Chapter 7 Graham
Chapter seven
Graham
When I realize that Delilah is no longer standing in front of me and is, instead, running toward the front door, I spin after her.
“Delilah?” I mutter in confusion. And then, louder, “Delilah!”
But she’s not looking at me. Without thinking, I reach for her, grasping her wrist and halting her in her tracks. She spins to look at me, and in a fraction of a second, I realize my mistake.
Holy fucking shit.
“Delilah, I thought you were kidding,” I say, all traces of previous amusement gone. “Are you … not?”
Her cheeks redden ever so slightly, and that’s enough of an answer right there.
“No, I’m not kidding,” she snaps, trying to yank her wrist free of my grip.
But I hold fast, assuming she’s going to try and bolt again—and we’re not going to have a repeat of last week where Delilah leaves crying and I leave confused.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I thought you were joking.”
“You said that already,” she mutters, her voice thick with what I suspect might be unshed tears. Fuck.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I protest. “Just the idea because—”
“You already said it, I get it—I’m a joke,” she cries, yanking harder on her wrist. I could easily keep her here, but I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself, so I reluctantly let go.
“No, not that you’re a virgin—Jesus,” I mutter as she spins toward the door again. But I span the distance between us, reaching over her just as she reaches the doorknob, holding it closed.
She glares up at me over her shoulder. “Let me leave, Graham,” she snaps.
“Not until we talk about this like adults,” I say as calmly as I can. As confusing as our interaction last week was, this one is even more so. “For starters, whatever I said that upset you last week, I’m sorry. And for laughing just now, I’m sorry too.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“I was laughing, not because you’re a joke, but because the idea of no man ever wanting you before now is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
She stills, not meeting my eyes, simply gazing down at the floor.
“If I let go of the door, do you promise to stay and talk with me?” I say quietly.
She pauses and then nods.
“Okay,” I mutter, stepping back.
While Delilah turns around, she still refuses to meet my gaze.
We stand in silence for a few seconds before I awkwardly motion toward the couch.
“Do you want to sit down? Maybe finish your story?” It just now dawns on me that this information was conveyed as a precursor to some favor she wanted to ask of me.
What in the hell kind of favor this is I cannot fathom.
Delilah nods stiffly and walks past me, taking a seat on the couch.
I take the seat on the other end, careful to give her space.
“Okay,” I say softly, still reeling from this new information.
Delilah Slater has never had sex. Delilah who-looks-like-that Slater.
Suddenly her insistence last week about not dating makes sense.
She really meant it. She doesn’t date. “Do you want to continue?”
She takes in a breath that looks practically pained. She closes her eyes briefly. “Like I was saying, I’ve been contracted to write a romance novel, which means writing sex scenes, and I’ve never had sex.”
I nod. Okay, I see the problem. But … “I don’t mean to be rude, Dee, but … why are you telling this to me?” I ask as gently as I can.
Her cheeks flush pink at this, and she takes another deep breath. “I’m telling you because … I thought maybe you’d—” she swallows, “—be willing to have sex with me so I’m not a virgin anymore and can write about it accurately.”
My mouth drops open, and I blink. Delilah … wants … me to …
And suddenly she’s standing again, rushing past me. “Of course you don’t—this was a terrible idea, and I’m sorry—”
“Delilah,” I murmur, reaching out to stop her again. This time, she doesn’t fight as hard. “Please sit down,” I beg.
She does as I ask, returning to her seat.
“You can’t be serious,” I start.
She widens her eyes at me. “You think I’d come all the way over here and humiliate myself like this if I wasn’t serious?”
I grimace. “Okay, maybe you are, but it’s not a good idea.”
I see the embarrassment wash over her as if it were a physical wave, and guilt knots my stomach.
“You don’t want to,” she says quietly, nodding in acceptance.
“No, I mean—” I stutter quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that it’s not a good idea, like I said.”
She frowns slightly. “So you would want to?”
Oh, fuck. “Uh, I mean … yeah, of course.”
“Then why won’t you?”
“Because, you’re … Delilah,” I stutter.
Something I can’t quite identify flashes in her eyes. “And I’m just a kid.”
