by Natalie Wrye
I know I’m not.
I’ve lied to Delilah in the past. I’m lying to her now. I know I’ll lie even more in the future, and despite knowing that another liar has laid beside her for all these years, I feel slow to judge.
What was the difference between Darren, deceiver that he was, and me? Not much. We both wanted Delilah for our own selfish lives, both lied to get her. I was never anyone’s hero. Not even hers. And to add insult to injury… I haven’t said more than two honest words since the moment we met.
Cross Your Mind
DELILAH
The car ride from New York Presbyterian two days later to my FBI interview is uncomfortable. Unfortunately, every bit of discomfort that I feel is centered right between my thighs.
I recall the smell the soap on Javi’s skin from when he grabbed me in my doorway. I remember the hardness of his hands pressed against my back. More importantly, I can recollect his growing erection at the apex of my thighs, and every inch of my skin is now tingling with excitement.
I never considered that I would turn Javi on; I could only think about how he made me feel. And now, to know that I am affecting him is bringing me a level of exhilaration that I had forgotten existed.
His breath was a whisper across my hair. He inhaled and exhaled steadily, a motion so sturdy I could feel it through his stone-like torso. And his heart…it beat like the roll of a snare-drum. Staccato. Quick-paced. Never-ending. Never stopping. A million thumps dancing to the rhythm of the rain falling around us.
Just like my own.
Despite the chill in the taxi, a bead of sweat trickles between my breasts. There’s something about Javi that touches the base of my femininity. I’m no damsel in distress, but there’s some element of a “knight in shining armor” within him. This urge to save me, protect me…shield me.
No man has put himself on the line for me the way he has in just thirty-six short hours. And yet, I am conflicted. How much should I let him in? How kind is too kind? Those who have seen my kindness haven’t mistaken it for weakness… In fact, they weren’t mistaken at all.
For the past three years, I was weak, and vultures in people-sized disguises pounced on my benevolence, exploiting it for the vulnerability that it really was. What if Javi was no different? I’d once believed that I’d found the man who would never hurt me. I was wrong. He was the worst of all the perpetrators.
I grit my teeth, steeling myself against the throb of desire that is pulsating at my most sensitive part: that small and, now annoying, peak between my legs.
Del, you’re no better than the silly schoolgirl you once were. Just because Javi’s hot—ridiculously, unimaginably hot—doesn’t mean that you should completely throw caution to the wind. He’s a stranger now.
And just because your body can’t seem to pull it together doesn’t mean that you should lose your head. Focus, Del. Fucking. Focus. The price of gullibility is too high, and you simply can’t afford it anymore. Or have you forgotten already?
Javi throws me an almost imperceptible wink as soon as we are in the Bureau office, and as soon as he was out of sight, I enter the room, closing it behind me. I shake the hand of the woman waiting inside. She smiles through our introductions, motioning towards the door behind her.
“Right this way, Ms. Cook.”
I nod to the sound of my marital name, a moniker I’ve never gotten used to. I enter through the door with my gaze on the floor, and to my surprise, I find pants where there should be a skirt and a pair of shiny black shoes sticking out like sore thumbs beneath that. I lift my gaze to stare into the steel-eyes of an attractive bald man, svelte and stern-looking, his navy blue eyes colder than his suit of the same color.
He appraises me with an assessing look.
“Ah, Ms. Cook, glad to finally meet you.”
I take his stiff, extended hand, shaking it. “Mr. Langley…” I fake a smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”
He motions to a chair in the middle of his office. “Please sit down.”
I follow his unwelcoming advice. Feet wobbly, my knees practically knocking, I take the seat in front of one of the most powerful men on Capitol Hill, Aidan Langley— Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Associate Director of the Criminal Investigative Division. Soon to be Director. And Javi’s new boss…
Well, one of his new bosses.
But it was his employee that was on my mind at the moment. The man who’d brought me. The man who’d dragged me from death to give my story to the Feds. Literally.
I feel small next to the FBI Associate Director, a peon in the presence of a sophisticated duke. He looks at me as if he feels the same, flashing me a smile that doesn’t reach his gray-blue eyes. He clears his throat.
“So… Delilah,” I instantly hate the way he says my name. “Tell me a little about yourself.”
I recite my resume, the words feeling numb on my tongue.
“Well I have my MBA from Notre Dame, a Bachelor’s from Cornell. I own my own bakery, The Sweet Spot, and I have a daughter…named Melanie.” I don’t mention Darren. I don’t know if he matters. “Pretty average life, at best.”
His returning tone is condescending at best. He nods. “I bet.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Javi assured me that he had the inside track with Aidan, but now looking into the Associate Director’s icicle eyes, I was starting to think that the only thing the man had an inside track to was a one-ticket to Hell. I wonder if he’s working on purchasing mine when luckily his desk telephone rings and he excuses himself to pick it up.
