“I can understand that.”
“Come on. I played your beard at your grandmother’s wedding last year. I could have hooked up with half a dozen women there, too, but I didn’t.”
“So could I have.”
“No, you couldn’t. They were all related to you.”
Ben hooked his arm around Shell’s shoulder and turned to face her so his back was to Delilah as she approached.
Shell took one last peek around his shoulder. “Maybe I want her.”
“Nah, she’s totally straight.”
“I could turn her.”
“If anyone could.” Then he lied. “But she’s a bitch. You won’t like her.” He kissed her once more, briefly this time, like a guy to his girl before a game.
“She’s not a bitch. If she were, you wouldn’t like her. But I might. And if you pat my butt—” He stopped in mid-motion. “I’ll have to kill you.”
He grinned. “Thanks, Shell.”
“All right. But admit that you want to boff her.”
“Of course I do. I would. But more than anything else I want not to hurt her.”
“And you think being deceitful is likely to accomplish that?”
“Necessary measure.”
He gave Shell’s shoulder an obvious squeeze and turned around. The team captains, Hank and Jo, were introducing Delilah around the group. As they approached, Shell stuck her hand out in greeting while Ben took a look.
She was lovely, almost enough to hurt the eyes. She’d matured from the girl he’d briefly met to a woman in full bloom. She had more curves—good ones—and her features were more defined.
And if there was a shadow of hurt in her eyes, well, he hoped he could help with that. He lifted his brows in fake surprise when she turned to him. “Delilah Owens. How about that? It’s Ben West. We met in—”
“In Japan. I remember. Hi, Ben.”
“This is so cool.” He gave her friendly hug—the kind a guy would do while he was standing next to his girlfriend. He looked over her shoulder as he did, giving the rest of the straight guys on the team a back off kind of stare down. They were probably all busy trying to figure out why he’d kissed Shell.
He pulled Delilah around to face the group. “I hope you can play,” he said in an obvious tease. “Jo and Shell are having trouble keeping up with us guys.”
The two women both ran circles around at least half the team, so they justifiably razzed him back.
Into that, Delilah spoke quietly. “I can play.”
And she could.
The rules required that at least two women be on the field at all times. The team had definitely needed another woman, since there was just too much running involved to expect anyone to stay in the whole game. So the three women rotated in and out. And Delilah soon proved herself so competent that it was an equal rotation, not just a matter of spelling one of the others.
In fact, she was more than competent. She ran effortlessly, like a gazelle. Her long arms and legs made for speed and long reach and she had quick, good hands. She was smart and knew how to move the disc downfield.
And she was freaking beautiful while she did it. Ben was sure everybody noticed. Even Jo.
First game of the season and the Sugar Daddies won. Already a better record than last year.
They hugged and high-fived before they settled in to write their victory poem. As the group broke up, Ben walked alongside Delilah.
“I saw you came by bike. I’ll ride you home. Maybe we could get a cup of coffee and catch up.” He tapped her shoulder and went on before she had a chance to voice the objection he could see in her eyes. “Let me just say good-bye to Shelly.”
He ran off toward Shell even as she opened her mouth to speak.
Shell gave him the evil eye as he approached. “I like her,” she said. “Don’t mess with her.”
“I’m trying not to.” He faced Shell and pulled her to him. He kissed her and, just for show—well, and for fun—put a little something into it.
Shell didn’t faint or anything, but he could tell she was impressed.
“So you have moves,” she gave him. “But get your hand off my ass or I’ll hurt you.” He grinned and called a see-ya-later and jogged over to Delilah. He walked off to the bike rack with her, no doubt with every male gaze hard on his back. He was claiming not one but two hot women, and that just wasn’t spirit, bro.
Okay, maybe not quite every male gaze. Gay John and Gary probably didn’t care.
* * * *
Delilah felt good, better than she had for three weeks, ever since Lincoln Banks had his attack of—whatever. The outing had been good for her. She’d played hard, and her body had a good ache from the workout. She enjoyed the competition and savored the pleased surprise in the eyes of her new teammates when they figured out she really could play.
She’d done what she could to get past the blow to her ego and her heart that had come from Linc’s betrayal. All of her efforts—and time—were getting her where she wanted to be.
Over him. So over him.
She’d talked on the phone with Sarah multiple times. There was a lovely relief in that. Sarah had no connections to Linc, no torn loyalties. Delilah could bitch at him and about him, and Sarah did nothing but agree and even egg her on. Delilah would call him an ass, and Sarah would name him a fucking asshole. Jerk, and big, fucking jerk. Idiot, and fucking idiotic idiot.
Soon they’d be laughing, and it didn’t seem to matter too much that, for Delilah, the laughter was mixed with tears.
Over time the tears lessened, but her heart still ached.
It was more difficult with Mr. Wright. Howard and Linc were friends, and though he’d heard no details from her, he was clearly aware that there’d been a falling out that had caused pain. He was kind and even doted a bit. He’d seen the traces of her tears on Tuesday morning following that horrible night with Linc.
He’d been concerned and gently inquisitive. When she hadn’t been forthcoming, he’d gone to his office. The closed door hadn’t kept her from hearing his voice raised in agitation.
