Delilah
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror with just my jeans and bra on. The lights give me no justice and make my skin look paler than I really am.
“I look like hell,” I call out to Sydney as I apply mascara to my lashes. I can hear the hangers scrape the wooden rod as she sifts through my closet.
“I think you should wear this white top.” She strolls in the bathroom holding a button-down satin blouse with a few creases on the front of it. “I’ll steam it for you.”
“It’s not too dressy or revealing?” My eyes motion to the low dip of the blouse. “I haven’t been this nervous to go on a date since—”
“Don’t you even say it,” she snaps. “I forbid you and may lightning strike you if you say or think of him ever again.”
“You’re so dramatic, Syd.”
She giggles. “And I’m so happy Brody is making you nervous in a good way. You need this night out.”
“It just feels weird to go out with a guy without having to feel like I need to watch my back.”
“All the more reason to just be you.” She cups my face with her hand. “Brody’s one of the good guys.”
“And how do you know?”
“I saw Bryan at the coffee shop yesterday and I asked about him. And from what I gathered, he works for a reputable private security company.”
“What if—”
“Look, I have your back on this one. I’ve got you on my Life360 app.” Sydney pulls out her phone and shows the blinking dots on our location. “Besides, didn’t you ask Tawney and Landon and they vouched for him too?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“No buts. I will stay home tonight. If your date isn’t going well, text me. I’ll come get you. But as far as I’m concerned, I have a good feeling about him.”
“Thanks, Syd.”
“For?”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. “For being my sister from another mister,” I whisper as I hold back a tear.
She pulls away and locks eyes with me. “Oh, no you don’t . . . No crying. You’ll ruin your makeup and I will have to start all over again.”
I turn and lean closer to the mirror as I lightly tap under my eyes. “I look like I got no sleep with these dark circles. Should I put more concealer on?”
“Quit your fussing. You’re gorgeous.”
I huff as I play with my brown hair. “Hair up or down?”
“I love it down. And curl it a little,” she says, touching the ends of my hair. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to steam this for you.”
I turn back and look in the mirror, feeling like an awkward teenager getting ready for the prom. The tingling feeling warms my chest and those damn butterflies are fluttering again.
I hate to admit it, but I’m excited to see him. Even though we’re meeting at the diner, he’s already been to my house twice to surprise me. First with the replacement of my car battery and then the delivery of the sunflowers, leaving me to wonder what tonight will bring.
I venture into the kitchen to get some water and my phone rings. I answer it without looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lu.”
“Dylan? Everything okay? Is it Phoebe? Did she have the baby?”
“Everything is fine. And no baby yet, but I swear Feebs is acting like a big baby.” He chuckles. “How’s California treating you?”
“I got a job,” I say as I open the fridge and reach for the bottle of white wine and pour a glass instead of getting a bottle of water.
“Mama told me. You’re some executive or something.”
“Hardly. Mama’s exaggerating. I’m one of the marketing managers for CJJ Public Relations. It’s fast-paced and I love it.”
“I’m proud of you, Lu.” He clears his throat. “Have you met any guys out there yet?”
“Dyl, seriously? I’m not about to talk boys with you.”
“I’m just looking out for you. I know Drake’s been on your ass about the last fucktard. But he was right, you know? Todd was all wrong for you.” And there goes the smile that was tugging at my lips.
“Why are we talking about him?” I scoff. “Lesson learned.” I down the glass of wine, needing to take the edge off since this conversation took a turn.
“I spoke to Mama the other day—”
“Holy shit. Is nothing sacred in our family anymore? After he hit me, he made threats to Dax and Mama—”
“Todd hit you?”
Shit! I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing I spoke too soon. “Dylan,” I say, hoping I can calm my brother.
“Delilah, back the fuck up. It may be over, but did I hear you right? Did that asshole hit you? How long had this been—”
“Please, I’d like to drop it now.”
“That motherfucker is lucky he’s behind bars. I swear to god, if I ever see him again, I will beat the shit out of him.”
“I’m in a better place now.”
“Lu . . . why didn’t you say anything?”
I clear my throat and do the best to dissuade the conversation. “Like I said, it’s over and I’m better now . . . You said that you spoke to Mama the other day?”
He lets out a breath, knowing he hates it when I change the subject. “Yes. I spoke to her the other day to let her know that I’m surprising Phoebe with an engagement party.”
“Engagement party?” Then it hits me. “Dylan Noah Marshall! Are you asking Phoebe to marry you?”
His chuckle comes through the line and my heart swells. “I am. And I need my family at the new house I bought.”
“You bought a house? No more penthouse overlooking the Golden Gate bridge.”
“I’m going to be a family man now and need to give my lady and children a place to call home.”
Tears well in my eyes as he tells me the details of what his plans are. Dylan may be a former badass Navy SEAL, but he’s a big mush and it’s clear as day he loves Phoebe.
The time on the microwave tells me I have only thirty minutes to finish getting ready. “Shoot! Dylan, I gotta go.”
“The party is a surprise. So, don’t say a word,” he says.