“Hello.” His face slides into a frown. “No, I’m not busy…”
Steam practically comes out of my ears.
“Yes… Yes, of course.” The Associate Director grabs for his cell phone, standing up behind his desk. “Excuse me while I take care of this very important call.”
Without another word, he exits with my disbelieving eyes following him. Curse words I hadn’t used in years threatened to explode from my tongue until my own phone vibrates in my lap.
Silencing it with the push of a button, I glance at the screen.
Javi:
Having fun, Ms. Castalano?
ME:
That’s Ms. Cook, to you. And no, I’m not having fun.
Javi:
Hmm, don’t like the sound of that. Grumpy today? I like the old you better.
I glance back at the door through which the Associate Director left, thinking about his ticket to Hell and mine. I bet his seat is First Class. I just got seated in Coach. I type back.
ME:
The schoolgirl me?
Javi responds fast.
Javi:
Doesn’t matter. I’ll take you either way.
Take me? The words shouldn’t have bothered me. But it was always something in the way he spoke. Even then… Those undertones constantly hidden in the subtext of our conversations that made me think about “take me” in a totally different way.
I remember a time when Javi “taking me” wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. I brush the feeling, as well as Javi, off.
ME:
I’m in the middle of an interview. Your interview. Go away.
He responds with a pair of ellipses.
Javi:
…
He waits another few seconds.
Javi:
No, you’re not.
I frown.
ME:
I’m not what?
Javi:
In the middle of an interview. I am. Except I’m the one asking Langley all the hard questions.
I look back at the door. No fucking way. I tap the keyboard on my phone with frantic fingers.
ME:
You didn’t…
Javi:
Oh, yes, I did. Aidan Langley has me on speed-dial.
ME:
How are you speaking to both of us?
I get the sense he’s grinning when he sends his next words.
Javi:
&nbs
p; I call it ‘double-fisting.’ A quick save to break up Langley’s questions. Guy can be a prick.
I hold back a sudden snort.
Javi:
I’m no Richard Gere, climbing up the fire escape in “Pretty Woman” but I could teach you a thing or two, Ms. Castalano. You have only touched the surface of my skills.
My laughing tapered off. I wondered how many “skills” Aidan Langley was privy to. A sinking feeling settled deep into my gut about the reality of Javi’s current position in the FBI but before I can muse any more about it, I am already responding to the app’s last message.
ME:
Is that the extent of your skillset? Fast texting fingers, Mr. Mondello?
I regret the text the instant I send it.
Javi:
Ahhh, I see now. Doubting my skills.
He hesitates.
Javi:
Would you like a demonstration of them?
God, he’s so distracting. So distracting that for a second—okay, a full freaking five minutes—I almost forget where I am.
ME:
Not now. Or ever. Do you want me to get through this interview or not, Javi?
Javi:
What do you think I’m working on right now? Making him pissed at me usually gets other people off the hook.
I grunt softly, typing.
ME:
Ya think…? His attitude probably has way more to do with you than it does with me. I haven’t said two words to the man.
Javi:
Typical. I do all the work.
ME:
I beg to differ. You’re not the one sitting here in this sweaty blazer and skirt.
Javi:
No different than the ones you used to prance around in fifteen years ago.
He pauses before writing the rest.
Javi:
And we both know how I felt about them then…
My stomach does a little dance. I know he could only be talking about my schoolgirl skirts. Or rather, what he once did to everything that lay beneath them. I cross my legs, feeling a familiar pulse beat between my legs. I type one word back.
ME:
Stop.
I’m not prepared for his answer. At all.
Javi:
You have no idea how much I wish I could.
Don’t Let Me Down
DELILAH
The interrogation with the FBI and Aidan Langley is over. But then again so is my life.
I give them everything. Everything I know about the Gafanellis. Everything about my attack.
Aidan Langley still looks at me as if I have a disease through it all, and despite missing my Melanie, I’m glad I came to New York, the desire to drive a dagger back into the hearts of the people who put fear in mine stronger than ever.
I feel proud of myself. Prouder than I have been in years.
I say nothing after the interview when Javi drops me off quietly in front of the Lexington hotel, the silence between us stretching all the way from Langley’s office to Lexington Ave. I say even less after we part ways, and thirty minutes later, after the coldest shower of my life, sometime around seven o’clock in the evening on a semi-quiet Manhattan night, I wrap myself in the provided white robe, sitting on my bed to stare into Skype on my MacBook Pro as Carrie gets dressed for her next date—an investment banker named Louie with ten million in offshore accounts and a wide grin.
I smile into the video as she twirls for the twentieth time.
“You like?” she coos.
I dig into my room service-delivered tub of Ben & Jerrys, licking the Cherry Garcia cream off the cold, silver spoon. I point. “You look like a stripper.”
“Perfect,” she smiles. She twirls again. “So what’s the news?”
“Nothing. It’s all done.”
