A nearly thirteen hour flight back to Dallas and I've been on an internet blackout, of my own choosing. Before I even left Narita airport in Tokyo, my phone had been buzzing with text after text from people who'd seen the stupid story about Delaney and me on some gossip website. I'm sure that was all Chelsea's doing; the first call she probably made after quitting Marlowe Oil was a tabloid.
When I started getting texts before boarding the plane, I read the first message, a "holy shit" text from one of the guys on my team, followed by a snarky one from an old booty call. Then I shut off my phone and spent the entire flight not checking my email and not logging into the internet. Instead, I alternated between lying in my seat not sleeping and thinking of Delaney and watching shitty movies and thinking about Delaney.
Beau hadn't responded to my email when I woke up this morning. So when I get to Delaney's house, I could very well be walking into a fucking war zone.
The concierge at the hotel said Delaney flew back to Dallas, so at least that's something. She didn't go straight to Manhattan. Of course, that doesn't mean she's going to stick around in Texas at all.
I can't even imagine what Anja is going to say. This will confirm everything she's ever thought about me and the giant train wreck I am. I can picture her reaction now: "First, racing that stupid motorcycle of yours, and now this? Screwing your own sister? I knew you were white-trash, just like your father."
I don't even turn on my phone when we land. I should probably toss it in the trash and save myself from the thousand messages sure to tell me how disgusting it is for me to be screwing Delaney.
When my bag comes around the carousel, I groan. A big sticker reading "Notice of Inspection" is plastered to the front, and the entire suitcase is held together in the middle with a stretchy elastic cord because the zipper is broken.
Which is perfect, really. It's the icing on a shit cupcake.
A loud roll of thunder booms outside, a summer storm adding another layer of awesome to this goddamn day. Rain pours down through the uncovered spaces outside the terminal, and I just don't give a shit that I'm getting drenched as I'm walking down the sidewalk. Where are the fucking cabs around here when you need one?
A taxi slows down and pulls to the curb, and the driver gets out. "You're standing in the rain," he points out, not-so-helpfully.
"No shit," I say, handing him my suitcase. He looks at it distastefully. So now I'm getting the stink eye from a cab driver.
"Gaige!" Delaney's voice comes out of nowhere. I whirl around to see her running down the sidewalk, waving her arms at me like a lunatic. When she catches up to me, she's short of breath. "We parked right there," she says, pointing to a car ten yards away, its hazard lights blinking.
"What? We who?" It's the wrong question to ask, but I'm thrown by the fact that she's chasing me down.
"Daniel," she says. "One of my friends. He's – " She points to the guy a few feet away, who's wildly brandishing his plaid umbrella and talking loudly to an airport security guard.
"Yes, I know this is just an unloading area," he yells. "I'm not a complete imbecile. I can read a sign. My friend is right there and – oh, for shit's sake, I'm not even going to hear anything now."
"What is – who is that?" I ask. "I think he's about to assault that guard with his umbrella."
Delaney puts her hand on my chest. "Stop. Don't talk," she says. "I came here to say something. This is really not the place at all, in the middle of everything, with the fucking rain and this is probably the most unromantic place ever –"
"Look, do you need the cab or not?" The driver interrupts loudly, right at my side. "The meter's running."
"No! We do not need a cab!" Delaney yells, her voice sharp. "Will you just give us one fucking second?"
The driver curses at us, and my suitcase lands beside my feet with a thump.
"Oh my God," Delaney says, her voice exasperated. "I just wanted to say one thing –"
"Lady, if you and your boyfriend are done here, your friend there is about to get your car towed." The security guard calls over his shoulder
Now the whole situation is starting to become just ridiculous. Delaney is so clearly infuriated that I can't help but laugh.
Delaney holds up her hand without looking at the security guard. "No," she says. "I am not done here. We are not done here."
"Delaney, let's go." I put my hands on her arms and attempt to steer her toward her waiting car.
"I read your email to my father," she blurts out.
"You read my email?"
"He gave it to me," she says. "And he's not going to kill you. Or me. I mean, he might kill you, but only if you break my heart."
She's rambling the way she does when she gets nervous, and I'm barely following what she's saying, but it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen.
And then she stops, inhaling deeply before she lets out the words in one giant exhale. The words. "And I think I'm in love with you. I am in love with you. I love you."
I don't even wait until she's finished speaking before I bring my mouth down on hers, muting those words. It's like something out of a damn movie, me kissing her in the rain, her hands on my shirt, pulling me toward her, and we're in our own private world.
At least, we're in our own world for ten fucking seconds before the security guard taps me on the shoulder. "What does this look like, a hotel?" he asks. "Get your asses off the sidewalk and get in the car before I have it towed."
Delaney looks back and forth at him and me, her eyes wide, before she bursts out laughing. "Come on," she says. "Let's get the hell out of here."