Lying down, I curl up with a pillow and close my eyes, replaying every memory I’ve held onto. The bitter. The sweet. The heartbreaking end I never saw coming.
I felt safe here in Chicago. I thought I was worlds away . . . from him. Now I’m going to be looking over my shoulder everywhere I go, wondering if I’m going to run into him, obsessing over what I might say if we ever come face to face again.
Wallowing in a self-indulgent pool of bittersweet memories, I squeeze my eyes tight and pull up a selfie on my phone. It’s from the night we watched the Fourth of July fireworks from his backyard. We’re smiling, happy, blissfully unaware of what’s to come.
Once upon a time, we were living in the moment.
And I’ll admit, from time to time I did think about the future.
But never in my wildest dreams did I envision going down in flames.
I’m drifting, second by second, into what I hope to be a delicious nap. I need to escape for a bit. Quiet my mind. Still my thoughts. And I’m almost there . . .
Knock, knock, knock.
A quick zing races through me, running down my chest and spreading to my fingertips. I can’t breathe.
Tiptoeing quietly across my tiny apartment, I peek through the peephole . . .
. . . and open the door.
“Hey, Hayden,” I say. “Come on in.”
Chapter 39
Zane
I’m standing outside the expansive purple Victorian, staring up at the third window at the top of the turret where Delilah once claimed to live during the school year.
I don’t know if she still lives there, but tonight, I’m willing to take a chance.
I’ve been back in Chicago over a month now, my days and nights consumed with all things Chicago Thunder, but there hasn’t been a night that’s passed where I haven’t wondered where she is. What she’s doing. If she’s lying in her bed thinking about me too.
Pressing every apartment buzzer outside the entrance, I get a few responses over the intercom and eventually hear the heavy clunk of the door unlocking. I’m not sure how I feel about Delilah living in a “secure” apartment where the tenants blindly buzz strangers in, but I’m in now and that’s all that matters.
Climbing three flights of stairs, I find a long hallway with three apartment doors, pausing for a minute to get my bearings.
North.
The turret is north.
Standing outside a door labeled 3B, I hear voices. Two of them. A man and a woman.
Delilah.
I hear them laugh, their voices muffled by the thick, wooden door. Moving closer, I all but press my ear against it.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you . . .” she says. “I mean it. You’ve been so wonderful. I don’t deserve it.”
There’s another man in there and from the sound of it, Delilah thinks he’s pretty fucking great.
My fists clench and my jaw tightens.
I’m halfway between staying and going when the door opens, leaving me no choice.
A man stands on the other side. He’s clean cut. Well-dressed. Preppy almost. He wears a checkered button down, thick hipster glasses, and his sandy blond hair is combed back on top. He’s lanky and serious. This man is the complete opposite of everything about me.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Hayden, who is it?” Delilah comes out from behind him, pausing. Her expression pales.
“Hi Delilah,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I smirk, besotted all over again at the sight of her. “I came to talk.”
“Is everything okay here?” the hipster nerd asks, waving his pointer finger between us.
Delilah and I lock stares, the seconds before she answers ticking by slowly.
“Yeah,” she says. “Everything’s fine, Hayden.”
“All right, well, I’ll be next door. Pound on the wall if you need me . . .” He squeezes through the doorway past me, disappearing behind a door labeled 3A.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
She stands back, nodding, eyes averted and arms wrapped around her side. We stand in silence after she shuts the door.
“You’re quiet,” I say. “I was prepared for a Delilah Rosewood lashing, but you’re standing here looking like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I only found out today that you moved to Chicago. And now you’re here. I’m still kind of processing everything.” She takes a step away, keeping a guarded distance.
“Before I say all the things I came here to say,” I begin. “There’s just one thing I want to get out of the way. And I want to say it now, before it gets buried beneath all the things that are going to come out of our mouths once we get started.”
She folds her arms, her eyes snapping to meet mine. “Okay.”
“I love you.” I blurt it out before I have a chance to let that concentrated scowl on her face keep me from doing what I came here to do.
Delilah’s expression softens, her jaw falling. “What?”
“When I first met you, you were a thorn in my side. A real pain in the ass,” I say. “And you were sexy as hell in this little college student sort of way, and I really wanted to get a piece.”
“Nice.” She rolls her eyes.
“I know the arrangement we had, Delilah. I know we both agreed it was just fun and sex . . .” I sigh. “But you have to admit, somewhere along the line, it turned into something more.”
Delilah steps backwards, falling to the edge of her sofa, her arms limp across her knees and dark brown tendrils hanging in her face.
She places a hand up. “That’s great that you moved to Chicago and you’re standing here professing your love for me like you’re in some Nicholas Sparks movie, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me, Zane.”
“I never lied.” My fingers drag over my heart in the shape of a cross. Pulling in a deep breath, I take a seat in the chair across from her. “Carissa cornered me at the gym back in June.”
“It was Carissa?!”
