Chapter 5 Delilah
Chapter five
Delilah
I swirl my second glass of red wine in my hand while glancing across the bar to the acoustic guitarist playing a rendition of an old Beatles’ song.
“I’ve always found musicians hot,” Sarah muses from across the hightop we’re stationed at. “I wonder if he’s single.”
I giggle, taking a sip of wine. It’s a Friday, and two glasses in at a tiny wine bar that serves mainly boomers is about as wild as a weekend typically gets for me. And before Sarah, my weekends were even less eventful.
We met about a year ago. She’s a barista at one of my favorite coffee shops.
After spending an inordinate amount of time there, writing away on my laptop in the corner, she’d eventually asked if I was a novelist, leading to a conversation about my job, then her job, then our interests, and well, we just hit it off.
Most of my other friends left Cedar Ridge after high school, and while I keep in touch and see them when they’re back in town visiting, the last few years have felt a bit lonely.
Until Sarah showed up. It helps that she’s my opposite in almost every way—outgoing, brave, adventurous.
She pulls me out of my shell, and I know I need it.
“Talk to him after the set,” I say.
Sarah shoots me a look. “You say that like it’s easy. Would you do that?”
I make a face. “You know I’m shy. You’re not.”
She smirks and takes a sip. “Besides, you’re the one who needs to get out there. Didn’t you say earlier you want to start dating?”
I grimace. “When you say it like that, it sounds like I’ve never dated.”
Sarah raises an eyebrow.
“And I have!” I clarify. “I had a boyfriend in high school. For a few months. And I’ve been on dates, they just never went anywhere.”
“When was the last time you went on a date?” Sarah inquires.
I scrunch my face in thought. Shit. Wow, okay. “Uh, over a year ago now, I guess.”
“That’s tragic, Delilah.”
“This is why I need your help setting up my profile,” I say, taking out my phone and spinning it in her direction. I’ve made a Tinder account but haven’t actually activated my profile yet.
Sarah’s face sets in a look of determination as she takes my phone in her hands, scrolling through the photos I’ve selected. “I’m gonna rearrange these,” she says.
I just nod.
“What’s got you interested in dating all of a sudden?” she asks, eyes still glued to my screen.
My face reddens ever so slightly. Sarah knows my history—or rather, lack thereof. But it’s still embarrassing to bring up. “I, uh …”
My hesitation gets her attention, and her head snaps up.
I sigh. “I want to lose my virginity.”
Sarah’s eyes widen, and she grins in surprise. “Wow. No, ‘hey, how are you?’ first?”
I snort. “Okay, obviously, I’d like to get to know this person …”
Sarah nods. “So you’re not exactly looking for a boyfriend?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Huh.” She bobs her head again. “This seems … unlike you,” she comments.
And, I mean, fair. It is unlike me. I’ve gone twenty-six years without having sex. To want no-strings-attached intercourse is atypical of me. My shoulders slump a bit, and I take another sip of wine. “It’s just …” I start. “I think it’s time. You know?”
Sarah nods slowly, but her gaze is piercing. Her eyebrows furrow. “Did something happen? I mean, you shouldn’t feel pressured or anything. Sex is sex, Delilah—it’s an activity like any other. You’re not weird for not having had it.”
I offer her a soft smile. As brash as Sarah can be at times, she also gives great advice when needed. “So, uh, you know that romance book contract I got last week?”
She nods.
“It’s a high-heat romance,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “As in … sex scenes?”
“Yep.”
“And now you feel like you need to have sex so you can write about it.”
Well, when it’s laid out in front of me like that, it sounds a lot worse. “Uh …” I start.
“You know you don’t need to have sex to write about it,” Sarah says.
“I know,” I concede. “But it’s not just that. I mean, I’m twenty-six. This is something high schoolers do. I just feel like I should … do it.” It’s not a very convincing argument, even to me, but it’s all I’ve got. And despite how it sounds, I do want to go through with it.
Sarah studies me for a moment before finally giving a quick nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
I laugh, raising my eyebrows.
“Let’s get you a man to rock your world,” she adds, grabbing my phone back and assessing my profile again. After a few moments, she makes a dramatic click with her finger and then points the phone around at me. “Let’s see who all is in Cedar Ridge.”
My eyes widen. “You made my profile live?”
“You won’t lose your virginity with a paused profile,” she chides.
I roll my eyes but lean forward anyway. I grimace slightly at the first photo. “Eh …”
Sarah swipes to the left, and someone new appears. Wow, it really is like shopping for jeans online. “He’s cute.”
“Want me to swipe right?”
Suddenly, anxiety grips my chest. “Does that mean he’ll be able to talk to me?” I ask.
“Only if he swipes right too. Which he obviously will—I mean, look at you.”
“What if he’s … weird?”
“Then you block him.”
Huh. Okay. This is barely half of step one, and this is already feeling a bit too real. It suddenly dawns on me how, well, potentially dangerous it is to try to lose your virginity to a stranger. They never talk about that in TV shows. Or books.
“Okay, swipe right,” I say, and Sarah does.
A new man appears on the screen, and Sarah’s mouth drops. “Holy shit,” she mutters.
I lean forward, and my mouth drops too—only for a different reason.
“Right swipe, right?” she asks.
“No!” I practically shriek, and Sarah stiffens in alarm. “I mean, no, that’s—I know him.”
Sarah leans back and levels me with a long look. “You know this practical Greek god of a man, and he isn’t your first choice to hand away your v-card to?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, calm down.” I snatch the phone from her hand, staring down at the photo.
Graham Whitaker has a Tinder profile. I mean, of course he has Tinder.
Why wouldn’t he? Jesus, he does look hot in this photo.
Cowboy hat over his dark, wavy hair, shirtless for some goddamn reason—abs for days. Like, days.
Graham Whitaker has no business looking this good.
And I have no business wanting to swipe right.
“Who is he?” Sarah presses.
“My brother’s best friend from childhood.”
“Ooooh.”
“I can’t swipe right on Graham,” I say, even as I swipe through his photos and wish I could.
“Why not?” Sarah has a mischievous smile on her face. “You know him. He’s not a serial killer or anything, right?”
“No, of course not.” I bite my lip. I mean, Sarah does have a point. I trust Graham. He’s been in my life since I was a kid, even if a bit peripherally.
But I can’t have sex with Graham.
Right?
“You want to swipe right,” Sarah says, her smirk widening.
Fuck, okay, this isn’t good. “I can’t have sex with my brother’s best friend,” I say evenly.
Especially considering the last time I saw him, I …
melted down? Made a complete fool of myself?
I want to bang my head against a wall just thinking about it.
I’ve been doing everything in my power not to think about it.
I was in my head, stressed out about the stupid book, about my stupid lack of experience, and then somehow Graham and I’d gotten on the topic of dating, and that brought up a bunch of shit. And then calling me a kid?
It felt way too fucking true.
And then I’d acted like one.
I’d been too embarrassed to even come out of my room and say goodbye to him after he set up my TV. And he finished setting up my TV. Like a literal saint.
I definitely owe him an apology. And sex with me is certainly the furthest thing from his mine.
With a sigh, I take one last look at Graham’s stupidly hot photo before swiping left. “He’s off-limits.”
Sarah just levels me with a pursed-lipped look. “Sure.”