“He lied to you because he didn’t want to hurt you or that girl. He wasn’t sure if there was anything between them. He had to be sure. That’s when he broke up with her,” Marion said.
Delilah stared at her. “Are you in his head or something?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“Anyway, I’m not sure he’s changed.”
Marion rolled her eyes and flipped her long brown tresses over one shoulder. “Uh huh.” She leaned back down, slipped the shoe on her foot and examined it. “When are you going?”
“Tonight.”
“Wow. That was fast.” Marion replaced the yellow BCBG in the box and reached for a leopard print Betsey Johnson.
“Marion? Seriously?” Delilah pointed to the shoe.
Marion hugged it to her chest, as though she’d never let go. “But I love it.”
“I hope you don’t plan to walk down the aisle in that.”
Giving her a sour look, Marion put the shoe back and reached for a pair of Nine West red slides with a four inch heel.
“Nice choice,” Delilah said.
“Thanks. Sam is the only one for you and I think we both know that. When are you going to accept that?”
Slipping on the shoes, she stood, walked to the foot mirror and scrutinized the heels. They were sexy yet simple.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should try him on.”
Delilah didn’t want to say she’d never marry him again because never was a final word. Never was one of those words that would come back to haunt you and then all your friends would wag their finger at you because you said never again and didn’t mean it. Delilah knew this and so did Marion.
“He’s not a Diane von Furstenberg dress, for God’s sake,” Marion snapped. “He’s a real man with real feelings. Clearly, he still has them for you.”
“I can’t let myself feel for him again like I did before. Can I?” It was a rhetorical question. She sat back in the chair, knowing it was all a lie. She knew she’d already fallen back in love with Sam and she hated that more than anything. “I like those shoes, Mar.”
“Me, too. And, yes, you can let yourself feel. You should let yourself feel. I don’t know why we have to keep having this conversation.”
“Because I’m stubborn.”
“Oh, right. That.”
Marion pranced back to her chair and carefully put the shoes back into their box. “I’ll take them. And the Betsey Johnsons.”
Delilah gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised.
“Those are just for me, so hush. You do realize the wedding is only in a few days.”
“Are you still worried I won’t have a date?”
“Nope. In fact, I’m curious to see if you’ll end up bringing Sam.”
Delilah gave a snort of derision. But she was just as curious.
Chapter Eleven
Delilah couldn’t believe how nervous she was for her date with Sam. It wasn’t as if she had never been with the guy. They’d had sex recently. More than once. And they’d argued. And they had a history. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous. But those old butterflies were back.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang and it was then she realized she’d been pacing the length of the living room.
“Get a grip,” she muttered under her breath.
Even deciding what to wear had been an act of Congress. She still had the piles of clothes on her bed and mounds of shoes on her floor. Finally she’d determined simple was better and donned a pair of her best faded blue jeans, her favorite peasant shirt and pulled on a pair of her well-worn sneakers. Her make-up was perfect and there wasn’t a hair out of place. So while she looked comfortable and casual, she made sure the rest of her dazzled.
When she opened the door, her heart immediately went to her throat. Sam stood on the other side, casually leaning against the door jamb holding a small bouquet of pink and white peonies—her second favorite flower.
His hair was mussed yet perfect and he wore a pair of nicely faded blue jeans along with a green long-sleeved Henley. Apparently, they’d had the same thoughts as far as attire. The evening was starting off with a bang.
“Hi.” She managed to shove the word out and it quivered on her tongue.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He handed her the bouquet.
“More flowers?” She knew she didn’t have another empty vase handy, she opted for a shallow glass instead. She placed the peonies next to the stargazer lilies and the dying dahlia. She was getting quite a collection of floral. And all from Sam.
“You still like them, don’t you?”
A flush rose from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. “Yes. I’m impressed you remembered.” After putting the flowers in water, she snagged her bag. “Ready.”
Sam escorted her to his car, where he opened the door for her. Once again, she broke her dating rules for him. Maybe it was time to toss the damn rulebook out the window.
In the car, they chatted about the latest in sports. Sam was a die-hard football fan and ready for the season to start again. Delilah had always enjoyed a good baseball game and lamented that she hadn’t been to one in ages.
“Maybe we should go, then.” He suggested it casually, as if making future plans were no big deal. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his gaze lingering there a long minute before coming back to the road.
“Maybe we should.” She was a sucker for a ballpark hot dog and a good long baseball game.
“I’ll get tickets.”
“I love tickets.”
“I know.” He grinned then glanced back into the rearview mirror.
Delilah wondered what was so interesting back there. “So, where are we going?”
“Nothing fancy,” he said. “I thought we could do something fun.”
He said it as he pulled into the parking lot of the Turkey and the Spare, a bowling alley. Delilah nearly laughed out loud. She hadn’t been bowling in years.
“I thought we were having dinner?” she asked.
“We are.” He cut the engine and got out.