“Let me finish. Every year, her father throws a big party just before camp starts . . .”
I tell Delilah everything, leaving nothing out. I tell her about Carissa blackmailing me, threatening to have me cut from the team, about her promise to leave me alone after the date, about the way she behaved at the party.
Delilah listens, clinging onto my every word and probably trying to read between the lines, but she doesn’t need to. I’ve given her nothing but the truth.
Straight up.
No chaser.
“So I yelled at her,” I say. “In front of the entire party. In front of her father.”
Delilah winces.
“A few days later, I was called into Coach Roberts’ office. Carissa’s father was there.” My mouth forms a hard line. “They told me I’d been cut from the team. They signed some kid from Texas at the last minute. Didn’t need me anymore. I’m sure that was part of it, but I’m sure the real reason had very little to do with that and a lot to do with Carissa’s meddling.”
“And now you’re here.” She picks at a loose thread on the sofa cushion. “Everything worked out for you. Glad you got your happy ending.”
“What makes you think I got my happy ending?”
Her warm eyes lift to meet mine. “Just seems like you got everything you wanted. You had your fun with me, you got signed to a team in your hometown . . . congratulations.”
“Delilah, stop.” I place my hand on hers, and she tenses at my touch.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about Carissa.” Her tone is louder now, and a storm brews in her dark gaze. “I would have understood.”
“I had no way of knowing that. I was only focused on one thing, and that was keeping our last weeks together as amazing as they could possibly be. I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to doubt me. I didn’t want this dark cloud hanging over our heads.” I squeeze her hand. “I didn’t want anything to change. And
worrying you about Carissa would’ve changed everything.”
She shakes her head. “I disagree.”
“Yeah, well, I did what I thought was right. And I’m sorry. I screwed up. I just kept thinking about how I’d feel if it were the other way around,” I say. “Just the thought of you spending a Saturday night with another man, even if you said it meant nothing, drove me insane.”
“Look,” she says. “We weren’t a couple. You weren’t my boyfriend. You didn’t cheat. It all boiled down to the way I found out. My sister telling me she saw you with another woman, kissing another woman . . . it crushed me in ways I never expected.”
“I hate that you found out the way you did.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
I pause, trying to summon an answer to a question I’ve never once asked myself.
“You weren’t,” she says, her tone dry.
“I never thought that far.” I take my hand off hers, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees as I stare at a flickering candle on her coffee table. “To me, it didn’t seem like a big deal because it didn’t mean anything. It was all work. It wasn’t about her. And if it’s any consolation, all I could think about that night was you. Every time I looked at her, I saw your face. I watched the clock all night, counting down the minutes until I thought I was going to see you again.”
“That’s all sweet and everything,” she tucks a dark tendril behind one ear, “but it doesn’t change anything. The damage is done. That beautiful summer we shared is going to be forever marred by that one night.”
“I never meant to hurt you, gorgeous.” I turn to her. “It was never my intention, and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing for it. Hell, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”
Her eyes widen.
“I want to try this again.” I clear my throat, locking my gaze with hers. “Let’s start over. New city. Clean slate.”
“No.” She shakes her head, staring away. “I’m really not interested in being fuck buddies again. It was a one-time thing for me, and-”
“No.” I cut her off. “I don’t want your body, Delilah. I want all of you.”
Delilah slowly faces me again. I sense her reluctance.
“Zane . . .” She licks her lips, readying herself with resistance, but I won’t allow it.
“I meant what I said. I love you. And I haven’t said that to anyone in a very long time.” I reach for her, pulling her into my lap so we’re face to face. Breathing in her sweet scent, I say, “I hate that we had a misunderstanding. I hate that I hurt you. And I’ll never keep anything from you as long as I live.”
Delilah exhales, her face pinched like she’s deep in thought.
“And I know we spent the summer convincing ourselves that what we had wasn’t a relationship,” I say. “But we were fooling ourselves, Delilah. We had a relationship all along. A real relationship. With real feelings. Mine were real. Were yours?”
Her lips press together, and she nods. “Yeah.”
“Give me another chance. Give us another chance.” My hands circle her waist, fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt as her body relaxes and my gaze lands on her full pout.
She makes me wait, each second excruciatingly painful, and then she lifts her hand to my face, trailing the outline of my jaw with her fingertip before running it along my lips.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. “So. Much.”
“I’ve missed you too, gorgeous.”
“And it still hurts.” Her voice is low, her eyes wincing. “And I want to give you another chance, but I’m having trouble saying yes right now.”
Her words shatter what little hope I’d been hanging on to. I was convinced that if she saw me again, if I could just explain . . . that everything would be back on track.
“Kiss me,” I command.
Her brows meet. “What?”
I don’t waste time explaining that I want her to remember the way we felt when things were different. Instead, I cup her face in my hands and bring her parted lips to mine. And to my relief, her pillow-soft lips accept my kiss.
