Dating Delaney

by K Larsen

  Dating Delaney

  By K. Larsen

  Edited, Produced, and Published by Writer’s Edge Publishing 2013

  All rights reserved.

  © 2013 by K. Larsen.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Other Books by K. Larsen

  30 Days

  Committed

  Saving Caroline

  Dating Delaney

  Tug of War

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  About the Author

  Dedicated to Jenny. I couldn't have done any of this without your support and love and numb thumbs. I LOVE YOU.

  Dating Delaney 301

  Weeeeeeeeeen. Weeeeeeen.

  “Uuunnnhhh,” I groan and slap the bed next to my head. What is that noise? Weeeeeeen.

  “Seriously?!” I cry out to myself.

  I pry one eye open and reach for my phone. Eight in the morning! It’s Saturday for Christ’s sake, kid-free Saturday at that! I get four days a month to sleep in and enjoy it. What the hell is going on out there?

  I hop out of bed and rub the sleep from my eyes. Can’t I just sleep in one day?! Just one day. I pull a tank top from the pile of clothes teetering on my dresser and throw it on while grumbling down the hall. I make the right-hand turn for the entryway and slam my feet into my Dansko clogs. The sun is beaming through the storm door, blinding me. “Ouch!” Something stabs into my heel as I start to push the door open. I hop on one foot mid-stride and reach a finger into my clog to sweep it out. I squint at it: gross, cat food. I flick it away. My foot comes down and I stumble through the doorway, starting to call out to my mom as my face slams into a hard wall ... of chest? My hand shoots up next to my face. Yup, that’s a well-muscled chest. Maybe this is a dream. A really awesome dream. Two strong arms come to my shoulders and steady me. “Whoa! Watch where you’re going,” comes a deep, husky voice.

  What?! I’m at my house, okay, well, my parents’ house, but I live here so…I look up to see who the chest belongs to and find the most attractive man staring down at me, grinning. If I had underwear on they would have spontaneously combusted already. Why is the most attractive, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, well-built man standing on my porch? Men don’t stand on my porch--ever. He drops his hands from my shoulders now that I’m standing on my own but now I’m unsteady for a different reason. Holy hell. I must be dreaming. My hand comes to the corner of my mouth to check for drool. None. Excellent.

  “Men aren't usually lined up at my door at eight in the morning on a Saturday,” I grumble at Mr. Attractive. His lips twitch at my response. I am so out of my element right now. Focus on the task, Delaney: find Mom.

  “Mooooooom!?” I shout around him.

  “What is it, sweetie?” she crows, coming around the side of the garage. Ugh. I’ve been sweetie’ed.

  When Mom calls you “sweetie,” it’s in a saccharine, sweet voice that is meant to hide her irritation at you but really it just magnifies it. As I ponder why she could possibly already be irritated with me, my sister comes up behind Mr. Attractive towards my door. When she sees me her eyes bug out, she snorts, and tries to hide a laugh. What is going on this morning?

  “Sorry,” she says to Mr. Attractive. “We try to keep her inside,” she says in a deadpan tone.

  She turns to me and says, “Time for your meds!” She brushes past me into the house. Mr. Attractive starts chuckling. Damn her.

  “Time for you to stop...” I search my brain for a witty comeback, “being dumb,” I yell over my shoulder. She doubles over with laughter before disappearing down the hall as Mr. Attractive starts full-on laughing at me. I never was great with comebacks.

  “Delaney Peters! Get in the house and put something appropriate on!” my mom scolds.

  “What?” I snip as I look down at myself. Oh. Shit.

  Clogs, ratty worn snowflake print pajama pants with holes, and a multicolored striped tank top with no bra on. My arms instantly cross around my chest in embarrassment and I groan. I turn and stomp through the door, stopping at the mirror. My hair is a rat’s nest from sleeping and there’s mascara smudged under one eye, complementing the sheet marks still etched in my face. Great. Embarrassment washes over me as I take in my reflection. Welcome to my life.

  “Sorry about that,” I hear my mother tell Mr. Attractive as they step off the porch towards the garage. Whatever, I give up. I’m going back to bed. Hot guys and I just don't mix anyways.

  I push into my bedroom and Amelia is sitting on the bed still laughing at me and looking proud of herself.

  “Whatever!” I crow at her and flop into bed, pulling the covers up around me.

  “Who’s the man candy outside?” she questions.

  “I have no idea,” I tell her from my hiding hole. “Why’s Mom pissy?”

  “Probably because your ass is still in bed when you’re supposed to be working on the barn right now.”

  “Uuuuggghhhh,” I moan. “I totally forgot we were starting the dormers today.”

  Weeeeeeeeeennnn. Now the noise makes sense. The saw is going and everyone’s outside ready to get to work. Well, except me.