“I promise. I’ll book my flight and if you need me to do anything, let me know.”
“Thanks, baby girl. Love you, Lu.”
“Love you back, Dyl.”
I refill my glass of what’s left in the bottle. “Hey, Syd, want some wine?” I yell so she can hear me across the house. No answer. “Syd?” I call again, walking through the living room holding the full wineglass. A cool breeze wafts over my bare torso and arms.
“Looks like you have a special delivery,” Sydney says, hands on her hips.
I stop dead in my tracks. To my surprise, Serena did not bark at the new guest standing in the threshold of the living room. Instead, my dog is wagging her tail next to a man holding a bouquet.
I look down and I’m immediately embarrassed standing in the middle of our living room with just my bra and jeans on.
“Holy shit!” I squeal, using my one free hand to cover myself all the while spilling the wine on my jeans and all over my skin.
I take a step back. My eyes dart anywhere and everywhere to see what I can grab to cover myself. I quickly snatch the sunflower printed pillow from the couch and cover my breasts as Sydney covers her mouth to hide her laughing.
After Brody’s chuckle subsides, he cups his hand on the back of his neck as his eyes pin me motionless.
“Hi, Dorothy,” he says with a raise of his brow and flash of the cat-ate-the-canary smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, the pillow pressed against my upper body and my wineglass half full. “I thought we were meeting at Tawney’s.”
Under the bright light in the living room, he’s breathtaking. He’s more gorgeous than when I saw him last.
This time, he’s not wearing a hat. His sandy blond hair is in a messy spike, in a cute kind of way. Those sparkling brandy-colored eyes have a tint of emerald
. His megawatt smile deepens the dimples on his cheeks. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, folded at the forearms as if it was made for him.
I keep staring when my eyes veer down his torso imagining a set of six-pack abs behind the black fabric of his shirt then down past his waist. Suddenly there’s an ache between my thighs as I stare at the zipper of his jeans.
Realizing he has caught me gawking, embarrassment warms my cheeks, and Sydney giggles again. Can I just die now?
“I wanted to surprise you instead of meeting you at Tawney’s,” he says. “It’s only right if I pick you up for our first date.”
“You need to stop surprising me.”
He laughs again. “Actually, I like surprising you.”
He watches me as I hustle right past him, down the hall and slam the door after I enter my room.
The glass still in my hand, I drink what's left of the wine.
“How many more surprises can I handle?” I mumble to myself as my back is against the wooden door and I look down at my nude lace bra.
Chapter Fifteen
Brody
“So, what are your intentions with my friend?” Sydney asks as she motions for me to take a seat on the couch.
What is this? Meet-the-parents-twenty-questions?
She sits opposite me on the other side of the coffee table, and I stifle a laugh as her I-will-cut-your-throat facial expression tells me she's not joking.
I’m unsure of how to answer her since it’s been a long time since I’ve had a formal date. My eyes catch a stack of papers and a D+ in bold red flashes at me.
I jut my chin to the paper. “So, you’re a teacher, Miss Sydney?”
“I am.” Her nod is resigned as she twists her lips. “Are you going to answer the question? And be careful how you answer. It may affect your final grade, Brody.”
I clear my throat, my elbows on my knees. “My intentions, huh? I just want to buy your friend dinner and get to know her.”
She grunts at my answer. “I see,” she says as she leans back in the chair, hands steepled in front of her.
“What kind of grade do I get for that?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll give you an A for effort and a C for the flowers.”
I look down at the flowers. “What’s wrong with these?”
“Carnations? Really?” Sydney scrunches her nose then lowers her voice. “First off, how did you know that sunflowers were her favorite?”
“I asked Tawney.”
“So, why would you buy her those?”
“Because she already got sunflowers the other day.” My chin points to the vase on the side table next to her.
“Yes, but a girl can never get enough of her favorite flowers. Don’t forget that,” she retorts.
“Well, I guess I have some homework and extra credit I will need to work on.” I like Sydney because she’s looking out for her friend and I’m enjoying this big sister banter we’re having. “You wouldn’t by chance have the answers to the final exam so I can study them, would you?”
“Crack a book, Brody. You need to do the work and show it. You’ll pass with flying colors if you make her smile. And from the look on her surprised face when you walked in, you’re well on your way.”
“Something tells me that an ex-boyfriend did her wrong, broke her heart, or maybe cheated on her?” I probe as my instincts go on alert. I recall the other night when I cataloged the hesitation in her voice, the fear in her eyes, and the distance she kept from me.
Something’s there and the only thing I can think of is she’s mending her wounds. Maybe this date was a bad idea. I don’t do complicated. I shouldn’t have pushed her when I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
What if Dee still loves the guy? What if he wants her back? I open my mouth to speak when Sydney cuts me off.
“It’s not my story to tell. All you need to know is the shitbag is out of her life and was the ultimate asshole.”
My curiosity piques, wondering what the ultimate asshole did to Dee to be on Sydney’s shit list. I want to ask more, but like she said, my actions will earn me a passing grade.
