“You’re a dork.” He laughs.
“Considering we’re twins, that doesn’t say much for you.”
“You gonna be okay next weekend when you go home? Do you want me to come?” Wyatt shakes his head and sends his hair out of his eyes. He hasn’t shaved for a few days, and when he smiles, his scruff darkens around his mouth. He reminds me of my father, and for the first time in months, that doesn’t make me sad.
I sit up straighter and draw in a deep breath. Each day it gets a little easier to breathe.
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“I always knew you would be.”
Chapter Twenty-One
~Ashley~
SOMETIMES WHEN I wake up with Delilah in my bed, it takes me a few minutes to remember how new our relationship is, because it feels like she’s been beside me forever. I’m keeping a few items of clothing at her place, and she has a handful at mine. Yesterday I bought extra toothbrushes—one for me at her place and another for her here, at my apartment. Delilah’s made similar accommodations without as much as a single word about it. She bought my favorite shampoo and body wash for her place, the lotions I like, and she even set out a little pottery bowl for me to put my earrings in at the end of the day. We’ve moved into this part of the relationship pretty seamlessly, but we’re still navigating the hills and valleys of our public relationship. It’s Thursday again, which means I’ve been up for the past half hour thinking about her group session tonight—and Janessa.
I feel like there’s a hamster gnawing on my stomach. I trust Delilah, and I don’t think I’m feeling jealous, at least not jealousy over her and Janessa getting together or anything like that. I know that she might have coffee with Janessa tonight and she might not invite me, and I’m okay with that. I have no idea what the awful feeling in my stomach is. Maybe it’s another kind of jealousy—jealousy over the time they get to spend together.
Delilah shifts beside me and inhales as she stretches her arms out to her sides. The lingerie top she’s wearing slips off her shoulder as she leans up on one elbow and looks down at me with sleepy eyes.
“Hi,” she says in a groggy voice as she lifts up and settles her hips over mine.
I love that she’s gotten comfortable enough with me to take the initiative in bed. Her green eyes narrow, and I know she’s in a playful mood. She lowers her lips to my shoulder and uses her teeth to move the silk spaghetti strap down my arm, sending a shiver down my spine.
“What time do you have to be at work to do inventory?” Her voice is husky, her breath hot on my skin as she lowers her mouth to my breast and traces circles around my nipple with her tongue.
“Before…” I suck in a breath when she takes my breast into her mouth and cups it with her hand. “Before…Good Lord…” I close my eyes as fire spreads through my limbs. Delilah moves her hips against me as she lavishes my body with attention. She shifts, straddles my thigh.
Holy hell, she’s not wearing underwear. She’s hot, wet, and driving me fucking crazy. When did she take off her underwear? She kisses a path down my stomach, leaving a trail of goose bumps.
“Before?” she whispers.
“Before we open,” I say as fast as I can, because I know in seconds I’m not going to be able to think, much less speak. Delilah has learned exactly how to touch me to make me come apart in seconds and how to prolong the magnificent, torturous teasing until she’s ready for me to fall over the edge.
She caresses my breasts with both hands as she kisses my ribs, my stomach, my belly button. Every stroke of her tongue is sinful. I’m writhing, arching, making all sorts of needful noises as she makes my body hum with desire. I reach for her hips and she grabs my wrists and holds them down, then kisses me hard. Deep. Possessive.
I love in-control Delilah.
God, how I love this side of her, but I need to touch her, and I struggle to free my hands. Our lips part and I crane my neck, reaching for them to return. Her lips curve up in a devilish grin.
“A little greedy this morning, are we?”
“Oh my God, Delilah. You’re killing me. I need to touch you.”
She lowers her mouth to the sensitive underside of my forearm and settles her lips over my sensitive skin, sucking, kissing, nibbling her way up to my wrist, then my palm. Ohmygod. I never realized how sensitive my palms were, but as her tongue lazily follows the contours, I climb closer to the edge. I stretch my fingers, trying to reach beyond her restraint, and she sucks each finger into her mouth, swirls her tongue around them one by one. My eyes slam shut as I try to regain control, which I know is completely gone.
“Please, Dee…”
She ignores my pleas and moves to my other hand, taking her sweet time as she makes every nerve in my body heighten, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. She needs a license for her tongue. It should be considered a lethal weapon, or come with a warning label at the very least. She takes my hand and lowers it between my legs, pressing it beneath hers as she strokes me.
This is new.
Naughtier than what I’m used to with Delilah.
I’m not a prude and certainly not averse to touching myself, but the fact that she’s initiating it makes me nearly lose my mind. I tug down my underwear and kick it off as she guides my hand back between my legs, then releases my other wrist. With my free hand, I tear at her top, and—thank the heavens above—she takes it off. I pull her down and take her breast in my mouth, hungrily teasing, grazing her nipple with my teeth, earning me the sexiest, hottest moan I’ve ever heard. She sits up and arches her back, still teasing my most sensitive area with her fingers. I waste no time bringing my hand between her legs and plunge two fingers into her. She moans again as I probe and tease, and the sight of her straddling my thigh, one hand between my legs, her head back, lips parted, is almost too much to take.