He was still huffing when he came out and hovered over Delilah. “If he worked for me, I’d fire him. If he was my son, I’d tan his hide. If he shows up here, I’ll toss him out on his ear. You just let me know.
“Now. Why are you here today? You didn’t have to come in.”
Right, she thought. Mess with a job she’d only had for two weeks, a job she loved, because she had a weekend fling that ended badly.
She was made of sterner stuff. She hoped.
She told Howard she was staying. And because she liked him so well, she told him Linc hadn’t really done anything wrong.
He was muttering about how he’d be the judge of that while he patted her on the head and then went back to his office.
She smiled. And sniffed.
The next week she bought herself a car. She found by the weekend that she wanted to get away, and how far she could go on her bike just wasn’t far enough.
She felt secure enough in her job that she could swing it financially even though it was a bit of an indulgence. She intended that it would mostly sit in her carport and that she would still rely on her bike for her daily commute and most other transportation.
But that weekend she walked among giant redwoods and found some nice soothing, healing energy.
She missed Lincoln, but given that he was a fucking idiot asshole jerk, the pain of it was tempered by anger. She was hurt and heartbroken, and it helped to have a good mad on.
Maybe someday she’d forgive him like he’d predicted. Mostly, she thought it didn’t matter because she didn’t intend to ever see him again.
If she stayed mad at him, it didn’t hurt so much, and she didn’t have to ponder that other issue. A nagging concern that she went to some effort to duck was the question of what was wrong with her. How naive could she be, to make so much in her heart and mind of what had happened between her and Lincoln? Of what was really nothing but a weeke
nd of hot, casual sex. Emphasis on casual. Okay, emphasis on hot, too.
The problem was, she still couldn’t see it. No matter how much she replayed it in her head, she couldn’t make it feel casual.
All she could figure to do was to move on. Go to work. Buy a car and explore the whole damn state if necessary.
Do normal things, like join an Ultimate team.
That had seemed like fate. For the last two weeks, everywhere she went she saw flyers advertising for women players. Finally, she’d decided it was kismet, so she took the flyer and showed up to play.
It had been a good call. She’d enjoyed the last hours more than she had any since that fateful night with Linc. The game used all of her—her body, her mind, her focus—and so it was pure pleasure, with none of that burden of loss that she still felt most moments of the day.
And running into Ben West had been kind of a nice surprise. They’d had a bit of a flirtation when they’d met in Japan, but he’d disappeared suddenly just before the end of the semester. Delilah wouldn’t necessarily have welcomed seeing yet another attractive man from her past, especially one who’d pushed his company on her a bit as Ben had. She’d had more than enough of pushy, obnoxious—hot—men from her past.
But she remembered Ben as a sweet, low-key kind of guy, though she suspected a steely strength underneath his cool. She was reminded of that suspicion by the fact that he rode alongside her now, without really having bothered about her agreement.
She might have been troubled by it if he hadn’t been so clearly involved with Shelly. That being the case, she decided to enjoy the company.
Ben knew the bike trails of the area better than she did so, once she told him where she lived, they had a nice ride through a woods trail and then along the beach. When there was room for him to ride alongside they’d chat a bit. But the paths were fairly crowded on a Saturday afternoon, and so mostly she followed Ben’s directions with him riding close behind her.
She enjoyed the ride and determined to be relaxed and comfortable in Ben’s company. She wouldn’t allow her experience with Linc to make her a man-hater—exactly. She’d consider it reasonable for it to make her a man-skeptic. A man-doubter. Mistruster. Cynic, maybe, even.
Accordingly, she might have watched Ben’s behavior with a jaundiced eye, but he made no moves that were the least objectionable. So when they arrived at her place without having really had a chance to talk, she offered him a beer and one of the two deck chairs she’d tucked onto her tiny front porch. They left the bikes on the walk—two people could sit or park bikes on the porch, but not do both at the same time.
They sat quietly a few minutes, watching the interesting late-afternoon pedestrian traffic of Capitola Village and quenching their thirst.
“I left campus suddenly, that semester.” Ben looked over at her, his gaze sincere, intent. “My brother had been wounded in Afghanistan. The army airlifted him to Germany, and I flew out to meet my parents there.”
Delilah nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. It had hurt a little, his sudden disappearance that fall, without a word. They’d just begun to get to know each other, just begun to feel a little interest. Or at least, so she’d thought.
Maybe this deal with stupid Lincoln was more of a pattern than she’d realized. “I’m sorry to hear it. Was he okay?”
“Eventually he was, is. He had to learn to walk again—on prosthetic legs.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Yeah, thanks. You’d understand. I remember you lost a brother.” She nodded again.
“But what I want to say is, I never meant to leave like that. Without seeing you. Without talking to you.”
Pretending more interest in the eclectic passersby than they warranted, Delilah chewed on her lower lip.
“Delilah.” He spoke gently and touched her arm with the back of his fingers. “I had very tender feelings for you. I’d have liked to see where a relationship with you might go. But I was in the air about an hour and a half after I got the call. I tried your number once from the airport. Then I was halfway around the globe and all involved with my brother and my family.”
