Dating Delaney (2 page)

“Not everyone can look like this,” she says and runs a Vanna
White hand alongside her body, causing both of us to giggle.

I poke her between the eyebrows and laugh out, “You’re
right, we can't all look like you.”

My sister is beautiful: blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes,
and slender. The complete opposite of me: I got Dad’s Italian skin, brown hair,
shit brown eyes, and an hourglass size ten figure that I have to work hard at
to maintain. But she has the most absurd aversion to plucking or waxing her
massive eyebrows. It’s the one thing, outside of her winning personality, that
I can goad her on. They are like bushy caterpillars stuck on her face.

“Hey,” she states, licking two fingers and smoothing her
eyebrows out suggestively, “these are
hot
.” We fall into a fit of
laughter together over her beastly brows.

Jake

I can hear Delaney and her sister giggling from downstairs
somewhere. When she ran into me this morning, she was a hot mess but still cute
and smart to boot. Her long brown hair had that just-fucked look and her face
still had an I-just-woke-up softness to it. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was
shapely, too. Her full breasts were swinging braless as she flew into my chest.
I’d had a hard time tearing my eyes from her.

Looking around at the renovation, it bewildered me to think
that she really had any part in the actual construction of any of it. Her dad,
Mr. Peters, had mentioned that he and his daughter had done all the work
themselves, but damn, she must really be capable with power tools. Sexy.

When her sister had waltzed past us into the house with her
witty remark at Delaney’s appearance, I’d put all my effort into not laughing
out loud. She definitely looked like a crazy lady from the neck down, but when
Delaney had tried desperately to come back at her sister, she had failed
miserably with her retort and my laugh had escaped me. The glare she’d shot me
should have killed me. She intrigued me and I instantly wanted to know more
about her.

Once she’d come out showered and dressed, I got a much
better look at her. She had serious curves that suited her well. Her t-shirt
clung to her ample chest and tapered into a slender waist where her hips flared
slightly. Her jean skirt hugged a delicious-looking rear end and her legs were
muscled and shapely. She had great legs. Her attitude was a different story,
though. She seemed to flip between hot and cold instantly--either that or I
brought out the worst in her. She seemed flustered and irritated at me for
trying to lighten the mood with an innocent joke. Oh well. She’s a client.
Nothing more. Three weeks and I’ll be on to the next job. I don't mix business
and pleasure anyways. I pop open one of the old wooden windows at the front of
the barn.

“Bob! Start bringing up the scaffolding,” I shout down to
the driveway. Time to get this party started.

Delaney

After Amelia left, I threw on running capris, sneakers, and
a tank, and headed out for a run before it got too hot. Two miles into my run,
I gave up. My legs wouldn’t cooperate with my body. I couldn't stay focused or
get my mind into it so I slowed to a walk as I thumbed through my playlist
looking for something to motivate me. My thoughts kept perpetually wondering
about Mr. Attractive. Mr. Attractive is annoying...and hot. No…really hot. Why
am I thinking about him, anyways? This is dumb, Laney. After not finding
anything suitable to get me going, I switched direction and headed home in a
half-assed jog.

“Delaney?” A muffled shout comes from the house somewhere.
Crap. I switch off the fan in the bathroom and listen.

“Delaney, you here?” comes the shout again.

I wrap my towel around me and crack the bathroom door. “In
here!” I yell. A moment later, Jake appears in the kitchen entryway. I’m still
in a towel with the door cracked but that doesn't stop his eyes from traveling
the length of my body. His gaze is intense and heated and my heart instantly
starts thumping wildly in my chest.

“Did you need something?” I ask, hoping like hell that I’m
not red and splotchy from my blush. His eyes shoot to my face instantly and
lighten.

“Oh. Yeah. Ah, where are the windows for Claire’s room?” he
manages in a croak.

“In the storage unit. Let me get dressed and I’ll show you,”
I answer, reveling in the fact that I apparently get him going.

“Okay,” he says but lingers for a moment before I just
decide to shut the door.

I close the bathroom door and quickly tug on my clothes.
After an application of mascara and lip gloss, I run a brush through my hair
and headed out to show Jake to the storage unit. I pulled the big locking arms
in opposite directions to swing open the shipping container doors we were using
for storage while construction was happening.

“You normally shower twice in four hours?” he asks
playfully.

“What?” I ask before thinking. “Oh, ah no, I went for a run
after my sister left,” I mumble.

“You run?” he asks and something in the tone of his voice
sets me off.

“Yeah, why?” I clip.

“No reason, just didn't peg you for a runner,” he says
honestly.

“And what exactly does a runner look like?” I bite out. God,
this man is infuriating. He should insert his foot into his mouth and leave it
there... forever. I suddenly giggle at the mental picture of him hopping around
on one foot with the other stuck in his mouth while trying to swing a hammer.
Cleary I have issues.