I try to capture her image in my mind, imagining the strokes of my brush it would take to replicate her beauty. I bring her free hand to my mouth and suck on her fingers. Her eyes open with a look of surprise, and as I place her fingers between her legs, she holds my gaze. She tries to move her hand away and I hold it in place, wondering if she’s willing to take the step. If she trusts me enough. My answer comes in the form of her softening gaze and easing of tension in her hand. I release the pressure and she touches herself as I cup the back of her neck and bring her mouth to mine.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I say against her lips. “I love you so much.”
Our mouths collide, and our hips rock. The need to take her over the edge rushes through me like a tidal wave. I crave feeling her release shuddering through her. I shift her onto her back, and her knees fall open. She’s so trusting, so ready for me, as I move lower and make love to her with my mouth and my hands until she spirals over the edge. Her head turns from side to side as her hips buck against my mouth. I hold her to the mattress and take her up to the peak again and again, until her body relaxes limply into the mattress and she pants out my name.
“Ash…”
I fall to the bed beside her, eyes closed, one arm arced over my head, the other across my stomach. I’m not surprised when I feel her hand moving across my hip. She’s the most unselfish lover I’ve ever had and the last one I ever want.
Chapter Twenty-Two
~Delilah~
I’M PULLING MY shorts up when Ashley’s phone vibrates with a message. She’s showering, and I carry her phone into the bathroom and part the shower curtain. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her beneath the shower spray, water streaming over her breasts, falling in thin streams down the curve of her hips and thighs.
She touches my nose with her wet fingertips, bringing my eyes back up to hers. I know I’m blushing after being caught staring at her, but after the way we’ve just loved each other silly, I don’t care.
“Your phone’s vibrating.”
“So is my body.”
“Ash!”
She laughs. “It’s so fun to make you blush. Who’s texting?”
She closes her eyes and goes back to rinsing the shampoo from her hair. “Can you look in case it’s work?”
“Sure.” I scroll to the text and my stomach tightens. I hold up the phone, hating the shaky sound of my voice. “It’s Sandy.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “What does it say?”
“You want me to read it?”
“No. I want it to read itself.” She turns and faces the spray, washes her face.
“I don’t want to read her text.”
She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “Whatever.”
I don’t want to read it…but I also do. Really, really badly. “Fine, I’ll read it.” I open the text and read it quickly, wishing I hadn’t. My heart feels like it’s going to explode at the sight of the thread of texts from Sandy.
“Well?”
“She…She texts you all the time.” I scroll up and read some of the messages from the last few weeks.
“Uh-huh. I don’t answer.”
No, she doesn’t usually answer her, but she has a few times.
She turns off the water and reaches for a towel. “What is it this time?”
“She’s…” I can’t look at Ashley, and I’m not sure I can force myself to tell her what the message says.
She takes the phone from my hand and reads it, then sets the phone on the counter and dries off.
“Well? Aren’t you going to respond?”
“No.” She walks into the bedroom and opens the dresser drawers, then begins dressing.
“She’s out. She broke up with that guy and—”
Ashley spins around and faces me. Her eyes are narrow and angry, and her face is pinched. “I know, okay? You don’t have to reiterate. I read the message.”
“Well, does it make you want to go back to her?” I can’t help it. I hate that I ask, but it’s not like I have the power to stop my heart from pouring out my mouth.
“No, it doesn’t make me want to go back to her. It pisses me off. Why would she send me this now? Months after we broke up? If I didn’t mean enough to her then, I don’t now.”
Her phone vibrates again and we both turn in the direction of the bathroom, where she left it on the counter.
“Aren’t you going to check it?” Every word is bathed in sarcasm as I settle my hand on my hip, more to stop it from shaking and offer myself a modicum of stability than for any other reason.
She rolls her eyes and storms out of the bedroom. “No.”
I grab my backpack and shove my feet into my boots. I don’t know why I’m so upset. She’s not doing anything wrong, but all those texts from Sandy are niggling at me like a thorn in my shoe.
“Why didn’t you tell me that she texts you all the time?”
“I did.”
“No, I’m fairly certain you didn’t.” I cross my arms and stare at her.
“I told you she sends me random texts.”
“Random isn’t exactly…I don’t know how many, but random implies less than how many she’s sent. I saw them, Ash. She texts you every few days! And you’ve texted her back a few times.”
“So what? I probably told her to stop texting or something.”
“No.” I clench my jaw shut, feeling like a nosy bitch for reading her responses.
“No, what?” Ashley leans against the back of the couch.
I can’t lie to her. “You didn’t tell her not to text you. When she asked how you were, you said you were good, that you were happy.”
She shrugs. “So?”
“And when she said she wanted to see you, you said it wasn’t a good time.”
She turns away, but not before I see something like sadness flash in her eyes.
“You said yourself you were falling for her, and now she’s out. It’s what you wanted.” Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t give in to them.
“It’s not what I want, Delilah.”
“Then why would you tell her it wasn’t a good time instead of telling her you didn’t want to see her? Why didn’t you tell her about us?”
