“It’s fine,” I say. And I mean it. Growing up, my summers with Aunt Rue were part of the routine, and as I’ve gotten older, they’ve become cherished memories. I’ve realized those summers are numbered. I’m more than happy to be here. “I’m right where I want to be.”
“All right. Enough of this sappy crap.” Rue laughs. “I’ll see you in a few days. Hold the fort down for me, will you?”
“Of course.”
Aunt Rue hangs up, and I rise to head inside. And then I freeze. Zane’s black SUV is parked at the foot of Rue’s driveway and the passenger window is rolling down. When I finally see his face, he’s motioning for me to come his way.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says when I approach him.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He points to the golf clubs in the back. “Going to hit some balls. I’ve got some charity thing tomorrow with the team. I’m a little rusty.”
“I love golf,” I say. “I worked at a golf course back home for a few summers. And I played on the girls’ golf team in high school.”
“Oh, yeah?” His expression changes, and I wait for him to invite me along. He doesn’t. “That’s cool.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You going by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
Refusing to invite myself along, I respond with an insincere, “That’s cool. Have fun.”
And I walk away. Clearly he doesn’t want to spend time with me if it doesn’t involve clothes on the floor and his throbbing manhood shoved into any orifice he can find.
“Delilah,” he calls. “Hey.”
With my back toward him, I wave. He’s lucky I don’t flip him off. I mean, I get that we’re fuck buddies, but that was a dick move. I slept in his arms last night, in his bed, in his house. He made me pancakes and kissed the top of my head.
But he can’t be seen in public with me? Really?!
“Delilah . . .” he calls out again.
I slam the door behind me.
I’ll embrace complicated. But I won’t embrace being treated like someone’s dirty little secret.
Chapter 22
Zane
I feel like the biggest fucking sap right now.
I’m standing outside Rue Rosewood’s house with an armful of roses, knocking on her door over and over and over again.
It’s Tuesday night.
I haven’t seen Delilah in two days. Not since she stormed off Sunday afternoon because I didn’t invite her to go golfing.
It’s not that I didn’t want to. I’d have loved to take her along. But I can’t be seen with girls – especially not pretty ones like her that make me smile like a lovestruck idiot. I promised Coach no girls this summer. As far as I know, I’m still skating on thin ice. My contract has no provisions that save me from being cut.
“Delilah, I know you’re in there. Open up.” I knock harder, and then I adjust my tie because I came here dressed for the date I’m about to take her on.
Sure we’re just fucking, and she’s definitely not my girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t mean anything to me. The last thing I want is for her to feel used, and I have every intention of explaining everything to her tonight.
The foyer light flicks on and my breath catches in my chest. I clear my throat and grip the bouquet of pale pink roses.
When the door pulls open, Delilah is standing before me, dressed in sweats, her hair piled high into a messy bun, and thick black glasses hiding her beautiful, warm brown gaze.
“Can I help you?” One hand rests on her hip, the other fixed on the doorknob. Her eyes scan the length of me. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m taking you out tonight.”
She laughs. “No thanks.”
“I owe you some explanations.”
“Damn right you do. Only I’m over it, Zane. I really am. We had our fun. We had our moments. I don’t think I’m cut out for the whole friends-with-benefits thing, especially since you’re incapable of treating me like a friend.”
“It’s not like that. At all.” I step closer. She steps away. “I love hanging out with you, Delilah. I love being around you. I have a fucking blast with you. I can be myself when you’re around. I don’t have to drink. I don’t have to censor myself – although maybe I should sometimes.”
Delilah’s eyes roll, and she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, you love to hang out with me. Made that perfectly clear the other day, didn’t you?”
“Let me take you out tonight,” I say. “I’ll explain everything.”
“Why should I, Zane?”
I miss when she calls me de la Cruz.
That playful spark in her eyes is gone, and I feel like a giant piece of shit.
“Because when you hear what I’m going to say, everything will make sense,” I say, handing her the flowers. “And you should probably put these in some water. I bought them several hours ago.”
Delilah reluctantly takes the bouquet, slowly bringing the roses just under her nose. “Why roses?”
“I don’t know.” I scratch the underside of my chin, shrugging. “I looked at all the flowers they had and they all looked like they were trying too hard. These were just . . . perfect exactly the way they were.”
“Why pink?”
“Why the random questions? And why do I feel like I’m being psychoanalyzed?”