“What about you?” she asks. “You don’t want to be a writer, or whatever?”
I remember being younger, burying myself in books and school to take me away from everything else. I used to fucking pretend I lived in the stories. Or I was one of those characters with enough balls to do something about my life. I used to dream about being Edmond from The Count and how I would make it through all the shit life threw at me and come out of it better. “Life doesn’t work like dreams…”
“What?” she asks.
“I said, nah. No college for me. Cheyenne goes. Colt too.”
“Is that how they met?” she asks.
So I tell her. Tell her how Colt used to live with me and about how his mom was dying. How he met Cheyenne and they wanted nothing to do with each other at first, but how they both found a way to make things better for each other. How that led to them making things better for themselves.
I even tell her about Colt getting hurt and how Cheyenne stayed by his side the whole time.
“And you,” she says when I’m finished.
“And me, what?”
“You were there too…”
I shrug, because it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I did much. “What about you? Where are you from? Why’d you move here?”
She gasps and I know I hit a nerve. It almost makes me snatch the question back, but instead I turn to look at her, watch her face, as so many expressions play across her feminine features.
She’s really fucking beautiful.
“I’m from Stanley.”
About an hour from where I grew up. “And why did you move here?”
Delaney pauses. “My mom tried to commit suicide,” she finally says. Her voice is the softest I’ve heard it.
“Shit… I’m sorry.”
“It’s not the first time. I’m hoping it’ll be the last. I just… Have you ever wanted to believe you could make it better? That you have the power to fix so many people’s lives, so you set out on this path and then you’re not so sure? Don’t know if you’re doing the right thing, but you’re already on the path to making it happen, so you have to find a way to see it through?”
Delaney turns her head and looks at me. Her eyes are wet and I feel like shit for bringing all this up. “No,” I tell her. “Absolutely not.”
She laughs and I realize that’s what I wanted. That I’d hoped she would find humor in my semitruth. “I mean, I know I’m just going to fuck it up.”
“No!” She covers her face with her hands, but I can hear the giggle behind it. It’s a mixture of a real laugh, laced with seriousness.
The moon is bright, giving us unexpected light. When she pulls her hands away and looks at me with those haunted-house eyes, and I see that sexy little mole on her face and her pink tongue sneaks out and licks her plump lips, blood surges through my body. Heat comes alive beneath my skin and I know I’m going to try to kiss her.
I lean closer. Put my hand on her cheek.
“Adrian…”
“Shhh. It’s okay. I just want to taste you again.”
I pull her toward me and I don’t have to pull very hard before my mouth is on hers. She somehow tastes like apples, too, and I suck her lip, bite it gently, and let her explore my mouth.
In two seconds flat I’m hard. I want nothing more than to bury myself inside her. To lose myself in all that sweetness.
“Can I touch you?” I ask her. “That’s all. I promise.”
“We shouldn’t… This isn’t what I came here for. God, it’s just…”
I feel like shit because she moved here to try and deal with her mom’s issues. Or maybe she ran like I did, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. From seeing that same need reflected in her, but there’s more there too. That’s what scares me. She’s attractive and a distraction, but she’s intriguing too. I think of the way she cared for my hand and the fact that I keep opening up to her. It makes me unsure if I want to keep going or get out of the car right now.
I’ve never claimed to be strong, though, so instead of walking away, I ask, “Do you want me to touch you? Don’t think about anything else. Just tell me if you want it.”
Slowly, she nods.
“Then take it. Take what you want.” I have a feeling she doesn’t do much for herself.
This time, it’s her lips that come down on mine. Not wasting any time, I palm one of her breasts. “I can’t feel nearly enough with your jacket on. Turn the car on.”
She does and I turn up the heater before I unzip her jacket. She eases out of it and for the first time, I thank God for good luck because she’s wearing a button-up shirt.
“I want to see you,” I tell her as I push one, two, three buttons from their holes. When she doesn’t stop me, I keep going until her shirt is open, and a pink lace bra cups her breasts.
“You’re so pretty,” I say as I trace the swells of each breast with my finger. Watch as goose bumps follow the same path.
She’s breathing hard, and shaking a little. “And you’re good at this.”
“I’m just getting started.” Soon it’s my tongue tracing the same path my finger did. I unhook her bra and watch her breasts spill free, before my tongue tastes each pert tip. We spend the rest of the night alternating between kissing and talking. Turning the car off and on. We end up in the backseat but don’t talk about anything important. I spend a lot more time with lips taking voyages over her body, traveling her land. Somehow I know if I go for her pants, she’s going to stop me, so I don’t.
Tonight, this is enough. It’s been a long time since I’ve done nothing but make out with a girl. When I went to live with Angel at fifteen, I was free for the first time in my life. Away from my dad and finally living, so I went wild for a while. I did a lot during that time, messed around with a lot of girls, but none of it felt as good as it had just kissing her tonight.
“I’ve never watched the sun come up.” She stares out at the pinks and oranges looking like watercolors in the sky.
“You work graveyard.”
“I didn’t say I’ve never seen it. I said I’ve never watched it. There’s a difference.”
Maybe, just maybe, she might be right. “Then we’ll watch.”
It only takes a few minutes for the sun to come up and we don’t talk or touch the whole time. Soon I’m driving her home. Colt and Cheyenne’s car is here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they went home right after we separated.
“You’re up all night again because of me.” There’s laughter in her voice. I consider kissing her good-bye, but I don’t.
“Doesn’t matter. Sleep in the daytime or at night is all the same. It’s still sleep.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She pauses. “Am I going to see you again? I don’t mean that in a clingy way. I know what this is, but…”
“You said you wanted to be friends, right?” It’s the only way that I have to say yes.
“Sure… friends.”
Delaney gets out of the car. I wait as she walks toward the apartment, but then she stops and looks back at me. “I don’t know if it matters, but I don’t work tonight.”
And then she’s gone and I sit here, trying to figure out if it does matter, and I think it might.
Chapter Ten
~Delaney~
“Mom?” I walk into the house after school. Fear clings to my spine at the mess inside. The pictures that have been ripped off the walls. The faces torn out. Photo albums strewn around the room.
Bump, bump, bump, bump.
The drum of my heart almost rivals the music, Simon & Garfunkel, that’s blasting through the room. She and Dad used to sing them all the time. Loved the song “The Boxer,” but I don’t get the same feeling as I used to when I hear it. Now when I do, I know she’s thinking about him.