  “Guess I’d better get up.”

  “Yeah and shower and change... you know, so you don't look like a hobo the next time you see that hot beefcake.” She laughs.

  “Oh my god, Ame, I totally face-planted in his chest and then stood staring at him like an idiot,” I complain and she bursts out laughing even harder. “I even checked myself for drool!” I squawk and pull the covers over my head so she can’t see the blush creeping up my neck.

  After I picked up the cat poop that Wilson had left for me in the tub--stupid cat--I climbed in and let the water beat down on me. I had hoped the water would wash away the embarrassment of the morning. I step out, wrapping a towel around myself and sigh. Will I ever pull it together?

  * * * * *

  I sidle up to my mom and shoot her a look. “This better?”

  She puts on a smug smile and cocks her head at me. “If you’re ready, Jake probably wants to get started,” she clips, still annoyed.

  “I’m here aren't I?”

  She doesn't answer but instead leads me up the stairs to what eventually will be my second floor.

  For the past year my dad and I have been converting my parents’ garage barn in
to a house for me and my daughter, Claire. The first floor is done, but to complete the two bedrooms upstairs we need to put dormers on both sides of the roof, and Dad and I decided we couldn't do those ourselves so we finally broke down and hired someone. I really wanted the barn finished so that Claire and I could finally not share my parents’ house with them anymore. I’d love to have my own house, of course, but after my divorce four years ago, I just haven't been able to save up enough, so this was the next best thing. At least my “mortgage” payment is going to my parents’ instead of some giant corporation. Hell, if I’m late with a payment, my credit still stays intact, so living on the premise with my parents at thirty-three years old is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. We’ve done an amazing job, too. I’ve learned a ton and am much more confident in myself having built most of the house thus far with my own two hands.

  Mom stops on the landing abruptly, causing me to slam into her back.

  “Jake, this is Delaney. She will be your point person for the dormers,” Mom says as Mr. Attractive himself turns around and grins at me. He has dimples. Two perfect dimples. Two smoking hot dimples. I can feel warmth start to creep up my chest from staring at him again. I feel the urge to check myself for drool but somehow manage to refrain this time.

  “I almost didn't recognize you,” he says while letting his eyes roam the length of my body. Is he actually teasing me? What a smartass.

  “Yeah, I clean up well,” I say and plaster a sarcastic--I hope--smile on my face.

  “I can see that.” There is a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, Delaney, what do you envision?” he asks.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Mom interrupts before turning to head back downstairs. I kick a lonely screw on the floor before looking back to Mr. Attractive, also known as Jake. Get on with it, Laney, I tell myself. I clear my throat once and yank the drawing from my back pocket to show him.

  “So... I was thinking on Claire’s side I want the double dormer wide enough to fit her bed in against the window with a built-in bookshelf on either side.” I stop and point to the sketch. He nods his understanding so I continue on. “For my side, I’d like a full dormer; you’ll have to figure out the roof pitch because I’d like to make the dormered wall as close to eight feet tall as possible so I can fit bigger windows in for more light...and the view of course. And I’d like a built-in bookcase around this window here.” I point again.

  “I can see why Sue made you point person,” he smirks.

  “Oh?” I ask hesitantly.

  “You seem to have it all well thought out...not many girls your age would consider roof pitch and wall height,” he counters.

  My irritation flares. I’m not stupid just because I have a vagina and we’re talking construction. I mean, hell, the entire rest of this renovation I’ve poured my sweat into. I dug a frost wall and poured concrete footings for crap’s sake!

  “First of all,” I start, “I’m a woman--not a girl--and I’m not sure what my age has to do with anything. Secondly, this used to be a garage barn, so everything you see done has been done with these two hands.” I hold up my delicate girl hands. “I’ve done a lot of research over the past year to get all this to happen the right way and without screwing up!” I finish in a huff.

  He looks me up and down. “Feisty, aren’t we?” he laughs.

  “Are you serious?” I bark and throw my hands up. His face sobers and he runs a hand through his hair. I watch his tricep flex as he does it. He just insulted me, I don't need to be drooling over a tricep, but...it’s a really nice tricep.

  “I wasn’t trying to offend you before. Sorry.” His apology sounds sincere enough, I guess. I swallow the rest of the rant I have lined up in my head and opt for ending the conversation. “Right, so, is there anything else we have to discuss for you to get started?”

  “Nope,” he says, looking down.

  “Okay then,” I say as I turn to leave.

  “Where can I find you if I have questions?” he calls after me. I pause two steps down the stairs and look back to him.

  “Today?”

  He nods.

  “I’ll be around the house... just knock or holler.”

  “Sounds good,” he smirks.