My comment from last week flashes in my mind. You’re just a sweet kid. And suddenly her reaction starts to make sense. I’d called her a kid, not knowing this was obviously a sore spot, and now I’m making it worse.
I run a hand through my hair, flexing my jaw. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Really. It was a crazy idea, and I shouldn’t have asked you.
” She’s fiddling with a loose thread on her jeans, biting her lip.
“I can find someone else—I mean, that’s what Tinder was made for, right?
” She chuckles, but suddenly something strange and foreign twists in my gut.
“Someone else?” The words leave my lips before I can stop them, but Delilah is only half listening.
“Just, please promise that we can forget this whole conversation ever happened? How about I just came over, apologized for last week, and then went home? I didn’t even bring up my book, or sex, or—”
“You’re going to find some rando on Tinder to have sex with?” I say. “For the first time?”
She stops, blinks. “Well, yeah.”
I snort. “No. You’re not.”
Something akin to anger flares her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not getting on that creepy-as-fuck dating app to have sex with a stranger,” I clarify, my tone getting louder with every word. Why this is hitting me so hard, I’m not totally sure, but I can’t exactly stop it.
“You’re on it. I’m sure you have sex with strangers all the time,” she snaps back.
“Yeah, but I—” I stop, just as Delilah widens her eyes. “How do you know I’m on it?”
She purses her lips then straightens. “I saw your profile.”
She’s already on the app? Anger—of some confusing kind—courses through me. I don’t even know who I’m angry at. Her? That’s certainly not fair. The men she might sleep with? Yeah, definitely them.
But hold on, it’s not like I’m her brother. I’m most certainly not her brother. Because her brother would not, for a split second, have thought about taking her up on her offer.
Because having sex with Delilah would be nothing short of—
I clear my throat. “Delete the app, Delilah,” I say.
She glares at me. “No.”
“There are creepy guys on there. Guys who will take advantage of you.”
“Well, good for everyone that ‘being taken advantage of’ is exactly what I’m looking for,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s a win-win.”
“No, you—” I sputter, images of Delilah with other men spiraling through my brain and making my head explode. Delilah and me would certainly be a bad idea. But Delilah and anyone else? Worse. So much worse. So bad that …
“I’ll do it,” I say, against my better judgement. Against the voice at the back of my head telling me that Harrison will kick my skull in if he ever found out. Against the tiny part of me that seems to want Delilah a bit more than I probably should. Against all of it, I agree.
She widens her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Delete that stupid app. I’ll have sex with you.”
She huffs and then rolls her eyes. “Well, thank you, Graham. It’s not like you just practically gagged at the prospect of it five minutes ago.”
I grit my teeth. Has she always been this aggravating? “You know that’s not—”
“You said no. I’m not about to beg you, and I don’t want weird, pity sex. So, offer rescinded.” She shakes her head.
“Jesus Christ, Delilah,” I mutter.
“Why are you—” she starts, but I span the distance between us on the couch, sinking to the floor in front of her, my hands resting gently on her knees. She stops, mid-sentence, staring down at me.
“Dee,” I say softly. “I am on my knees begging you to choose me over that app. I am exactly like every other man on this planet in that I would give my right arm to be able to do every disgusting, filthy thing I can think of with you. The only difference is that I’ll keep you safe.
So please, if you need someone, let it be me. ”
Shock skates across Delilah’s features, and I wonder if that same shock is mirrored in my own expression, because I cannot fully believe that I’m down on my knees in front of a woman, declaring …
what? What am I even declaring? What the fuck am I even doing?
All I know is that I want her to say yes.
“Okay,” she breathes.
“Yeah?” I ask, suddenly breathless.
“Yeah.” She nods.
Holy fuck. We just agreed to …
“Ground rules,” she says simply, although her voice is still soft, her cheeks pink, her breath shallow. “It’s temporary.”
I nod.
“No feelings.”
I’m a master at that.
“And no telling Harrison.”
“Obviously,” I agree.
The silence—loud and charged—stretches between us. Finally, Delilah offers me a soft smile. And something about it has my chest tightening, my cock hardening, and my brain going fuzzy.
Fuck, this is a really bad idea.