“I wasn't trying to offend...what's so funny?” He’s eyeing
me curiously now. Great.

“Nothing,” I say, wiping the smile off my face. “So, what
does
a runner look like?” I ask again, a little less bitchy this time.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don't know,
long and lean and no curves. You know...” He doesn't get to finish before I rip
into him.

“Long and
lean
and no curves?! Are you saying that
because I have tits and an ass that I can't run?” I bark, offended.

He starts laughing. Not just a little. A lot. At me. What.
The. Fuck.

“What?!” I crow, throwing my hands up in front of me and
moving away from him.

“You said ‘tits and ass,’” he chokes out. Those dimples jump
out again. They’re really hot. Hearing him say tits and ass makes me want to
laugh. It sounds ridiculous. I stifle my giggle though and put my hands on my
hips. “Well. I run. Windows are there.” I point to the three windows that will
be going in Claire’s room and turn to leave.

“Wait! Delaney, I’m sorry. I think we’ve gotten off to a bad
start. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” He sounds mostly genuine.

“I’m not usually offended easily. I’m sorry. Don’t worry
about it,” I tell him.

“When will Claire be here?” he inquires.

“Ah, tomorrow afternoon, but... why?” I question.

“Well I’d like to get her opinion on the design portion of
her room if that’s okay with you,” he states. What? Why on earth would he want
her opinion on anything? What a strange, strange man. I seriously don't
understand him.

“I don't make it a habit to let my seven-year-old have much
of a say in the design of our house, otherwise, I’d end up living in a Disney
princess castle,” I retort. His brows knit together and confusion crosses his
handsome face.

“What?” he asks.

“What?” I say, not understanding what he’s asking.

“Wait,” he asks, “who’s Claire?” It dawns on me that he
didn't realize Claire was a child, my child.

“Who did you think Claire was?” I question.

“Another sister? Roommate? I don't know,” He shrugs, still
confused. I laugh. “Amelia’s enough sister for me. Claire is my daughter.” I
can see the next question cross his face but I know he won't ask it. “I’m
divorced,” I answer his unasked question.

“Right.” He nods. I shuffle my feet around for a moment
before deciding to get the hell out of the storage unit. How awkward.

“‘Kay, well... see ya,” I call over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” he responds.

I plop down on the couch, grumbling about how I don't look
like a runner. Figures he’d make a crack at my figure. Ugh! Why can’t I be
stunning? Gorgeous? Whatever. It is what it is. I’m not, I’m just average I
guess. The familiar whistle of my phone rings through the air. I grab it off
the coffee table and check my messages.

Molly’s text lights up my screen.

Still on for tonight?

Yup. 8 Right?

.

Yes.

I toss the phone back to its resting spot on the table and
push off the couch to tidy the house up a bit before getting ready for girls’
night.

Jake

Country music is blaring from downstairs and I can hear
Delaney shuffling around and humming along as I pack up for the day. Country
music. Again, a surprise. She definitely caught me off guard today. A mom, a
runner, and a country music fan. Based solely on appearances I would have
guessed a preppy yoga Gap girl, definitely not a mom, and pop music.

“Hey,” I call out. She jumps, a little startled. My lips
twitch as I fight a smile. Could she be any more adorable?

“You scared me!” she says as she twirls around to face me.

“Sorry. I’m just about done for the day,” I answer.

“Oh, okay, great, well... see you tomorrow, or are Sundays
off?” she questions.

“No, no, I’ll be here tomorrow, not until around noon
though,” I answer. She’s got a dust rag in one hand and a bottle of Pledge in
the other and she’s staring at me. It’s cute. She looks like a deer caught in
headlights, innocent and wide-eyed.

“Delaney?” I prompt.

She sucks in a quick breath. “Oh. Right, okay, so, noon
tomorrow, that’s good... you all woke me up this morning,” she says.

“I noticed that.” I chuckle. A blush creeps up her neck,
making her chest pink.

“Right,” she clips. I stand there trying to think of
something to say so I don’t have to leave just yet. Why am I stalling?

“So, a fun night of cleaning? That’s some Saturday,” I
stammer. God, I am really hitting an all-time low today with the wit. She
narrows her eyes at me for a moment but then surprises me.

“No. I’m going out tonight,” she informs me. I can feel my
eyebrows rise and a grin forming.

“Yeah? Good plans?” I prompt.

“Ah, just hitting the Old Port,” she answers casually. She
doesn’t sound excited about it. I wonder why. Maybe she has a boyfriend. Or
maybe she doesn’t drink.

“Sounds like a good time,” I offer.

“Should be,” she says, leaving me no reason or room to
further our conversation.

“Okay, well, have a good night,” I answer and turn to leave.

“See you tomorrow,” she says and goes back to dusting the
dustless desk.

