“Going to be a close one,” she says.
“Nah, you’ve got this,” I say. “I have a good feeling.”
“Feelings don’t win elections.” Ethel swats me on the shoulder. “Votes do.”
I grab a ballot and a pen and give her a wink. “I’d vote for you twice if I could.”
“You’re a good kid.” She smiles. “I don’t care what anyone says.”
“Thanks . . .”
“Say.” She leans closer. “You seem lighter.”
My brows meet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s something different about you. Something I haven’t seen before.” Her wrinkled gray eyes squint at me. “If I had to put my finger on something, I’d say you’re in love.”
My face scrunches. “Hate to burst your bubble, Ethel, but I’m not in love.”
“Then it’s the early stages,” she says. “You know, years ago, I used to run a successful match-making business in Dallas, Texas. I’ve seen it all. The good. The bad. The real. The fake. And whatever’s going on with you, Zane? It’s real as heck.”
Her serious expression makes me laugh. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. If I wear the face of a satisfied man, it’s only because I’m finding a release in the form of one smoking hot girl next door.
That’s all it is.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
“I’m going to go vote,” I say.
Ethel gives me a thumb’s up as I check the box beside her name, fold the ballot, and deposit it in the box. Before I leave, I make damn sure Rue Rosewood sees me, giving her a smile and a wave, and then I get the hell out of there.
On my walk home, I pass Rue’s house. It’s dark save for the landscaping lights and a little bit of lamplight in Delilah’s window.
Grabbing some small rocks from around the bushes on the side of the house, I toss one at the glass. Then another. Five rocks later, I see the curtains rustle as Delilah comes to the window.
Sliding it open, she rests her elbows in the ledge. “You’re ridiculously cheesy, you know that? You could have, like, called or texted or rang the doorbell. What do you think this is, an eighties movie?”
“Texting is overrated,” I say. “And ringing the doorbell after eight o’clock is prohibited in Laguna Palms except in the case of emergencies.”
Delilah rolls her eyes. “Since when did you start caring about rules?”
“Come over,” I ignore her question.
“Right now?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “It’s nice out. I’m feeling like a night swim. Don’t want to swim alone.”
She glances down. “I’m in pajamas.”
“Then change.”
“Not tonight.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed soon.”
I’m quite positive if that damn screen wasn’t in the way, if I could touch her face or run my fingers through her hair or kiss her lips, she’d be singing my tune in two seconds flat. All I have to do is touch Delilah and she’s mine. Just like that.
Shit. Maybe I am a sorcerer.
“Well, I’ll be swimming next door if you change your mind,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure you will change your mind because I’m casting a mind-changing spell on you right now.”
She laughs through her nose. “Mm, hm.”
“But you should know, if you do decide to swim with me, I only have one rule.”
“And what’s that?” she asks.
“No suits.” I say. “We’re a skinny-dipping-only establishment.”
Delilah makes a disgusted face, rolling her eyes and lifting her hands to the window to lower it.
“Goodnight, de la Cruz.” She slams the window and pulls the curtains.
She’ll be over in ten minutes.
I have a feeling.
Chapter 17
Delilah
The grass between my toes as I shuffle between Rue’s house and Zane’s tickles. I’m in nothing but a white string bikini, which now that I think about it, probably wasn’t the best thing to wear if I’m trying to go incognito, but I was trying to veer away from anything remotely schoolmarm black.
Unhinging the gate to Zane’s backyard, I hear the splash and trickle of water, and I spot him as he comes up for air as he swims laps.
I stand at one end, take a seat, and dip my legs into the pool.
A minute later, Zane comes up for air, gripping onto the ledge and dragging the water from his face with the palm of his enormous hand.
“Hey.” He smiles when his eyes focus on me. “I knew you’d come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He can think he’s the reason all he wants, but he actually has Daphne to thank. Her words echoed in my head all night. Nothing amazing ever happens when you sit at home. She’s the reason I’m here right now.
Zane swims to me, his hands resting on my thighs, and I catch a glimpse of navy board shorts beneath the water.
“You’re wearing swim trunks,” I say.
He scoffs. “I wasn’t going to swim naked all by myself. That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”
“Everything about you is kind of creepy.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I mean, you throw pebbles at my window . . .”
“That’s not creepy. It’s sweet,” he defends himself.