell is it enough to tilt my world off of its axis?