She’d returned that call but his phone had been out of service. “I get it, Ben.” She sat up straighter, moving away from his touch.
“I know that you would, that you do. But I want you to get the rest, too. I’m really sorry I had to leave without seeing you, and sorry if it hurt you. It would have hurt me, if it had happened the other way around.”
It was a bit of a relief to hear it, to know that, in the situation with Ben, at least, she hadn’t been so wildly off. That he’d been feeling some attraction, too.
Still, it caused a rueful twist to her heart, to learn it so much after the fact.
At least he hadn’t fucked her brains out before he’d disappeared from her life. There was always that.
“Thank you for saying so, Ben. But it really doesn’t matter now, does it? It was so long ago.”
She heard his sigh and knew he’d understood her less-than-subtle dismissal. He stood and pushed his chair back. Then he skipped down her front steps and hoisted her bike, bringing it up and setting it along the porch rail where she kept it locked. He handled it like it was nothing, his muscled body not straining at all with the job.
Delilah stood also to make room for him. When he had the bike situated he faced her and took her hands.
“Can we be friends? Will you come to the game next Saturday? The Sugar Daddies need you.”
She managed a small smile. “Yes. Yes. And, yes, you certainly do.”
He squeezed her fingers. “That’s good. That’s all good. See ya, Lilee.”
She smiled a little easier at the old nickname her friends in Japan had given her, the first name he’d heard for her.
* * * *
That next Friday Delilah went with the office group to happy hour. It was another effort to normalize her life. Like playing Ultimate, she thought another social outing would be good for her.
It was a good thought that went bad. Brian Davis made himself obnoxious trying to establish a claim on her. She made every effort to be clear that she wasn’t with him, but the man had no appreciation for subtlety. His hovering interfered with her ability to get to know others in the group—especially a couple of women with whom she thought she could potentially be friends.
In the end she escaped by bumming a ride with the kid, Steven, though she regretted that eventually, as well. It turned out Lincoln’s story about Steve’s van was just so much more bullshit. He hadn’t gutted it to make room for a surfboard and a sleeping bag, but had it tricked out like an opium den—or, in this case, she thought—a marijuana den.
But he drove with reasonable caution and got her home safely, and she found him a sweet and humorous soul. He made her think of a younger brother she’d like to have.
Still, the workweek had been an improvement over the couple prior. She felt she was getting her groove back, able to focus her attention on her job. On Wednesday Howard had taken her on a boat tour of the fisheries. It was lovely to be out on the water and she enjoyed seeing the sites where Howard’s work was tested. She met in person several of the people she’d made telephone contact with in the course of her work. They included some of the hatchery managers, marine biologists, and boatmen. Very likely, Howard was going out of his way to dangle single men in front of her, but she wasn’t biting. She decided Steve was enough man to have in her life.
Yeah. A younger brother.
She had a stray thought for Ben, but it was always an easy one. He’d settled that little hurt he’d left her with in the past, and he was safely off the market now.
And if, occasionally, her mind’s wandering led her to Lincoln Banks, at least those memories were losing their power to hurt. Not that the hurt was entirely gone but, well, it was a process.
One of the female lab techs had recommended a midwife, and Delilah made an appointment. She learned that Lincoln had transmitted to her nothing else besides a
broken heart, so she counted herself stupidly lucky.
Late Saturday morning she attended a yoga class and then shopped for produce at the local open-air farmers’ market. She strolled home with her loaded shopping baskets, planning a quick lunch of salad with berries, candied walnuts, and feta cheese before she left for the game.
She was surprised, though, to find an extra bike propped at her front steps and a pair of male, sandaled feet resting on her porch rail. Ben hopped up as soon as he spotted her and took the baskets from her shoulders.
“Hey,” he said with a smile. “These are cool.”
They were Japanese pack baskets, woven of bamboo, with leather and hemp straps to sling over her shoulder.
“I remember you were learning to weave bamboo in Japan.” He lifted both baskets to get a closer look at them, the muscles in his arms flexing easily. “Wow. Did you make these?”
“Yep.” She’d studied and worked at it for years. It was a hobby she enjoyed and was just beginning to get competent about it. The two baskets were her best work.
He let the baskets fall to his sides and turned to walk with her back to her porch. But his eyes were on her. “They’re spectacular. You’re an artist. You should sell them.”
She intended to, in fact. She’d already learned that California offered a hugely wider selection of raw bamboo than she could find in Boston, and she’d just scouted out booths at the market where she might be able to display her work.
“Maybe.” Delilah, not so distracted as all that, looked up at Ben. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” he said with an easy smile, like he’d forgotten he’d been making himself at home on her porch. “I was in the Village, so I thought I’d ride with you to the game.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. “What? Were you afraid I wouldn’t show up?”
“No,” he said simply. “You said you’d come. I trust you.”
“Hmm.” His words were pleasing to hear but made her a little nervous at the same time. It was an assessment of her that felt a little too personal for comfort. He followed her up the porch stairs like a Sherpa, and she felt him close behind her. “Well, I haven’t had lunch yet.”
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 8