When he opened her door, she said, “At a bowling alley?”
“Oh, ye of little faith. This isn’t just some bowling alley. This is the home of a renowned chef. The food is quite amazing. Plus we can bowl in between dinner and dessert.” He grinned so big he looked like a kid.
She laughed. “Okay. I’ll give it a try.”
As they walked inside, Sam took her hand, lacing their fingers. That simple gesture sent her heart into her stomach.
Sam was right about the bowling alley—it wasn’t a typical place. Smokers weren’t allowed. The food wasn’t bar food at all. There were menus and tables and a hostess who took them to their seats and assigned them a lane, which would open up in the next twenty minutes.
The menu was full of dishes Delilah would have never expected at a bowling alley. From down home favorites like chicken fried steak to comfort foods like mac and cheese. There was a long list of beers on tap and a nice selection of wine. Instead of opting for alcohol, though, Delilah ordered a good old-fashioned Coke. And for a brief moment, it was like old times. It reminded her when they’d shoot pool into the wee hours of the morning, knocking back beers and sharing laughs. That was the pre-sober Sam. Looking at him across the table in the dimly lit restaurant made her wish for the old times again.
“Delilah, you’re staring at me and not the menu,” he pointed out.
Her face flushed. “Sorry. I was just…thinking.”
Sam did his best to look interested in the menu. “About what?”
“Us.”
He lifted his eyes, giving her a quizzical look. “What about ‘us’?”
Delilah shrugged, noticed a chicken Caesar salad on the menu and decided that would be her dinner choice. Yet she still stared at the words, pretending like she was undecided. “Why things went wrong.”
He dropped his menu, reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I was stupid, Delilah. I never realized
what an utter fool I was until you left me. I told you that before. I meant it.”
She met his gaze. But no words came forth. She was actually starting to believe him.
“It took the best thing that ever happened to me to walk out before I realized it.”
“You said before that was why you cleaned up your act.”
“And I meant it. I was disappointed in myself.”
Why, then, did it take such drastic measures for him to grow up? She desperately wanted to ask the question but instead bit the inside of her cheek.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why it took you leaving me and divorcing me to make me wake up.”
“Well…yes.” She couldn’t deny it.
“I don’t know, Delilah. And that’s the God’s honest truth. I don’t know why I was such an idiot. But I’m clean now. No more drugs. Haven’t touched the stuff in years.”
She could read the honesty there in his calm blue eyes. The blue eyes she used to get lost in when they made love.
And then all hell broke loose. Sam’s gaze flickered upward and went from calm and serene to pinched, worried. Almost angry.
“Great,” he muttered. “I had a feeling that was her following me.”
“Her, who?” Delilah craned her neck to see what he saw.
Coming through the restaurant, her expression full of anger and hate, was Vanessa. The very girl he’d dumped on the street that morning. Delilah had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty. Not at all.
“There you are, you son of a bitch.”
Sam stood so fast, the table quivered and made the utensils clatter. “Vanessa, what are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here with her?” She pointed one perfect fake nail at Delilah.
Delilah started to rise but Sam gave her a look that told her to stay. Normally, she would ignore that. Instead, she remained seated, waiting to watch the drama unfold. It would prove to her if Sam had told both her and Vanessa the truth.
“You know why. And you should leave.” Sam clenched his fist. Even though Delilah knew he would never hit a woman, she could tell he restrained himself.
Vanessa swung her wrath toward Delilah. “He cheated on you, you know. With me. He’s a cheater. He can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“Vanessa—”
But she plunged on. “And he lies. He tells all sorts of lies to get what he wants. He lied about you to me. He said he’d never been married when he had. He said he loved me.”
Sam came around the table, gripped her upper arm. “Shut up.”
“No.” She tried to yank her arm free but Sam held tight.
“I never said I loved you, Nessa.”
“You made me believe it!” She shouted the words over the din of the bowling alley, garnering looks from other patrons at nearby tables.
“You believed what you wanted.”
The hostess, trailed by what Delilah guessed was the security guard and a managerial-type, arrived at their table.
“Is there a problem here?” The manager pushed forward, stepping in front of the hostess and the burly security guard.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said, shoving Sam off her. “He’s a lying sack of shit.”
“Miss, I’ll have you refrain from using such language. This is a family place.”
“What the fuck ever. As if I care!”
“Charlie, why don’t you escort her to her car,” the manager said.
Charlie, the burly man, took her by the arm. But Vanessa wasn’t going quietly. “This isn’t over, Sam!”
“Oh, yes, it is,” he said.
It took an incredible amount of restraint for Delilah to say nothing. Sam raked a hand through is blond hair and puffed out a breath. “Sorry about that, man,” he said to the manager.
“My apologies to you, sir,” he said. “She apparently slipped past our hostess.” He waved over the server. “Dessert is on the house.”
“Thanks.”
When the manager left, Sam returned to his seat. “Sorry you had to see that, Delilah.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” she said, smiling.
