Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (13 page)

“I
tried
not to like you, and every time I tried to stop thinking about you, I only thought of you more. I already feel more for
you than I have ever felt for anyone else. I don’t know how long I’ll be okay resisting you in public. I don’t even know if I’m okay hiding it for a
day
, much less longer, but I want to try to make this work.” She sets her feet back on the ground and reaches for my hand.

I can’t think. I can’t talk.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be okay for a day? Where does that leave us?

She moves closer,
telling me we’ll figure it out, but she doesn’t know everything, so how can she say that? She doesn’t know the pieces of guilt that are lodged deep within my psyche, spearing me every time I have certain thoughts or feelings. She doesn’t know the thing that might make it impossible for me to ever feel comfortable with public displays of affection. She doesn’t know that when I told my parents
I was a lesbian and they gave me
that
look—the look that nearly brought me to my knees—I wished they didn’t exist.

And hours later…they didn’t.

~Ashley~

AT SIX THIRTY this morning the sky was gray and the air was damp and cold. It looked like rain was moving in, and the waves were rolling in with it. I was out in the frigid water, trying to learn to surf, when I spotted Delilah up on the dunes, bundled up in my sweatshirt, which she
accidentally on purpose
wore home last night. I didn’t care that I wiped out
a zillion times, or that by the time I was done I was as frozen as a Popsicle. Delilah was here. She came on her own to watch me. She stayed for a long time, but I didn’t wave to her because I didn’t know if she wanted me to know she was watching or not. She didn’t mention coming to watch when she left last night. Then again, I got the feeling there was a lot she wasn’t telling me.

I know
I freaked her out when I told her why I broke up with Sandy, but I don’t want to give her false hope. I know myself well enough to realize how tenuous my ability to be patient really is—
or was
—before meeting her. It took me a long time to finally end things with Sandy. Probably too long, and it took me only half a second to decide I’d never keep a relationship secret again.

Until Delilah.

I didn’t want her to leave last night. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms. I wanted to have coffee out on the balcony and laugh about how bad I am at surfing. I wanted to
ask
her to come and watch me.

It turns out I didn’t need to.

That kept a smile on my face all day. Now it’s seven thirty and I’m shoving clothes for tomorrow into my backpack. I grab my toothbrush and take one
last look in the mirror. I’m meeting Delilah at the Taproom at eight. We’re having drinks with Wyatt and Cassidy, and then we’re spending the night at Delilah’s house. This will be the first night we’ve spent together since we became girlfriends, and I’m nervous and excited. I didn’t question why she didn’t want to stay at my place even though I was a little surprised that she wanted to sleep where
there were other people in the house. I’d have thought she would want more privacy, but I don’t mind staying within Delilah’s comfort zones. I have a feeling I’m going to be learning what they are for a while yet.

I’m not much of a dress-up kind of girl, but I’m wearing a cute tribal-design miniskirt that fits like a glove with a loose-fitting, sheer, silky white tank top and a lace bra beneath
it. It’s kind of mean, given that we’re going to be in public and knowing how much she loves seeing me dressed like this, but hey, sometimes a girl’s gotta pull out all the stops. I like seeing the look in Delilah’s eyes when she first sees me in a miniskirt. Her eyes go wide and her lips curl up in appreciation. I know she’s unaware of how seductive she looks when she drags her eyes down my
body like she’s an addict and I’m her favorite drug. My entire body heats up, as if she’s just touched every inch of my flesh. I wasn’t ever sure if she meant to look at me that way, but now that I know I’m reading the look right, I want to see it even more.

I’m not going to push her to show affection toward me in public, but I’m only human. I
want
her to want me, and I want her to want me
enough to open up and tell me why she clammed up last night when I reassured her and said we’d figure things out.

I sensed her building a protective wall around herself. Maybe not a big one, and maybe not one that will be up all the time, but she definitely went into self-preservation mode. I guess I don’t blame her.

Hopefully she’ll be no better at keeping up her walls than I was at keeping
up mine.