Moments later, Dee walks in the living room. And if my mouth didn’t drop when I saw Dee earlier in just her bra and jeans, it definitely hits the floor now. She’s absolutely stunning and I’m awestruck.
The sight of her knocks the wind out of me as if Cupid sucker punched me in the gut. She looks at me with her sparkling topaz eyes under thick lashes. Her chocolate brown waves fall over her shoulders and cascade down to a low-cut white blouse. And don’t get me started on those pink plump lips.
She’s fucking adorable as her fingers fiddle with the cross hanging from her necklace and she tucks her bottom lip under her teeth.
The vision of her moments ago—sexy as hell, with the display of her taut nipples pressing against the lace of her bra—takes me back to the other night, lube in my hand and to the unsatisfied jack-off when I envisioned her riding me.
Then the scent of her perfume overwhelms me and sends a jolt straight to my dick and an alien feeling of tingles in the pit of my belly. I shake off my thoughts and come back to the here and now, remembering what Sydney said a minute ago.
Don’t be that guy. The other thing that comes to mind is that Dee’s ex was an idiot for letting her go.
The motherfucker’s loss, my ultimate gain.
“Hi,” she says shyly. “I’m ready to go to Tawney’s whenever you are.”
“I wanted to take you somewhere else. If that’s okay.”
Dee volleys her eyes from me to Sydney, who’s grinning like a proud parent.
“Sure. Am I dressed okay for where we are going?”
“You’re perfect.” I nod, looking at the frayed holes on her jeans exposing her bisque toned skin. “But you may want to bring a sweater or light jacket.”
Dee raises her arm with a sweater in her hand. “Already a step ahead of you. I’m ready when you are,” she says, grabbing her purse from the table.
“Oh, before I forget. These are for you.” I stretch my hand out, offering the flowers.
“I’ll take those.” Sydney chimes in before she winks at me. For all I know, those carnations may go in the trash. “I’ll put them on someone’s grave,” she whispers with a snarling tease.
Chapter Sixteen
Delilah
“Is it Debbie?” he questions as I laugh and shake my head at his litany of guesses for the last thirty minutes. “How about Denise or Darla? No, wait, don’t tell me . . . it’s Donna!” The twist of his lips tells me it bugs him not knowing and I’m quite amused with the many names he’s guessed so far.
“That’s my mama’s name.” I giggle after I take a sip of my wine.
“Well, at least I’m getting closer.”
“Are you done?” I ask as my laugh calms.
His boyish smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll stop guessing once you tell me,” he says, motioning to the waiter for another beer. “Or is it some secret-circle-chick-code thing?”
I almost choke on my wine and grab the napkin to wipe my mouth. “A what?”
“Kind of like a bro-code, only the girl version,” he says softly as he leans in closer to me.
“Chick-code thing, huh?”
“Unless you like me calling you Dorothy.”
“If I’m being honest, I do like it.” With his warm smile and the touch of his palm over my hand, I hear a piece of my wall crumble around me. “It’s Delilah,” I admit.
“Delilah.” My name said in his masculine voice makes my heart skip a beat. “That’s the perfect name for you.”
“My parents named me after my grandmother.”
“I like it,” he says then takes the last bite of his pizza.
“My name, my grandmother, or the pizza?” I joke as I tilt my head at the half-eaten pizza on the metal platter.
“Your name.” His eyes lock onto mine, throwing me off kilter. “And I like the woman
who has it.” My cheeks warm as heat rises up my spine when he reaches over and his rough thumb glides over my knuckles as if it’s the most natural thing to do.
My gaze traces the lines of his hands. There are healed scars and I’m curious how he got them. Then I wonder how his strong hands would feel on my body.
I internally shake my head and kick my ass. It’s too soon to think this way, but I can’t help it. Going any further with Brody scares me and excites me all at the same time.
Thoughts of Todd force their way into my head. The persuasive words that made me fall for him. Then the compliments faded and the rise of his hand worsened.
A chill overpowers the warmth of Brody’s palm as I slip my hands from under his and play with the cross on my necklace. Todd was the last man that held my hand and the last time I was close to another man for this amount of time.
“Another glass of wine, miss?” the waiter asks, breaking our connection as he places Brody’s beer on the table.
I should refuse another glass, but I need it to take the edge off, to relax the tense feelings overwhelming me so I can just let this moment be and stop thinking about my past. I nod slightly and the waiter prompts he’ll return with a new glass.
“And does Delilah come with a middle name?” Brody asks, tipping back his beer.
“Noreen.”
“Delilah Noreen . . .” He elongates my middle name as if asking for my last name now.
“Uh-uh, Brody. Your turn,” I counter with a twist of my lips and a shake of my head.
“Brody Reinhardt,” he states.
“So formal and powerful,” I tease. “Were you named after your father or grandfather?”
He twists his mouth and his eyes peer up as if he’s trying to figure out how he got his name. “I’m not really sure how I got my first name.”
“You should ask your mom,” I say.
Brody clears his throat. “I wish I could . . . she died three years ago. Cancer.”
My heart drops, and I reach for his hand. “Brody, I-I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. She’s in a better place.”
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