“I hope it doesn’t ruin the evening for us.”
“I’m sure you can make it up to me.”
“No sex.” He narrowed his eyes at her, doing his best to look stern.
“Pity.” She sipped her Coke.
“Don’t tempt me, Delilah.”
“Who? Me?” She blinked, trying to look innocent.
“Naughty girl.”
“Thought that’s why you liked me.”
“There are numerous things I like about you, Delilah. Your dirty mind is only the beginning.”
She laughed. As their meal arrived, she asked him, “Was she attempting a last ditch effort at getting you back?”
“If she was, she had a really weird way of trying.” He dug into his dinner.
Still, the thought of an ex-girlfriend still lingering in the picture made her feel less ready to jump back in with both feet with Sam. She would be cautious.
They had a great time bowling and laughing. And the food was delicious, as Sam had said. Afterward, he took Delilah home and walked her to the door. In the yellowish porch light, he brushed away a lock of her strawberry blonde hair.
“Good night, Delilah.”
She waited. And waited. And nothing. She counted the seconds by the cadence of her heart.
“That’s it?” She leaned toward him, her breasts brushing his chest. “No kiss good night?”
“You are a bad girl.” His hands slid up her arms, around her, pulled her to him. “One kiss. That’s all you get.”
“Just one?”
“Better make it a good one.”
Slipping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, the heat of him pressing her entire length. Their lips met in one kiss of longing and need. Desire and heat. Want and passion. Their tongues accepted a mutual tasting, breath mingling with breath.
Knowing there would be nothing beyond the kiss, her body reacted as if there would be. Her blood pumped through her. She nudged her hips forward, felt his hard cock straining against the denim of his jeans. He wanted her. She wanted him. It would be so easy to—
He broke the kiss, stepped back, holding her wrists. “Now, now. Not tonight, dear. I have a headache.”
Delilah laughed out loud.
A slow smile crossed his lips. “Unless of course you have something particular to tell me?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
He kissed her cheek. “Then good night.”
“No.” Delilah tipped her head toward his. “But you would.”
With that, he released her and started back to his car.
“Sam,” she called, “do you have something to tell me?”
His wolf grin was his only response as he ducked into his car.
Chicken.
Chapter Twelve
Delilah’s day started with another lunch date with her best friend. But she was still going to squeeze in a quick meet with Sam to say hi at his shop and taunt him some more.
She made sure she dressed tempting-not-trampy for Sam. Her outfit had to do double duty since she would be spending part of the day with Marion. She put on her favorite white Capri pants, red low-heeled slides, and a pink fuzzy short-sleeved Prada sweater she found online for half the regular price. She accessorized with a red Hermes bucket bag, chandelier earrings and lots and lots of bangles.
She met Marion for lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant. Marion was already there with a pitcher of margaritas and chips and hot sauce. And—shockingly—no man hanging about. Unless she’d managed to stash him under the table.
Marion waved as she approached, a big smile on her face.
“How was last night?”
“Good afternoon to you, too,” Delilah said, sliding into the booth. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
“Come on, Del. I’m dying to hear all the details.”
&nb
sp; “He picked me up, took me to this bowling alley with fancy food.”
“Oh!” she squealed. “I’ve wanted to try that place. Turkey and the Spare. Isn’t that the name of the place?”
“I think so.”
“How was the food?”
“Good, actually.”
“And Sam? Was he good, too?”
“After we got there, his ex-girlfriend showed up,” Delilah said.
“Does he love her?”
“He swears it’s over.”
“I hear the mistrust in your voice,” Marion said, reaching for a chip. She stuck it in the hot sauce. “You don’t believe him?”
“Should I? Do I have a reason to?”
Marion gaped at her. “You think he’s leading you on? Telling you lies to get you into bed?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’m madly in love with him and I’m scared.”
Silence stretched between them. “Finally some honesty. So why don’t you tell him?”
“Because I’ll lose the bet.”
“What bet?”
Delilah explained about the bet they’d made. Whoever said those three words first, lost.
“And what do you get if you win?” Marion asked.
“Anything I want in his shop.”
“Fitting. What does he get?”
“I have to do his bidding.”
“Awesome.”
“Not really, Mar. You don’t know Sam.”
“I know what you’ve told me and he’s quite the wildcat in bed.” She giggled. “So what is so bad about saying it first?”
“I don’t like to lose. Anyway, after we got rid of the girl, we had a really nice time. It was like old times. The good times when we actually got along. We bowled a few games then he took me home and kissed me good night.”
“And that’s it? No hanky-panky?”
“None.”
“Aw. I think that’s sweet!” she exclaimed. “He’s trying to court you. How romantic.”
“Romantic?”
Marion clucked her tongue and shook her head. “It’s really sad when we’re so jaded we don’t recognize romance when it slaps us in the face. All he left out was flowers.”
“Oh, there were flowers. He brought me a bouquet of peonies.”
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