“I don’t even know the timing of that text.”
“It was the day after our first kiss.”
She exhales loudly and covers her eyes with her hands, shakes her head. “Dee, it’s not what you think. We were so new, and—”
“And I’m still in the fucking closet. I get it. What were you doing, Ash? Hedging your bets? Did you have a deadline? Like if I didn’t come out by a certain time, you’d run back to her?”
“No, and that’s not fair.” She reaches for me.
I pull away. I know I’m overreacting, but it still hurts to see all those texts. It feels like a lie.
“She’s texted you a million times, and you never said a word. How would you feel if the tables were turned?”
“I trust you.”
“Yeah? Well, trust is more than telling your girlfriend you get random texts. Trust is telling her that you’re being pursued. Relentlessly. Even if you’re not responding, it feels like the secret was there for a reason.”
I turn and open the door.
“Delilah? Where are you going?”
“Home. I need some space.”
“Dee. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t lead her on, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell her about us. I will.” She runs into the bedroom and I hear her go into the bathroom as I close the apartment door behind me. I know she was going to grab her phone and show me how many times she responded to Sandy, but I don’t want to even see her phone.
I spend the next few hours replaying the whole argument in my mind until I’ve scrutinized every facial expression, every inflection of Ashley’s voice and mine.
It still hurts, and I feel like a bitch.
I haven’t had a girlfriend before, but even when I was fake-dating Frank, a guy I didn’t like as more than a friend, we talked about guys who hit on me and girls who hit on him.
By midafternoon Ashley’s texted me a dozen times, and I’ve texted her back with the same message every time. I just need a little time and space to get past this.
Get past this.
I analyze that phrase as I help with waiting tables into the early evening. I have no idea why we’re so freaking busy tonight. It’s only Thursday.
“Hey, you okay tonight?” Livi sidles up to me, and we both push through the double doors and head for the kitchen to place our customers’ orders.
I shrug.
“Worried about going back home this weekend?” Livi asks.
“A little.” Maybe that is why I’m so upset over this. Nope. I can’t even lie to myself about why I’m upset. I feel like Ash lied to me.
We give Dutch our orders, and before walking back into the bar, Livi touches my arm.
“Sometimes what you find out about your parents after they die can have as big of an impact as their death did. You know, secrets and stuff. So take my number in case you want to talk.” She scrawls her number on an order pad and slips it into my pocket. “I’ve been there, so if you want to talk, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks.” I shove it in my pocket, though I know my parents aren’t causing my angst at the moment.
She smiles. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, lessening the impact our parents leave behind.”
You wouldn’t believe the shit they left behind…I’m not sure anything can lessen the impact of what my parents left behind.
On my way to the counseling session, I drive by Ashley’s apartment complex. I debate going in to talk to her, but then I remember she’s at work, and I have no idea what I’d say. I’m still stuck between feeling like she lied and feeling like a complete idiot for thinking she would.
I turn back toward the YMCA and crank the music. Ashley’s iPod is plugged into the stereo—with all my favorite songs on her playlist.
I drive the rest of the way holding back tears.
~Ashley~
THE DAY FROM hell plowed into
the night from hell. I texted Delilah a million times, and I tried calling, but she was at work all day, and I know she can’t talk when she’s working. She texted me back a number of times, but always with the same message. She’s sorry, but she needs space and time.
Brent and I are the last two in the shop, finishing the inventory that should have been done hours ago, but we got so busy that there wasn’t time. As it gets later into the season, everyone wants to pick up the end-of-summer sale items. It’s great for business, but on a day when everything makes me want to either punch something or cry, the business is the last thing on my mind.
“I think that just about does it.” Brent rises to his feet with a groan. “The worst part about inventory is crouching for so long.” His hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Brent’s big brown eyes are serious, his strong jaw is set tight, and he’s looking at me like he’s worried. I know it’s because I’ve been a royal bitch all day, barely talking or acknowledging his efforts at small talk. I don’t mean to be that way, but it’s not like I can help it after what happened this morning with Delilah.
“The worst part about inventory is doing the inventory,” I say to lighten the mood. Brent smiles, but worry lingers in his eyes. When I first started working at the surf shop, it took me a few weeks to open up to him. He’s a friendly guy, and he tried to reach out multiple times, to try to get me to let him in on why I was so moody. Having just broken up with Sandy, I was in no mood to share my romantic woes. But he asked enough times that I finally gave in. We walked along the boardwalk eating ice cream and talking about breakups, not that he had much experience with them. By the end of the evening we’d become friends. He has the same worried look in his eyes now that he did back then. Like he’s going to get me to talk whether I like it or not.
Brent pulls me to my feet. “Thanks for your help. I know you weren’t in the mood to do inventory for twelve hours.”
“I didn’t really mind.”
We walk up front and go through the normal closing routine of straightening up the shop, sweeping, closing out the register. As I go through the motions, I wonder what Delilah’s doing in group. Is she sitting next to Janessa, telling her what happened between us?
Discovering Delilah Page 18
