The Complete Rixton Falls Series

by Winter Renshaw

  In the dark, I see the outline of her body as it angles toward me, and I feel the weight of her stare.

  “And count yourself lucky because I don’t do sleepovers,” I add. “So get your hot little ass back in my bed before I change my mind.”

  She pauses, exhaling, and slowly climbs back under the covers. “You don’t think this is weird?”

  “It’s only weird if you say it’s weird. You want to call this weird?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Hand me the remote.”

  She grabs the remote from her side of the bed and hands it off, and I flick the TV on. It’s already tuned to ESPN, and we’re just in time to catch today’s highlights reel.

  Delilah fluffs the pillow behind her, yawning and keeping a safe distance from me.

  “I can’t believe we fell asleep,” she says.

  “I can.” I smirk.

  She rubs her eyes and nonchalantly fixes her messy bed head. She’s too fucking adorable. Sitting up, she adjusts her pillows and leans back against the headboard.

  “I’m wide awake now,” she says. “I may as well head back.”

  “Delilah,” I groan. “For the love of God.”

  Her response comes in the gurgling growl of her stomach.

  Delilah’s hand flies to her lower belly. “Sorry. I was so busy getting the house ready earlier, I forgot to eat dinner tonight.”

  “You’re hungry?” I sit up, resting on my elbow. “Come on.”

  Peeling off the covers, I climb out of bed and motion for her to follow.

  “Where are we going? I’m naked, you know.” There’s a slight giddiness to her tone.

  “Well aware of the fact that you’re naked,” I reply, taking her hand and pulling her down the hall toward the kitchen. I pull a bar stool out for her and head to the pantry, returning with a box of pancake mix. “Midnight pancakes are my specialty.”

  Her cherry lips lift in the corners as her gaze is trained on my every move.

  “What, you didn’t think I could cook?” I measure a cup of water and pour it into a bowl full of mix, whisking with quick light strokes, just like my abuela taught me years ago.

  “I didn’t say anything.” She holds her hands up. “Do you want help?”

  “Nope. You’re my guest. And you more than earned this pancake dinner, gorgeous.” I heat up a pan on the stove, my back toward her. “I can feel you checking out my ass.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, de la Cruz.”

  “It’s okay if you like my ass. I’ve heard it looks great in football pants. But, you know, I’ve never actually looked. I wouldn’t know for sure.”

  I pour a ladle full of batter into the skillet and grab a spatula as little bubbles rise to the top. A couple minutes later, I plate the pancakes. One for her. One for me. And meet her at the island with all the fixings: maple syrup, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries.

  “You’re the only person I know who can make me think of sex while I eat pancakes.” Delilah licks a drip of syrup from her lower lip. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to look at pancakes the same again.”

  “And you shouldn’t.” I dip a strawberry into a bowl of whipped cream. “From here on out, every time you eat pancakes, you’re going to remember this night and the amazing sex you had with the asshole next door. I’m pretty much cursing you, since I’m a wizard and all.”

  “Sorcerer.”

  “Same difference.”

  She forks a sliver of syrup-drenched pancake and smiles. I like Delilah when she smiles. I also like her when she’s on all fours. Naked as the day she came. I really, really like her that way. But I like her this way too. Relaxed and sweet and at ease.

  Her soft gaze washes over me as she finishes her plate, grabbing a strawberry and dragging it through a smear of melted chocolate chips.

  “Thanks for the food, de la Cruz,” she says, red juice dripping from her lip. I reach across the island and catch it with my thumb, bringing it to my mouth.

  “You all finished?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Let’s get you back where you belong.” I walk around to her side and hook my hand around her wrist, pulling her back to bed.

  Once we’re under the covers, she inches toward her side of the bed little by little, the space between us widening by the second.

  “You trying to land a jet here or something?” I point to the landing strip between us. Sure, it’s a king-sized bed, but that doesn’t mean we need to lie in different continents here. I extend my arm and motion for her to come in.

  Pursing her lips, she wiggles closer until her head fits perfectly in the crook of my shoulder and the scent of her clean shampoo fills my nostrils.

  The flicker of the TV lights and then darkens the room, and I catch Delilah in a yawn. Good sex and good food will do that to a person.

  “It’s been years since anyone’s stayed over,” I say, dragging my fingertips down her arm.

  “Lucky me.”

  “Damn right, lucky you.” I smirk, kissing the top of her head because it’s so damn hard to be this close to her and not want to taste and touch and feel her at all times.

  The Sports Center theme song plays and the show cuts to commercial. Delilah rolls to her side, facing me, and I wrap her up in my arms.

  “Rue said you have a sex tape.” Her words stop my heart cold. “Is that true?”

  For the first time in a long time, I’m at a loss for words. I mean, the sex tape is something anyone with an Internet connection could easily Google, but it’s been a long time since someone straight up asked me about it.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had to talk about it.

  “Who was it with? Can I watch it? Is that weird?” Delilah’s giggling, like she’s amused. She thinks it’s funny.

  The truth is, it was the biggest mistake of my life.

  That tape ruined lives.

  That tape cost me everything.

  Including Mirabelle.

