by L. J. Woods
Copyright © 2021 by L.J. Woods
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by: Cosmic Letterz
Editing by: J.R. Hunt
Illustrations by: Sergey Kandakov, Varvara Gorbash, Daria Chekman, Graham Hunt
Contents
Stalk Me
Prologue
1. Delilah
2. Delilah
3. Delilah
4. Gabriel
5. Gabriel
6. Delilah
7. Delilah
8. Gabriel
9. Delilah
10. Gabriel
11. Gabriel
12. Delilah
13. Gabriel
14. Delilah
15. Delilah
16. Gabriel
17. Gabriel
18. Delilah
19. Gabriel
20. Delilah
21. Gabriel
22. Delilah
23. Delilah
24. Gabriel
25. Delilah
26. Delilah
27. Gabriel
28. Delilah
29. Delilah
30. Gabriel
31. Gabriel
32. Delilah
33. Gabriel
34. Gabriel
35. Gabriel
36. Delilah
37. Gabriel
Epilogue
Delilah’s Playlist
Gabriel’s Playlist
More, You Say?
Sneak Peek
Also by L.J. Woods
Acknowledgment
About The Author
“Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” — 1 Peter 5:8
Stalk Me
Reader’s Group
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BLURB
Gabriel Godfrey is the enemy. My bully. My brother’s best friend. The rich hot jock that brings girls to their knees. And now, he’s my roommate. Mother Mary, help me.
Delilah
Gabe rules the fancy private college and everyone in it.
A sculpted self-proclaimed god but he’s far from a saint.
Good boy gone bad. Son of a televangelist billionaire with the soul of the devil, and I. Freaking. Hate him!
What I didn’t know? Gabe is a damn-good kisser.
I mean, stomach-twisting, toe-curling, oh-my-god good.
Now he wants to ruin my life like he’s done before.
Moving to this small town with deadly secrets is unbearable. But finding out your bully is your roommate? Welcome to hell.
Gabriel
Forgive her Father, this girl is sin.
Filthy, forbidden sin.
Delilah Daniels is a bad, bad girl - my best friend’s sister, all grown up.
Guess what, Dee? I’m your new roommate, and in this house, we play by my rules.
You can’t run or hide. You’re mine until I say.
Scream as loud as you want, but when you scream my name, make sure it’s “God”.
Fan of rich alpha possessive bad boys? This book is for you! OMG is a full-length new adult college bully romance novel with mature themes. This enemies-to-lovers romance is recommended for readers 18+. This is a standalone book that can be read as part of an interconnected series.
Prologue
Delilah
Dear Lord, if you’re really up there … fuck you.
Rain falls over the casket. One that looks like we pulled it out of the sea. A wooden box. No fancy handles or inscriptions. Hell, the wood doesn’t even shine.
Thunder rolls through the sky, the air chilly for an early summer’s day. The sky is as dark as that night. As dark as the bags under my eyes.
“When can we leave?” Julie whines. That’s Nix’s girlfriend of the week and she’s so needy he brings her everywhere. Including here. “My mascara won’t stop running.”
Long black hair sticks to my head, rain dripping from the ends. His suit sticks to my body. The stupid green one he wore to his prom. The one Gabe bet him to wear on his wedding. The wedding he’ll never see. Soaked to my skin it still smells like him. Wood and stale cologne.
Nix mumbles something to Julie before a flask comes to my chest. “Liles?” A gentle nudge rocks my body from side to side as he lowers his head. “How you holdin’ up?”
Bringing the flask to my lips, the sweetness of rum falls on my tongue, the burn giving me warmth. It’s just the three of us in this rundown cemetery near the beach. His favourite spot to board. The guys from his college left. So did Grandma and her church friends. Mom never came back from Miami but hey, at least she sprung for the casket.
“She’s been standing there for an hour,” Julie whispers, but it’s far from one.
“Liles?” Nix asks again. “Do you wanna head out? Light a spliff? Roll a jay?”
No words. Besides cursing the asshole who deserves it, I haven’t had many this week. Shaking my head, the taste of salt falls on my lips. If it wasn’t for the rain running down my face I wouldn’t shed a tear. They say to let out the pain, but as I hide my tears behind the patter of rain, I still feel the fucking same.
Broken.
My heart rips open, over and over again and the heat on my skin won’t settle. The ache in my head won’t go away. No matter how hard I cry, no matter how loud I yell, my big brother isn’t coming back.
“So … can we go?” Julie asks.
“Nah, babe,” Nix responds. “Not until Liles is ready.”
“So you care about her more than you care about me?” she scoffs. “I knew it.”
“Babe, it’s her brother’s funeral!” Nix isn’t usually the type to go from zero to one-hundred in a sentence but it’s been a hell of a week. “Damn. Chill.”
“What is she even waiting for?” Julie asks. “The funeral ended forever ago.”