“You mean the interview with the FBI?” She looks through the camera. “Or what’s going on between you and Javi?”
I hide my face. “Nothing is going on between me and Javi, and in case you haven’t noticed, I still have a husband.”
“Barely,” Carrie throws over her shoulder into her laptop video. “You’re separated.”
I lower my ice cream spoon. “I don’t even know what ‘separated’ means…”
Carrie stops twirling and stares at me. “I do. It means you deserve something special. It means you deserve not to settle.”
I look up, meeting my eyes with hers. And then the doorbell rings. Carrie looks off-camera, her cocoa eyes going wide. She sweeps blonde curls behind her ears, cursing.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She bounces into the nearby bathroom, returning shortly. “I have to go. That must be Louie, and I haven’t put my spray tan on or glitterfied my vagina yet…”
I talk over her. “Glitterfied your vagina…?”
“And I’ve got lipstick to put on and fifty Kegels to do before I open the front door. Gotta go.” She reaches towards the laptop, tapping on the screen. “Love you. Give Melanie a kiss for me.”
I tap the screen, too. “I will…” I smile back at my best friend. The camera cuts off, and I stare into my empty ice cream tub. “When I see her…” My voice shrinks small, but Carrie can’t hear me. The Skype session’s already ended, and I lay back on my bed, staring at the white ceiling, wondering what Melanie is doing and feeling like the worst mother in the world.
The maternal beast inside my body is on hiatus. And though the horny one beneath the surface was just raging less than an hour ago, I put Javi, today’s interview and my descent into Hell out of my mind as I try to focus back on the remnants of the family I still have left, my fingers dialing my Aunt Reba’s unused Facetime for the fiftieth iteration.
I brighten up when my aunt answers, Melanie’s bright chubby cheeks the first thing I see on my screen. She wiggles in Aunt Reba’s lap, her blonde curls bouncing as she does. Tears spring to my eyes, barely keeping at bay. I smile.
“How’s my Melanie?”
The smile on her cherub face makes my own widen. And for the next sixty minutes, through a million toddler questions and several meandering talks of babydoll toys and messy kisses, I laugh and smile and receive more love than I knew the gods could allow. In my three-year old’s body, I find more happiness than I ever remember in my ten years of marriage, a thought that excites me and saddens me more than my empty dessert carton. I throw the spoon, ending the video call with Melanie and my aunt before both can fall sound asleep on the phone.
I smile at the now-black screen, the soft sound of the New York City streets streaming outside my window. The music from a sultry saxophone playing fourteen stories down sets a sultry mood in my empty cream-colored hotel room, setting my thoughts in different directions. Until finally they float and land on Javi, reminiscing about our last text conversation, that last silent ride to the Lexington hotel when the air between us was as thick as molasses, as suffocating as smoke—the tension simmering on the surface.
It was overwhelming, as always, being in his presence—intoxicating.
The way he walks, moves, talks could drive a grown woman crazy. I’d seen it enough times as a teen to know…he was different than the rest.
A meticulousness existed within him, an air of regality that belied his rugged nature. A displaced, dark prince, plopped down into a different dimension, he came into my life—a royal with pauper-like tendencies, a smooth marble polish with rough, jagged edges who blew every stereotype I’d ever had away.
He was a combination of two worlds, melded into one, that somehow came crashing into my own universe.
And stupid freaking me…
Fifteen years couldn’t wash the feelings away. Several states couldn’t make it fly by, and even now, a piece of me—and I had no idea how big that piece was—is as infatuated with Javi as the day we’d locked eyes.
And maybe he had me before then. The second I heard his voice, I think I belonged to him alone.
That deep, raw thunder of a voice that crept into my world and then struck out like a coiled snak
e. I still don’t know if I can trust that voice…or the man behind it.
And I’m still staring at my blank phone screen when I come out of my Javi haze, my fingers feeling that familiar itch that’s usually followed by baking. But since The Sweet Spot is on the other side of the country being run by general manager, I scroll through the “Contacts” on the surface in front of me instead landing on a name.
I hit the send button and that familiar Facetime trill sounds through the air again, filling my spacious room with sound. And a face I don’t expect fills the screen. My heart hops into my throat, trapping itself there, and I drop my phone, my skin going numb as the glass shatters. My throat goes dry.
Unravel Me
JAVI
The morning after Del’s FBI interview, my world takes another tilt.
I thought I had figured this girl out, this stern, cold-eyed beauty with the long dark hair. But it turns out that I hadn’t.
The Del that texted me from the interview room less than twenty-four hours ago was light-hearted and good-natured and funny. Quips and quick wit lie behind those icy pools that she called eyes. And I couldn’t resist the offer that lay behind them, that same invitation that made me kiss her senseless as she stood in her San Francisco doorway—surprised. Sweet and innocent. Despite knowing that I made the biggest mistake of my career when I slid myself into her embrace and felt her lithe little form snuggled against mine.