“You’re not dating anyone, right? Not that plaid-shirted nerd who answered your door a little bit ago?”
“He’s my neighbor,” she says. “And he’s not into girls.”
“Good,” I say, sliding my hands down her hips and cupping her ass. I push her toward me, closer, until our lips are inches apart. “I didn’t want to have to kick his ass for touching my girl.”
Delilah rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. “Who says I’m still your girl?”
“Psh. You’ll always be my girl,” I tease. “Whether you want to be or not.”
“That’s creepy,” she says. “But not as creepy as throwing rocks at my window late at night like some stalker.”
“Whatever. You secretly loved it. And a stalker wouldn’t have thrown rocks. He’d have just looked in your window and watched you.”
“Thank God for curtains.”
She gives me a soft smile for the first time since I arrived, and my hand slides up the underside of her shirt because I’m just a man, and I can only keep myself from touching her for so long.
“What are you doing?” Her voice crawls to a whisper, but she presses her body against mine in some sort of silent invitation.
“I can’t stop touching you.” My teeth drag across my bottom lip. “You’re too damn irresistible, Delilah, and you make me so hot when you try to resist me. Reminds me of the night we first met. You in your pajamas, giving me the evil eye, trying so hard to pretend like you were some kind of hard ass. Fucking adorable.”
“You want to do this?” She throws up a white flag in the form of a sigh, and her hands slick up the nape of my neck. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
Snaking my hands under her shirt, I cup her pert breasts, pressing my lips against hers again, letting our tongues dance. My cock strains against my boxer briefs. There’s too much fabric between the two of us, and I’m going to go insane if that doesn’t change in the very near future.
Delilah, sensing my urgency, yanks her shirt over her head, and I move for her bra before sliding her yoga pants down her curved thighs. Her fingers work the zipper of my jeans with frantic precision, and she climbs on top of me the second I’m freed.
Lowering herself onto me until I’ve fully impaled her, her hips rock back and forth, alternating between rocking and circling, bringing her pink budded breasts to my lips each time she comes up.
“Show me how much you’ve missed me,” I growl, knotting my fingers in her hair as it spills down her back. I direct her face to mine, and she stops grinding on me for a moment. “Fuck me like you never stopped missing me.”
I give her a punishing kiss, and she resumes. My hands slide down her sides, gliding along her feminine S-shaped curves with greedy enthusiasm.
“I can do better than that,” she whispers in my ear, her lips swollen from my kiss. “I’ll fuck you like I never stopped loving you.”
Epilogue
Delilah
Three Months Later . . .
“Don’t forget, Delilah, you signed up to bring peanut butter brownies.” Krissy Caldwell flags me down as I leave the Thunder Girls meeting Saturday afternoon. It’s a club some of the players’ wives put together to create the sort of camaraderie you can only get when you’re part of a football family.
Of course, I’m only Zane’s girlfriend, but he spoke with Krissy, and they welcomed me with open arms. Her husband is the starting quarterback for the Chicago Thunder, and he and Zane have become fast friends these last few months.
“The bake sale is in two weeks, everyone!” Krissy calls out above the chatter of players’ wives. “Two PM. Saint Michael’s Cathedral. Remember, bring your A game. All proceeds are going to provide Christmas dinners to the homeless this year.”
“All right, I’m out of here,” I say to her. “Thanks for putting this together. I’m so grateful to be involve
d.”
“Of course.” She rubs my arm. “What are you and Zane doing for Christmas this year? Will you be in town? We’re having a bunch of friends over Christmas Eve. We’d love it if you and Zane could stop by.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m actually taking him home for Christmas,” I say. “He’s finally going to meet the rest of my family, so wish him luck.”
I give her a wink, and she chuckles.
“Aw, well, if they’re anything like you, they’re good people.” She rubs my arm before turning to flag down another woman. “Hilary, don’t forget, I have you down to bring cranberry walnut cookies.” She turns back to me. “I’ll see you next weekend. Thunder versus Rivets. Now those are the games I live for.”
“Hey, gorgeous.” Zane glances up from a moving box as I step into my apartment. “Just a few more to go, and then you’re all packed.”
“Thanks, de la Cruz.” I wink, walking to him. “You’re a pretty all right guy sometimes . . .”
His hand slinks up my thigh before cupping my ass, and then he pulls me to the ground, into his lap.
“It’s going to be so weird living with you,” I say. “I’ve never lived with a guy before. Still haven’t told my parents. Not that they’re super conservative or anything, but this is all happening so fast.”
“Yeah, well, can we tell them after Christmas? I kind of don’t feel like introducing myself and then informing them that their daughter is sleeping in my bed on a nightly basis. One thing at a time.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so worried they won’t like you.” I press my palm flat on his chest. “They’re going to love you.”
“Don’t have the best track record with parents.” His lips purse at the sides. “They see some tatted-up, tall and dark football player with too much money and freedom and they tend to not want me to date their daughters.”
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