I want to tear down all of her walls, but I have a feeling she needs to come to this decision on her own. I was fifteen when I told my mom I liked girls. She didn’t try to change my mind and she didn’t ask me if I was
sure
.  She wrapped me in her arms and told that she loved me. She didn’t say that she loved me
despite
my sexual preference. She didn’t say she loved me despite anything.
She simply said, “I love you.”

When I came out to my father, he looked at me for a long time. His bushy eyebrows knitted together and he crossed his arms over his round belly and narrowed his serious dark eyes. My father’s a businessman, and I felt as though he were analyzing me, taking apart the pieces of me that he understood and trying to right them against the pieces of me that he didn’t
understand. It was the longest ten minutes of my life. Finally, he unfolded his arms, waved a hand at me, and said, “I’m just trying to figure something out.”

I tried to reassure him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. This isn’t some big failure on your part.”

He got angry, pressed his full lips into a firm line, and spoke in the fatherly tone that always gets my attention, and when
he pointed at me, I knew I was in for harsh words. I never expected that they would be the most supportive harsh words I could ever hope for.

“Now, you listen to me, young lady. I don’t think I did something wrong, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you you’re doing something wrong either. I’m sitting here thinking about how your mother and I did something right. This can’t be easy for you,
stepping out into the world where people are ass backward and judge based on their own cockamamy beliefs. I’m proud of you, baby girl. When you love someone, you don’t tell them
who
to love—you support who they are.” He folded me into his arms, and I knew that whatever I faced in my life, I’d always have their support.

My parents’ reactions taught me a very important lesson.
Acceptance
and
tolerance
are two totally different things. I want Delilah to feel accepted, not tolerated. But Delilah has to want that, too. And that isn’t something a person can force on someone else.

All I can do is hope that I mean as much to her as she does to me.

~Delilah~

AFTER WORK I went home and took a really cold shower, hoping it would help temper my anticipation of seeing Ashley. After
last night, I’m not sure how I’ll react being close to her when we’re having drinks tonight. Before going to her house last night I told myself I was going to take things slow. Slow, slow, slow. Then I saw her, and all bets were off. I didn’t
need
slow, and I definitely didn’t
want
slow.

The walk to the Taproom is only a few blocks, and it gives me time to think, which is good and bad. There’s
a lot of foot traffic on Main Street. Summer brings tourists, and tourists love to meander through the shops in the evenings. There’s a line out the door at Pepe’s Pizza. A group of kids are sitting on the curb with an open pizza box as they scarf down pizza and laugh about who can take the biggest bite. Habit draws my eyes to Endless Summer Surf Shop. I’m looking for Ashley even though I know
she’s off work. The shop is lit up like it’s midafternoon. Bikes are lined up in the bike rack, and guys in board shorts and girls in bikini tops and skimpy shorts are talking out front. I feel ten years older than them, although I’m sure I’m about their age. Losing your parents will do that to a person. Suddenly I’m working a more-than-full-time job, and the fate of an entire business is in mine
and Wyatt’s hands. I don’t mind working at the Taproom. I actually really enjoy the work and dealing with the customers and the staff, but some days the responsibility definitely weighs on me.

As I cross the parking lot and the beach comes into view, I am reminded of watching Ashley learning to surf this morning. I didn’t go just because I missed her, which I did. I went to see how my body
would react to seeing her. It was a test. If I could see her and not feel like my heart was going to climb out of my throat to get to her, I knew I’d be okay. Then I could go out with her tonight and not want to rip her clothes off right there in the Taproom. But it was an epic failure. The minute I saw her, I lost all ability to think about anything else. My pulse sped up, my palms got warm, and
just seeing her in her bikini turned me on so much I had to leave.  

I. Had. To. Leave.

Leave
.

As in, come home and take my
first
cold shower of the day. I thought only guys took cold showers, but apparently it’s about the only thing that takes the edge off of naughty thoughts. My body reacts to her in ways I’m not used to. By the time I got in the shower, I was wet.
Down there
. Wet.
Not just damp, but totally turned on from thinking about what we’d done last night.

It’s sick.

Depraved.

Gloriously depraved
.