Him.
I’ve waited all week for him.
All one-hundred hours and forty-five minutes. In fifteen it’ll be one-hundred and one.
“Delilah?”
A woman’s nasally voice comes from behind me. My fists tighten.
Lifting my head, lightning strikes as I turn to the sound.
Penelope and David Godfrey stand at the gate, a giant black umbrella over their head. A large cross made of roses sits in David’s hand. When I storm up to them, it’s the first thing I smack.
“Where the fuck is he?!” Thunder cracks with my voice, Penelope jumping at the sound.
“Delilah!” She grips the collar of her black trenchcoat, black heels sinking into the mud. She smooths a strand of shiny blonde hair behind her ear. The gems dangling from it match the ones on her finger. It embodies Penelope Godfrey. Unnecessary and over-the-top. “I’m so sorry for your—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck! Where is he?”
“Now, Delilah.” David takes a step forward, clerical collar on full display. Eyeing my soaking attire, he clasps his hands, angel-wing rosary falling from them. At first glance, he looks like a humble priest in this getup. But that perfect greying quiff and those leather loafers say “rich prick” louder than the voice of God. “We’ve come to pay respect on behalf of our Pentacatholic community. I know you’re grieving but there’s no reason to be hostile.”
&nb
sp; “Pentacatho-lick my balls, David!” My fists tighten by my side, burn in my nose as I take a step closer. “Is Gabriel here, or not?”
“Your brother’s death is not on my son,” Penny’s cheeks redden.
“Is he here to prove that?”
“Passing the blame is only standing in your way, Delilah,” Pastor Godfrey declares, his voice stern like he’s on his Sunday sermon. “Your brother had his demons.”
“And your son is a demon!” A fire roars through me before my wet palms come to each of their chests. David hardly moves but Penelope stumbles, holding onto her husband for dear life. It’s what she does best. “Get the fuck out!”
“Liles!” Nix jogs over, his hand on my arm but I tug it away so I can point a finger right at them. “Chill!”
“Get the fuck out, and tell your son if I find him—” Taking a second, my gaze moves between them. They still have a son. One with eyes as dark as his mom’s. One with a chin as strong as his dad’s. And I’m going to break him, just like he broke me. “If I find him, he’s dead.”
“You can’t threaten us, Delilah,” Penelope whips a finger at my face. “I’ll have you sued!”
“That’s not a threat.” A laugh erupts out of me, one that tells me Gabriel Godfrey will get what he fucking deserves. “It’s a goddamn promise.”
One
Delilah
Three Months Later
“Holy Mother of Mary!”
Jaw dropped, my grip tightens on the decade-old phone, my eyes fixed on the cracked screen. A pair of blurry bouncing boobs has my full attention, my head moving up and down with them.
“Don’t you mean ‘Mother of God’?” Nix asks, his hard shoulder pushing into mine. The smell of pot wafts off his baggy black shirt, blending with the woodsy smell of new books. “Dang, Liles. How you gonna survive in that uppity school if you don’t brush up on your Jesus?”
Pulling the screen closer to my face helps to block my view of the cross in the window. “Said uppity school needs to brush up on their email security.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Moans and pants blend with some old hip-hop coming from the stereo. Biggie’s “Big Poppa.”
Our heads tilt to the left. “Daaaamn!” we say, in sync like a boy band.
A girthy cock fills the screen before blurry bodies slap together. Nix’s cap drops to the shiny wooden floor but neither of us moves. No matter how hard I look, I can’t tell who’s filming the thing, the camera wobbling like a first-person shooter.
“Wait.” The stale gum in my mouth almost falls on my screen. “Do I know her?”
“We’re gonna end up in hell for watching this in a Christian bookstore.”
“Probably. But it’s like watching Chris Hemsworth in Men in Black. You can’t look away.” My eyes zero in on a lined fish tattoo on the girl’s skinny ankle, a furry black rug underneath her knees. “Besides, hell’s where I belong. Who do you think sent this?” Looking at the sender shows a bunch of numbers attached to the school domain.
[email protected]
“Someone who likes to show off.” Nix nudges my arm. “Bet you wish it was a dick pic from Gabe.”
A pang hits my stomach, phone pushing into my skin as my grip tightens. “Why the fuck would you even say that? His dick isn’t worthy of being on this phone.” Replaying the video, I hit pause when the rug is in view again. “Wait, do you think he sent this?” Zooming in, I get a close-up of the cameraman’s balls, smooth and hairless. I shake my head. “He wouldn’t do that. His folks would kill him.”
Nix snorts. “Ha, you’d know ‘cause you’re straight-up obsessed.”
“Believe me, if I knew where Gabriel Godfrey’s balls were, I’d cut them off myself. With a hedge trimmer.”
