#Chapter11-04
1005 Words
#Chapter11-04
"I don't . . .." There it was again. That bitter reminder of just how little people I could turn to, despite all the names popping up on my phone. "Thanks, but I'm not gay. I'm not confused. I don't need your help. I was drunk. End of f*****g story."
He nodded as though he had been expecting that. "The offer is there either way. It doesn't expire."
"Thanks." The word felt awkward in my mouth. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
There were so many questions on my mind. Choosing just one, or which one I wanted to ask first, turned out to be a struggle. Did I ask him about the Daddy thing? Did I ask him why the f**k he was being so damn calm about everything? Instead, I chose the one that had been bugging me all day.
"What did your mom mean? Earlier, back when I was in the shop?"
To my surprise, heat rose to Deacon's cheeks. He dropped his eyes, throwing out a small shrug. "If I tell you, are you going to mock me?"
Considering his question, I nodded. "Probably."
"At least you're honest," he said with a small, forced chuckle. "My mom has run that shop since long before I was born. She tells fortunes as well as reads the card. Stop sniggering."
I tried to compose myself. "Sorry. Continue."
"She's told me about the person I'm supposed to end up with for as long as I can remember. Always the same thing. Every girl I ever took home when I was a teen, every man I ever dated . . . she always said that they weren't right."
"Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but your mother's wrong. Especially if she thinks I'm your 'one'."
"Maybe," Deacon agreed. "But she believes in it. Right or wrong, I'm not going to be the one to take that from her."
Eyeing him suspiciously, I asked, "Do you believe her? You never gave me a straight answer when I asked you if you believed in the cards earlier."
He only smiled, choosing not to answer. "Did you call your taxi? Or can I give you a lift?"
Blinking, I silently cursed him. I'd almost forgotten that I was going to call one.
"I'll call one now," I mumbled, sliding my thumb across the recognition lock.
"Please let me drive you." He held up a hand as I started to protest. " You're shivering like nobody's business and it's minus one outside. Please. It would make me feel better knowing that you got home safely. Nothing weird. Just a lift. That will be the end of it. We both go our separate ways."
My hand fell down to my pocket. Pulled out a set of soggy notes. The corner tore on the twenty. Maybe the radiators would dry it out?
"I'm not going home," I said at last. "I'm going to Delilah's."
It had never been part of the plan. But then, that was jumping to the conclusion that I was the kind of guy who made plans to begin with. I wasn't sure what I was trying to prove, but something had me convinced that seeing her would erase last night, along with any doubt Deacon's 'you weren't that drunk' stirred up. Reinforce the belief that the bodies I liked didn't have the same equipment that I was already packing.
"Who is Delilah?"
"My girlfriend."
I didn't like the look he gave me. Didn't like the way it made me feel. Like . . . like I was doing something wrong. Which was f*****g bullshit because the only thing wrong here was him.
"Your girlfriend that isn't your girlfriend?" Deacon raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Good luck with that."
He tried to convince me to eat before he gave me a lift. Claimed I needed something warm. I declined. I hadn't touched the water he gave me, or the dry clothes he'd offered. I didn't want anything he was offering. He seemed more amused by that than he was offended.
She hadn't responded to the text I'd sent to her, so there was no way to know for sure if she was home or not, but I took the gamble. Needed to. I needed to feel her against me. I needed her to turn me on and get me off so I could put this sense of panic in its grave.
"My offer stands," Deacon said once he'd pulled up outside her apartment. It was only a few blocks from my mom's, so if she wasn't in, iI could head home. Although, if she was out in the this shitty weather, she was f*****g brave. It had gotten worse, descending like a curse. The drive here had been a creeping game as he'd barely been able to see out his windshield with how heavy the rain was coming down. "If you ever need anybody to talk to, or if you do feel a little confused, well, I gave you my number."
"I tore that s**t up," was my reply as I reached for the door handle. "Thanks for the ride."
The cold slap of the wind against my cheeks had me regretting the offer of clean clothes, but gritting my teeth, I pushed on, fighting against the gale tides of air.
Delilah was home.
She answered the door with a scowl, but it only took a cocky grin, the cunning theft of an unsuspected kiss and the crude words of all the things I wanted to do to her, to have her rolling her eyes and waving me in.
And perhaps it was the remnants of this morning's hangover, or maybe I was still beating myself up, but the victory of winning her over didn't feel the same as it usually did. There was no playful triumph or pride. No amusement. Just determination.
This time, with Deacon's piercing gaze watching from where he had pulled up, it felt funny. It felt different.
- Writer