  My grip on Delilah’s warm body loosens, and I lie flat on my pillow, staring up at the spinning, whirring ceiling fan above us.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice is monotone and my body is tense, bracing itself for Delilah to pry and prod and ask a million questions so she can psychoanalyze me, which I know she’s been dying to do since the day we met.

  My breath is jagged and labored.

  And then I feel her hand, warm on my chest, and my breathing slows.

  “No problem,” she says, her voice sweet. She moves closer, pressing her cheek against my chest where my heart is still thundering.

  Glancing down, I watch as she closes her eyes, her body going limp in my arms.

  And then I hold her close.

  I hold her closer than I’ve held anyone in a very long time.

  And I sleep hard.

  Harder than I’ve slept in years.

  And when I wake Sunday morning, she’s still there, lying beside me, her dark hair a splayed mess on my pillow, her soft breathing filling my ear.

  A foreign warmth spreads through me, the kind of warmth I haven’t felt in a long time.

  Chapter 21

  Delilah

  “Call me when you land.” I follow Daphne out to her Uber ride in Rue’s driveway. It’s a blue Volkswagen Jetta. New. Clean. The driver looks to be mid-twenties. Slightly nerdy. He smiles a boyish smile and gives a little wave.

  “I’ll text you,” my sister says, lugging her bag into the popped trunk.

  “Call. Text. Whatever.” I stand, my heart aching a little bit at the thought of her leaving.

  We had fun this week. Miami. Movies. Manicures. Man-talk.

  All of that when she wasn’t with Weston.

  “I’m thinking I might come back,” Daphne says, turning to me, “when I’m done with the mural.”

  “Weston?”

  She smirks. “And you and Rue . . .”

  “Mm, hm.” I tease, but it’s so nice to see her happy again. She’s lit
from within, from the top of her wispy blonde hair to the tips of her pink polished toes. There’s a light in her eyes that wasn’t there a week ago.

  Daphne comes in for a hug, squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe.

  “Be good this summer,” she says. “Embrace the messy and complicated.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “I want some really good stories next time I see you.” She lets me go and steps inside the Jetta, and I watch from the end of Rue’s driveway as my sister heads to the airport.

  As I walk up the sidewalk to the front door, my phone rings in my pocket.

  “Hey, Aunt Rue,” I answer. “How’s condo shopping?”

  “Sweetie, we got an offer on the house,” she says. “I accepted it. We have to be out by the end of July.”

  “That’s great,” I say.

  “Full asking price too.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Anyway, just wanted to let you know, no more showings for the rest of the summer,” she says. “And when I get home Wednesday, I’m taking you out for a nice steak dinner. You’ve been such a great help these last few weeks. Cleaning. Organizing. Dealing with Taylor and the showings.”

  I laugh. “Thanks, Aunt Rue.”

  “I’ll still pay you through August,” she adds.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, no. I will.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I can’t wait for you to see the new place.”

  “Oh, you found one?”

  “No.” She exhales. “But I will. And you’ll love it. I told my agent I won’t buy a place that doesn’t have my great niece’s stamp of approval. Someday when I’m long gone . . .”

  “Don’t talk like that.” I take a seat on the edge of Rue’s front steps, reaching for an orange day lily and running my fingertips along its satin petals.

  “Sweetie, death is a fact of life. Let me finish.”

  “Okay.”

  “Someday when I’m long gone, I’m passing my condo along to you, Demi, Derek, and Daphne.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice that breaks my heart. I can’t imagine a life without Great Aunt Rue in it, and I don’t want to think about it. “My hope is that you’ll keep it in the family and use it as a shared vacation home. And I’m getting a three-bedroom unit so you can all bring your families.”

  My eyes mist, and the bright afternoon sun makes them burn. Closing them tight, I thank her.

  “That means a lot, Aunt Rue.” I sniffle. “Thank you so much.”

  “I love you kids,” she says. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to kids of my own. Your father was my first nephew and the only one who ever kept in touch when they all flew the coop.”

  “Dad’s really big into keeping the family together,” I say.

  “Which is more than any of his siblings can say.” Aunt Rue clears her throat. “Anyway, I love you, sweetie. I appreciate you spending your summer down here, letting me run you ragged. I’m sure you’d rather be back home with your friends and family.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. And I mean it. Growing up, my summers with Aunt Rue were part of the routine, and as I’ve gotten older, they’ve become cherished memories. I realized those summers were numbered, and I’m more than happy to be here. “I’m right where I want to be.”

  “All right. Enough of this sappy crap.” Rue laughs. “I’ll see you in a few days. Hold the fort down for me, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  Aunt Rue hangs up, and I rise to head inside. And then I freeze. Zane’s black SUV is parked at the foot of Rue’s driveway and the passenger window is rolling down. When I finally see his face, he’s motioning for me to come his way.

  “Hey gorgeous,” he says when I approach him.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He points to the golf clubs in the back. “Going to hit some balls. I’ve got some charity thing tomorrow with the team. I’m a little rusty.”

