11. Delia
Eleven
Delia
L angdon is infuriating. The hot-and-he-knows-it , kind of infuriating. I call mom’s phone but she doesn’t answer so I leave her a message telling her that I have a ride home because I’m out early and not to come get me.
At three, Vivianna comes out of the back room to chit-chat with me and tells me I did great for my first day. It makes me feel like I did not do great. I mean great is great…. great for your first day is… mediocre. But I try not to let it get to me. I hit the bathroom quickly before Langdon comes inside.
The mirror reflects a soggy mess. I look completely wrecked by the heat. My hair is slicked back into a ponytail, my shirt is dirt smeared and stuck to me in unflattering ways and my arms are streaked with soil marks even though I quickly tried to wash them before coming in to work the register. Ugh .
I wet my hands and wipe under my eyes, hoping to cool down a bit and wash some of the soil away. Heath, I mean Gramps , is going to take one look at me and make me shower outside because one shower and his tub will be a brown mess. I push out of the bathroom and stride into the shop. What was I thinking, taking Langdon up on his offer to drive me home? He’s leaning against the register counter, shirt on. Damn. He looks good without it. Who am I kidding, he looks good in it too. I cringe internally. You do not need a crush, you do not need a crush.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yup. Let’s go.”
I follow up out the back door and down to his car. A beat-up pickup truck, only slightly older than the one Gramps drives.
Langdon hops in his side and I walk around the bed to my side, mildly disappointed that he didn’t get my door for me. But why would he? This isn’t a date.
“How long have you worked at RootBound?” I ask buckling.
“Four days.” He glances at me and laughs.
“Wait what? Now who’s stalking who?” I ask.
“You’re still stalking me. I’m still the senior employee in this scenario. My first day was the Sunday we met.”
He twists the key and the engine roars to life along with the radio. XX blares before he turns it down. Of course, he listens to XX. Basic.
“I didn’t peg you for a plant guy,” I say.
Langdon shrugs. “I’m not. It wasn’t exactly my choice of employment. ”
Okay, well whatever. I guess most teenage jobs aren’t exactly dream gigs. “Got it.”
Langdon peels out of the lot and onto Main Street.
“It’s hotter than balls. Do you have to be home right now? Technically, my mom doesn’t expect me home until five.”
I glance at his profile. “What are you getting at? That you have a curfew? And five really? That seems pretty early.”
“I can go out whenever, but I have to check in first, if my plans change. She thinks I’m working until four thirty, so she’s not expecting me to check in until five. Not all of us have hippy parents.”
I smack his bicep. Hard.
“Ouch.”
I huff out a sigh and stare out the window. The air conditioning feels good. “My mom is not a hippy.”
“I was home the other day. I heard my mom call her Clover . You live out of a van and move every year. How is that not hippy?”
Great. “Whatever. We don’t have to talk, you know.”
He snorts. “True, but that’s boring.”
I reach out and spin the volume knob up until the music blares inside the cab. He shakes his head but smirks. We drive not talking, until we’re off the main drag and approaching my road. He shoots me a devilish look. Instead of banging a left down my road, he goes straight.
With lightning speed, I turn the volume down and screech, “You missed the turn!”
Langdon only smirks. “I did no such thing. You don’t want to talk. Fine. But that means I don’t have to ask for permission to do what I want. You’re at my mercy.”
“Excuse me?” I seethe. “What kind of bullshit logic is that? Take me home. I’m tired and sweaty.”
He turns the volume back up and shakes his head. My stomach flips with unease and anticipation. This is how horror movies start. How new kids get hazed. How popular kids bully the not-so-popular kids. This is also how love stories begin.
Without warning, Langdon bangs a right and we careen down a tire-mark only lane. Through thick trees that block out the sun and then to a small clearing where he finally slows and then parks. He doesn’t speak or turn the volume. I sit with my arms crossed over my chest seething. He kills the engine and hops out of the truck, slamming his door behind him.
I attempt not to look where he’s going. My door opens, startling me and Langdon reaches over me. A squeak of surprise peels out of me.
He unbuckles me. “It’s going to get real hot, real fast in the truck,” he says and walks away.
I bite the inside of my cheek as my foot taps the floor incessantly. He’s got a lot of nerve. I watch as he walks, until I can barely see him anymore and then I start to freak out. Just a little. I hop out of the truck, slam the door closed behind me, and start power-walking after him. When I catch sight of him again, I suck in a deep breath. He’s at the river’s edge .
Shirtless…and soon to be shorts-less.
“Come in. Water’s warm!” he calls out when he sees me.
Facing me, his shorts drop, pooling around his ankles and he stands there in only boxers. He. Is. Glorious. Absolute perfection. And I say that coming from spending my winters with speedo-clad male swimmers. His body rivals the best of the best that I’ve seen. Muscles contract and release. He’s tan and smooth and I want to run my hands all over him. Except I don’t. He’s arrogant and rude. And devastatingly hot.
“Come on Delia. It’s just a dip to cool off.”
I stand rooted in my spot, physically unable to move. I’m terrified if I move I will either lunge at him and maul him in a rage of hormones, feeling his body, sexually assaulting him or, I will shrivel up and retreat to the truck, frustrated and lame.
“Delia! Hurry the fuck up. I don’t have all day,” his voice echoes.
Just be cool. Be cool. I force myself to walk down to the water’s edge slowly—like I don’t care. Like the water doesn’t call to my soul. Like the water doesn’t house a scantily clad Greek god in it. I clamp my hands to my hips, subliminally trying to restrain myself.
Langdon’s wet.
Beads of water drip from his hair, landing on his shoulders and chest and dribbling down, down, down until they hit the water again.
It’s mesmerizing.