“I had no way of knowing that. I was only focused on one thing, and that was keeping our last weeks together as amazing as they could possibly be. I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to doubt me. I didn’t want this dark cloud hanging over our heads.” I squeeze her hand. “I didn’t want anything to change. And worrying you about Carissa would’ve changed everything.”
She shakes her head. “I disagree.”
“Yeah, well, I did what I thought was right. And I’m sorry. I screwed up. I just kept thinking about how I’d feel if it were the other way around,” I say. “Just the thought of you spending a Saturday night with another man, even if you said it meant nothing, drove me insane.”
“Look,” she says. “We weren’t a couple. You weren’t my boyfriend. You didn’t cheat. It all boiled down to the way I found out. My sister telling me she saw you with another woman, kissing another woman . . . it crushed me in ways I never expected.”
“I hate that you found out the way you did.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
I pause, trying to summon an answer to a question I’ve never once asked myself.
“You weren’t,” she says, her tone dry.
“I never thought that far.” I take my hand off hers, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees as I stare at a flickering candle on her coffee table. “To me, it didn’t seem like a big deal because it didn’t mean anything. It was all work. It wasn’t about her. And if it’s any consolation, all I could think about that night was you. Every time I looked at her, I saw your face. I watched the clock all night, counting down the minutes until I thought I was going to see you again.”
“That’s all sweet and everything,” she tucks a dark tendril behind one ear, “but it doesn’t change anything. The damage is done. That beautiful summer we shared is going to be forever marred by that one night.”
“I never meant to hurt you, gorgeous.” I turn to her. “It was never my intention, and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing for it. Hell, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”
Her eyes widen.
“I want to try this again.” I clear my throat, locking my gaze with hers. “Let’s start over. New city. Clean slate.”
“No.” She shakes her head, staring away. “I’m really not interested in being fuck buddies again. It was a one-time thing for me, and-”
“No.” I cut her off. “I don’t want your body, Delilah. I want all of you.”
Delilah slowly faces me again. I sense her reluctance.
“Zane . . .” She licks her lips, readying herself with resistance, but I won’t allow it.
“I meant what I said. I love you. And I haven’t said that to anyone in a very long time.” I reach for her, pulling her into my lap so we’re face to face. Breathing in her sweet scent, I say, “I hate that we had a misunderstanding. I hate that I hurt you. And I’ll never keep anything from you as long as I live.”
Delilah exhales, her face pinched like she’s deep in thought.
“And I know we spent the summer convincing ourselves that what we had wasn’t a relationship,” I say. “But we were fooling ourselves, Delilah. We had a relationship all along. A real relationship. With real feelings. Mine were real. Were yours?”
Her lips press together, and she nods. “Yeah.”
“Give me another chance. Give us another chance.” My hands circle her waist, fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt as her body relaxes and my gaze lands on her full pout.
She makes me wait, each second excruciatingly painful, and then she lifts her hand to my face, trailing the outline of my jaw with her fingertip before running it along my lips.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. “So. Much.”
“I’ve missed you too, gorgeous.”
“And it still hurts.” Her voice is low, her eyes wincing. “And I want to give you another chance, but I’m having trouble saying yes right now.”
Her words shatter what little hope I’d been hanging on to. I was convinced that if she saw me again, if I could just explain . . . that everything would be back on track.
“Kiss me,” I command.
Her brows meet. “What?”
I don’t waste time explaining that I want her to remember the way we felt when things were different. Instead, I cup her face in my hands and bring her parted lips to mine. And to my relief, her pillow-soft lips accept my kiss.
“You’re not dating anyone, right? Not that plaid-shirted nerd who answered your door a little bit ago?”
“He’s my neighbor,” she says. “And he’s not into girls.”
“Good,” I say, sliding my hands down her hips and cupping her ass. I push her toward me, closer, until our lips are inches apart. “I didn’t want to have to kick his ass for touching my girl.”
Delilah rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. “Who says I’m still your girl?”
“Psh. You’ll always be my girl,” I tease. “Whether you want to be or not.”
“That’s creepy,” she says. “But not as creepy as throwing rocks at my window late at night like some stalker.”
“Whatever. You secretly loved it. And a stalker wouldn’t have thrown rocks. He’d have just looked in your window and watched you.”