I finish loading up the truck fifteen minutes later and head
home. It must be nice having parents willing to build you a house, in
Cumberland no less. Judging from the finished portions of the house, she’s
probably spoiled. I bet she doesn't even have to pay rent to live there. I
can't figure out if she's snotty, snippy, or just shy. But, if I’m honest with
myself, I want to find out. There’s something about her that makes me want to
prove all my theories wrong. I want her to be different. I pull onto the dirt
driveway leading to my house and my phone chirps. I read Owen’s text and
quickly reply.

Pool & beers tonight?

Time and place?

Foreplay Nine

Typical Owen. We’ve been best friends since the first day of
first grade. He works hard and plays harder and although I could really use a
beer, I’d rather put my feet up while having it. But I ignored Owen last night
and he won't let me ignore him tonight too so I guess I’m going out. Owen and I
used to have a lot of fun running around the Old Port in our younger days but
at thirty-six it doesn't have the same appeal as it once did. Once in a while
is all right, though. Better than sitting at home alone. However, Owen seems to
show no signs of slowing down, he loves picking up girls at the bars. He also
loves using me as his wingman.

I run a hand through my hair wishing I could be in bed by
nine instead of going out. I had one hell of a day. I have just enough time to make
some dinner, shower, and get dressed before having to head downtown to meet
him. I drop my tool bag in the hallway and head to the kitchen.

“How’s the new job going?” Owen asks as he hands me a beer.

“The job will be the easy part, getting through the next
three weeks with the owner will be the hard part,” I toss out.

“Oh? Another well-to-do, wants-to-be-overly involved,
middle-aged, bored housewife?” He laughs.

“Har, har. No, this one’s a bit different,” I say
nonchalantly.

“Care to elaborate?” He racks the balls and shoots me a
look.

“It’s the daughter. Her parents own the house but they’re
converting the garage barn into a house for their daughter and she’s...” How do
I explain her?

“Hot?” Owen perks up at the prospect.

“Well, she’s attractive, yes, but she’s standoffish and I
can't figure out why,” I admit.

“Probably thinks you’re just the hired help, jobs in
Cumberland right?” he states bluntly. I sigh and mull it over. I don't really
get the impression that she thinks she’s better than me but maybe that’s it. “I
don't know, she seems guarded, not stuck up,” I explain.

“Well a challenge is always fun.” He waggles his brows at me
and I laugh.

“I’m not
you
,” I say pointedly. “Now move so I can
break.” I lean over the table, cue stick in hand, and line up my shot. A good
clean break: three balls in, two stripes. “Stripes,” I call.

Owen mumbles something unintelligible and takes his turn at
the table. I wander to the table to grab my beer and notice a group of girls
standing near the bar. A tall blonde one cackles loudly and snorts some beer at
someone to her left who I can't see. Everyone in the group looks to be enjoying
themselves. They also aren’t over dressed or look like they’re twelve, which is
a definite plus.

“Must have been pretty funny,” Owen says at my side. “Never
seen a girl snort beer before.” He grins and eyes me.

The whole group is doubled over with laughter when she
catches my eye. Delaney is standing with the biggest, brightest smile to the
left of the blonde. Her dark jeans hug her body just right and she’s wearing a
cream-colored billowy halter top that has some flowers at the hem that sparkle
in the light. She turns just slightly and my breath catches. The tank is
knotted at the nape of her neck and the fabric drapes open, leaving her back
exposed to her jeans. There’s a tattoo low on her left shoulder blade that runs
down the side of her back but I can’t make it out from here. Yet, again I’m
surprised: she doesn't look like the kind of girl to have one. Her dark brown
hair looks silky and hangs half way down her back in shiny, soft waves. It’s a
complete one-eighty from our run-in this morning. She’s so stunning that my
dick twitches in my pants. I wonder if she would talk to me if I approach her.

“Dibs on the white tank top,” Owen says, nodding at Delaney.
Crap. There is no way in hell I’m letting Owen anywhere near her.

“Pick a different group of girls,” I say flatly.

“Why? They’re good looking and laughing, they look like
fun,” he pushes.

“You called dibs on my new client,” I inform him.

Owens head whips around. “
That’s
the bitchy one?!” he
squawks.

“I didn't call her bitchy,” I defend myself.

“Whatever man, she’s hot. Let’s go say hi,” he says. Knowing
that he’s never going to give up now, I let him head over alone.

“No. She told me she was going out tonight, she’ll think I’m
following her,” I call to him as he saunters their way.

“Grow up, man,” he says over his shoulder to me.

Before I can say anything else, Owen’s already three strides
away from me. Shit. This isn't the night I had planned at all. If she didn't
hate me before she’s definitely going to hate me once Owen injects himself into
her life. I’ve yet to meet a single woman who doesn't instantly know a player
when they meet one and Owen is a player.