Ignoring the quickening pace of my heart, my hip rests against the rickety counter. Nix moves out of the booth and into the store while the video stays in my view. It’s not like I’m some perv getting off on this. Something about the room they’re in looks familiar. Very familiar.
“Man, we’re gonna miss having a savage back in the Six.” Nix disappears behind a shelf before poking his head through an empty space. “The ‘burbs blow, but at least it’s a hockey town.”
“If only they cared about hockey as much as they cared about their church.” Turning my attention back to the phone, the dark wood underneath the rug rings a bell. It’s the same wood matching the one in this store. His store. Well, his family’s store.
“I’m callin’ you on this though, Liles. If Gabe wasn’t off on some missionary bullshit you’d be singing a different song.”
Looking up from the screen with a glare, Nix flips through a Bible, standing in front of a large cross display. Dim lights shine on his hat, my eyes on the Jays logo. “And what song would that be, Nixon?”
“Uh,” Nix pauses, noticing the tone in my voice as his long legs stiffen in beige denim. “‘Hail Mary’ by Tupac?” Turning around, his slitted eyebrow raises, a dimple in his cheek when he smiles. It’s no wonder the girls back in the city go crazy for him. His hard body offsets his cushy exterior. To others, he’s a model. To me, he’s a burnout. The best one there is.
He raps the first line to the first verse before I join in, both of us chopping our crotches on the word “pussy.” Realizing he still has that Bible in his hand he drops it on the table, dusting off his palms. “Let’s be real. Elijah’s gone so Godfrey’s pretty much fair …” He trails off. We’re too close for him not to notice a shift in the room as that glob forms in my throat. Nix surrenders. “Shit, I didn’t mean to bring that up. I’m sorry, I say a lot of stupid shit when I’m stoned.”
“No Church in the Wild” fills the store. When a blur comes to my eye, my chin lifts to the ceiling, that night playing in my head.
Dark.
Clammy.
Cold.
Clearing my throat, I find my words. “It’s fine.” I swallow the glob, straightening my back so I appear tall. Even though I’m short, I keep my head high. Always. “But keep it up and I’ll cut yours off too.” Hoisting my fist in the air, I further my point, waving my arm side-to-side like I’m holding a limp cock.
He laughs louder and just like that, all’s good between us. “Yo, does Grandma Daniels even know you’re in here?” Crossing his arms, he tilts his chin to the booth.
Of all the bookstores I’ve set foot in, this takes the fucking cake. Rich wooden floors, long rows of shiny bookcases. There’s a tree coming from the middle that’s said to represent the Garden of Eden. They even have a fucking mural of heaven. All while Nani’s booth looks like a lemonade stand, rickety wooden counter with handwritten prices on a plastic display. This may as well be on the side of the road. When the Godfreys promised Nani a restaurant here, this wasn’t what I had in mind.
“Nope,” I reply. “But I’m not in charge. Munchies are.” Turning to the portable gas stove on the counter behind me, I toss a flat piece of dough on the flame. “Besides, she’s at some elder church gathering across town so I’m the least of her worries right now.”
Closing the email on my phone brings me back to @CanadianSkate. A kick-ass skateboarding InstaShot page I adore. Tapping back to my feed, my stomach flips when I see the most recent photo from @HammerGodfrey. It’s a shot of a Bible and a Canadian flag on top of Mount who-gives-a-fuck, somewhere on the west coast.
He hasn’t posted in months. Hasn’t called. No texts.
And now this?
“Liles?” Nix calls but I hardly hear him. Too distracted by the memories flicking through my head. Lost in the photo that should make me feel relief but only makes my skin hotter than this late-summer sun. The comments all praise him for his great work. Hearts and crowns telling him he’s their idol when he’s the one who did the unforgivable.
“Delilah?”
On his page, the photos are all the same. Foreign landscapes, Christian imagery, and fancy food. The burn hits my nose again, my eyes boring into the screen.
Gabriel Godfrey giv
es zero fucks about what happened to his best friend. My brother. No fucks about what happens to me.
Total. Fucking. Fraud.
“Delilah!” His voice is loud in my ear before my head snaps up. When I turn to the stove, he’s already taking the burnt roti off the flame. “You’re gonna burn this place down.”
The room grows colder than seconds ago. “I should.” Shrugging the oversized plaid shirt over my shoulders only does half the job with an old crop top underneath. “The Godfreys have more money than God Himself. They’d be fine.”
“Enough money to sue you,” he says.
Flipping the roti, I glare at him. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side that says you’re not lasting the year in Clementine.” He reaches for a hug. “I don’t wanna do it, but I gotta head back to the city before traffic gets tight.” He releases me with a shove, eyes landing on the beige extension cord the burner plugs into. “Don’t burn the place down.”
I know the dangers of filling up slots on an old extension cord, especially in a make-shift booth. But there’s no fighting my craving for some of Nani’s cooking. Especially not while I’m stoned as fuck.