  I continue my descent to the first floor and back through the house. I need coffee. Lots of coffee. Amelia is in my kitchen now poking around the cabinets aimlessly.

  “Where’s the good stuff?” she whines.

  “Define ‘good stuff’? Cause you clearly avoided the bowl of fruit,” I joke.

  “Not good-for-you stuff, I need gummies or something, where are Claire’s snacks? Mom has nothing to eat at her house.” I smile at Ame’s back. She’s always trolling around picking at food but somehow manages to stay rail thin.

  “Why are you here anyways?” I tease.

  She turns to face me, stuffing one of her man-hands into the Cheez-It box. “Borrowing Mom’s car,” she mumbles through a mouthful of the tiny orange crackers.

  “Big plans today?” I ask.

  “Not unless the laundromat and grocery shopping counts,” she says in a deadpan tone.

  “Want company? Mr. Attractive up there irritates me; I need an excuse to leave for a while,” I complain.

  “Mr. Attractive?” She laughs. “That’s fitting, but nope, I think you should stick around today... maybe he’ll irritate you into bed.” She chuckles.

  My mouth drops open and I gawk at her. “Jesus, Ame.”

  “Oh please, he’s hot, you’re perpetually single and in desperate need of hot sex,” she explains as if it’s commonplace.

  She’s not wrong. I’ve been divorced for four years now and though I go on dates here and there, I just haven't found anyone that really does it for me. I only have every other weekend without Claire, and since moving in with my parents a year ago, I’m seriously limited in the ability to bring someone home and get some. Not that I would. I’ve never had a one night stand. I prefer to be in a relationship with someone if I’m going to have sex with them. But at this stage in the game it’s been so long that I might try something new, although being a writer doesn’t make it easy to meet people. I work from home, alone. There are no co-workers, no holiday company parties or daily interaction with people to branch out to or meet new people through. I’m not complaining, though. I have a comfortable life that I like. I’m content.

  All of my friends are married or coupled off so there’s really no hope for meeting someone I don't already know in that pool of people, either. Not that I mind, really. I’ve been content enough with my life the way it is, but every once in a while I miss having someone to snuggle with...or get frisky with. My sister is constantly trying to hook me up with people but at three years younger than me, her choices are not exactly the same as my choices. It’s not as if I’m young enough to hit the bars and pick someone up anymore, plus anyone I’d pick up at a bar that is my age is probably not a person that I’d want a relationship with. Jesus, my mind is wandering today--enough on that. It’s a lost cause and I’ve come to terms with that fact.

  “I can't just, you know... do him,” I point out.

  “You could, Laney, but yeah, you won't, even though your vagina might as well have an out-of-business sign hanging on it at this point,” she grumbles at me.

  “Whatever, Mr. Attractive is the kind of attractive that isn't interested in the looks of one thirty-three-year-old single mom anyways. Did you forget my amazing outfit this morning? Did you see him? He dates models. I’m sure,” I cackle at her.

  Amelia chuckles and throws a Cheez-It at me which I narrowly dodge.

  “You’re pretty,” she says and shoots a pointed look at me.

  “I’m not a supermodel though,” I chuckle.

  “Not everyone can look like this,” she says and runs a Vanna White hand alongside her body, causing both of us to giggle.

  I poke her between the eyebrows and laugh out, “You’re right, we can't all look like you.”

  My sister is
beautiful: blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and slender. The complete opposite of me: I got Dad’s Italian skin, brown hair, shit brown eyes, and an hourglass size ten figure that I have to work hard at to maintain. But she has the most absurd aversion to plucking or waxing her massive eyebrows. It’s the one thing, outside of her winning personality, that I can goad her on. They are like bushy caterpillars stuck on her face.

  “Hey,” she states, licking two fingers and smoothing her eyebrows out suggestively, “these are hot.” We fall into a fit of laughter together over her beastly brows.

  Jake

  I can hear Delaney and her sister giggling from downstairs somewhere. When she ran into me this morning, she was a hot mess but still cute and smart to boot. Her long brown hair had that just-fucked look and her face still had an I-just-woke-up softness to it. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was shapely, too. Her full breasts were swinging braless as she flew into my chest. I’d had a hard time tearing my eyes from her.

  Looking around at the renovation, it bewildered me to think that she really had any part in the actual construction of any of it. Her dad, Mr. Peters, had mentioned that he and his daughter had done all the work themselves, but damn, she must really be capable with power tools. Sexy.

  When her sister had waltzed past us into the house with her witty remark at Delaney’s appearance, I’d put all my effort into not laughing out loud. She definitely looked like a crazy lady from the neck down, but when Delaney had tried desperately to come back at her sister, she had failed miserably with her retort and my laugh had escaped me. The glare she’d shot me should have killed me. She intrigued me and I instantly wanted to know more about her.