  “I love golf,” I say. “I worked at a golf course back home for a few summers. And I played on the girls’ golf team in high school.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His expression changes, and I wait for him to invite me along. “That’s cool.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “You going by yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  Refusing to invite myself along, I respond with an insincere, “That’s cool. Have fun.”

  And I walk away. Clearly he doesn’t want to spend time with me if it doesn’t involve clothes on the floor and his throbbing manhood shoved into any orifice he can find.

  “Delilah,” he calls. “Hey.”

  With my back toward him, I wave. He’s lucky I don’t flip him off. I mean, I get that we’re fuck buddies, but that was a dick move. I slept in his arms last night, in his bed, in his house. He made me pancakes and kissed the top of my head.

  But he can’t be seen in public with me? Really?!

  “Delilah . . .” he calls out again.

  I slam the door behind me.

  I’ll embrace complicated. But I won’t embrace being treated like someone’s dirty little secret.

  Chapter 22

  Zane

  I feel like the biggest fucking sap right now.

  I’m standing outside Rue Rosewood’s house with an armful of roses, knocking on her door over and over and over again.

  It’s Tuesday night.

  I haven’t seen Delilah in two days. Not since she stormed off Sunday afternoon because I didn’t invite her to go golfing.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to. I’d have loved to take her along. But I can’t be seen with girls – especially not pretty ones like her that make me smile like a lovestruck idiot. I promised Coach no girls this summer. As far as I know, I’m still skating on thin ice. My contract has no provisions that save me from being cut.

  “Delilah, I know you’re in there. Open up.” I knock harder, and then I adjust my tie because I came here dressed for the date I’m about to take her on.

  Sure we’re just fucking, and she’s definitely not my girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t mean anything to me. The last thing I want is for her to feel used, and I have every intention of explaining everything to her tonight.

  The foyer light flicks on and my breath catches in my chest. I clear my throat and grip the bouquet of pale pink roses.

  When the door pulls open, Delilah is standing before me, dressed in sweats, her hair piled high into a messy bun, and thick black glasses hiding her beautiful warm brown gaze.

  “Can I help you?” One hand rests on her hip, the other fixed on the doorknob. Her eyes scan the length of me. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I’m taking you out tonight.”

  She laughs. “No thanks.”

  “I owe you some explanations.”

  “Damn right you do. Only I’m over it, Zane. I really am. We had our fun. We had our moments. I don’t think I’m cut out for the whole friends-with-benefits thing, especially since you’re incapable of treating me like a friend.”

  “It’s not like that. At all.” I step closer. She steps away. “I love hanging out with you, Delilah. I love being around you. I have a fucking blast with you. I can be myself when you’re around. I don’t have to drink. I don’t have to censor myself – although maybe I should sometimes.”

  Delilah’s eyes roll, and she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, you love to hang out with me. Made that perfectly clear the other day, didn’t you?”

  “Let me take you out tonight,” I say. “I’ll explain everything.”

  “Why should I, Zane?”

  I miss when she calls me de la Cruz.

  That playful spark in her eyes is gone, and I feel like a giant piece of shit.

  “Because when you hear what I’m going to say, everything will make sense,” I say, handing her the flowers. “And you should probably put these in some water. I bought them several hours ago.”

  Delilah reluctantly takes the bouquet, slowly bringing the roses
just under her nose. “Why roses?”

  “I don’t know.” I scratch the underside of my chin, shrugging. “I looked at all the flowers they had and they all looked like they were trying too hard. These were just . . . perfect exactly the way they were.”

  “Why pink?”

  “Why the random questions? And why do I feel like I’m being psychoanalyzed?”

  “Just answer.”

  “Because red is cheesy and peach is ugly and white makes me think of funeral flowers. Pink was just . . . perfect.”

  She smells them again then lets the bouquet drop to her side. “Fine. Give me time to get ready. Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I need to know how to dress.”

  “We’ll be close to the water. That’s all I’m telling you.”

  I’m sitting at Rue’s kitchen table when Delilah’s heels click from down the hall. When she rounds the corner and comes into view, I almost forget to breathe. Her hair is curled into loose waves that drape her shoulders, and her lips are slicked in candy apple red. A navy and white striped sleeveless dress hugs her curves and stops just above the knee, and it takes every ounce of my being not to hike up the hem and have my way with her right here.

  “Wow . . . I . . . you . . .” I’m speechless. “You look gorgeous.”

  She hooks a hand on her hip. “You going to tell me where you’re taking me now?”

  I approach her with small steps, taking my time and enjoying the view. She still wants to be mad at me, but it won’t last long. She licks her lips, her body tense and her demeanor guarded, but by the time this night ends, she’s going to be mine all over again.

  Sliding my fingertips down the side of her silken arm, I take her hand in mine and pull her toward the front door. By the time we reach my SUV, the light scent of her perfume envelops us in a cloud of sweetness.

  I open her door, treating her like the lady she is, and I neglect to tell her that I’m not sure I’ve ever opened a door for anyone before.

  A minute later, we’re leaving Laguna Palms and heading toward the Gulf Coast. Another hour or so and we’ll be at my favorite private beach. One of my buddies owns this little section of shoreline, and tonight, it’s just going to be us, a blanket, the crashing waves, and the starry sky.