I smile to myself, fiddling with my silver bangles. Tonight I put on several silver rings, too. Wanting to dress nicer is new to me. I’m such a comfort girl, and all of a sudden I want to look
hot
. Scorching, I-can’t-resist-you hot. I want to look so hot
that
Ashley
has to take two cold showers.

Only I don’t want her to take a cold shower.

I want to feel her heat.

Uh-oh
.

Now I’m turned on again.

Gaaaaahhhhh!

 I look for her car as I walk through the lot, and when I spot it parked by the pier, my pulse quickens again. I pull out my phone and text her.

Are you inside?

She responds quickly.
Yes. Where are you?

I step onto the pier and walk toward the Taproom, debating how to answer. I want to buy a few minutes to try to calm myself down. The pier is crowded with people eating ice cream from Scoops, an ice cream shop located at the end of the boardwalk. Others are walking along the pier and talking, looking out at the water as if they’re window-shopping. I know that feeling. The pier is usually so serene
and calming, but tonight, by the time I reach the Taproom, my nerves are buzzing like a swarm of bees in my belly, and I’m hoping and praying that I can keep my hands and lips to myself. I take a minute to breathe deeply before responding to Ashley’s text.
Be there in one sec.

It was Wyatt’s idea for me and Ashley to meet him and Cassidy for drinks tonight. He thought that if I went out with
people I trusted the first time I was out in public with Ashley as her girlfriend, it would be easier for me to be open with my feelings. It’s worth a try. I want to be able to hold her hand and not be afraid of being a spectacle, and in my mind I know that I shouldn’t even worry about it, because at least in our circle of friends, no one really cares. But I do worry, thanks to my parents. I want
nothing more than to walk right through the door and kiss Ashley on her beautiful lips. I want to hold her hand and cuddle up against her like Cassidy does with Wyatt. I want to
be
her girlfriend.

I run a nervous hand down my dress, pull my shoulders back, and give myself a pep talk before opening the door.

The noise of the crowded room fills my ears.

Tristan waves from behind the
bar as I step inside. He points to a table in the back.

I can do this.

I can kiss her.

I want to kiss her
.

I follow Tristan’s lead, passing tables and booths filled with patrons. Brandon’s band is already set up in the back of the bar, and there are a handful of people milling about. Brandon lifts his chin in my direction and smiles. I smile, but can’t seem to lift my hand to wave.
I’m so nervous my chest burns. Wyatt and Cassidy are in a booth, facing me. Wyatt’s eyes widen as I approach the table. I smile, or at least I think I do. I can’t see Ashley, but I see her long, sexy leg slide out of the booth, and then her smokin’-hot body follows as she steps in front of me.  She flips her long blond hair over her shoulder and pins me in place with a seductive stare, followed
by a quick lift of her brows.
Ohmygod, she’s so hot
. Her skirt hugs her curves and stops midthigh. I’ve tasted those thighs, and holy smokes, I can see her bra right through her shirt. It’s lacy and pink, and the memory of her softness on my palms makes me curl my fingers up.

Stupid cold shower didn’t do squat.

“Hi,” I manage.

She reaches for my hand, and her eyes take a slow stroll
down my body, making my mouth go dry.  She leans forward, and my eyes quickly dart around the bar.
No, no, no
. I feel like there’s a spotlight on us. I close my eyes for a second, and when she kisses my cheek instead of my lips, I’m ashamed to be relieved.

“You look delicious,” she whispers.

Delicious
.

How am I supposed to think when she looks like sex personified and says things like
that? Her eyes fill with mischief as she leads me to the booth, obviously pleased with the way she’s left me feeling like a dog in heat.

“Wow, Dee. You look great.” Wyatt drapes an arm over Cassidy’s shoulder. “I’m sitting with the three hottest babes in the place. Lucky me.”

Ash slides into the booth and I sit beside her. She presses her thigh to mine. Our dresses are so short that we’re
skin to skin.
Hot skin to hot skin
.

I need to distract myself, or Wyatt and Cassidy will see all the dirty things going through my mind, like remembering what Ashley looked like naked beneath me and the way she cried my name as she came apart against my mouth.