Chapter 17 Delilah
Chapter seventeen
Delilah
I wake to the smell of pine and peppermint. The soft light of morning shining through unfamiliar windows. And in a bed that isn’t mine. I start to sit up, confusion clouding my foggy mind, when a strong arm wraps around me from behind and pulls me back against them.
And then everything comes rushing back. I smile sleepily, letting Graham snuggle me close.
“Morning, Trouble,” he mumbles in my ear.
I giggle as he squeezes me against him, and then his hands go exploring. “I’m barely awake,” I murmur, arching my back involuntarily as his fingers graze my nipple.
“Half-asleep orgasms are the best kind,” he counters, his other hand traveling lower, under the waistband of my panties.
And I assume teacher knows best, so I give in.
Half an hour later, both of us spent, we hop in the shower.
And while Graham is sure to touch me anywhere and everywhere, it’s more tender than erotic.
And soon I’m in one of Graham’s t-shirts, oversized and reaching my knees, sitting at the kitchen counter while he makes me breakfast. It’s Saturday, so neither of us have work, and since it’s still early, it’s safe to assume Harrison won’t be back from Caitlin’s anytime soon.
“You like your eggs scrambled?” Graham asks over his shoulder.
“Sure,” I say.
“Good, ‘cause that’s the only way I know how to make ‘em.”
I smile down into the mug of coffee that I’m holding. I’ve been practically smiling ear to ear all morning. We should probably talk. About what happened last night. This morning. What we want to happen next …
But something in me doesn’t want to break this perfect moment.
“You said the book’s coming along well?” Graham says.
I straighten in my seat, nodding, even though his back is turned to me. “Yeah, I’m really speeding through it. It’s coming a lot more naturally now.”
At this, Graham shoots me a wicked grin over his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes. “I wrote it.”
“I’m just a muse, I know.” He feigns a dramatized expression of humility and goes back to cooking.
I giggle. I take a sip of coffee. “I’m to the whole ‘declaration of love’ part,” I go on. “Trying to figure out how to word it. What to say. The outline wants it to be the male main character, but that’s about all the instruction I have.”
Graham turns off the stove, reaching into the cabinet for plates. “He could say something along the lines of how he thinks about her all the time. How she takes up all his brain space.” He chuckles, not looking at me. “That she’s home and adventure all bundled into one.”
I wag my head. “A little cliché, don’t you think?”
Graham shrugs, plating the eggs. “Sometimes things are cliché because they’re just true.” He spins around, setting a plate in front of me. His gaze meets mine, then darts away.
“Have you ever been in love?” The question leaves my lips before I have the time to decide whether it’s smart to ask it.
Graham’s gaze is back on mine. Serious, surprised, but also vulnerable. He cocks his head to the side, thinking. Really thinking. “Maybe,” he finally settles on. And it feels heavy. Heavier than it should.
“Maybe?” I echo. “How could you not be sure?”
I mean the comment to be playful, but he doesn’t smile.
Instead, he looks … sad, worried, scared?
He stares at me for a long moment before coming around the counter, taking a seat on the stool beside me and reaching for my hand.
Nerves tangle in my belly, because that expression—I’ve never seen it on him before, and I’m trying my hardest to decode it before whatever he has to say spills out of his mouth.
“Delilah, I—” he starts.
Just as the front door to the apartment opens.
Graham and I both spin, mouths open, frozen in place. Harrison steps in, looking hungover and tired. When his eyes land on me, confusion is the first thing to register. But slowly, inevitably, everything washes over him.
Me, wearing one of Graham’s t-shirts, at their apartment at 8:30 in the morning.
He stands there for a long moment, his gaze darting from me to Graham. I scramble for something to say. Anything to say. But the harder I search my mind, the more the words elude me.
This was so stupid. So, so stupid. I should have left immediately after I got up. I knew that. Graham probably knew that. And now—
“The fuck are you doing here, Delilah?” Harrison asks the question slowly, not moving an inch forward, the front door still ajar.
“It’s not her fault,” Graham says quickly, standing and moving in front of me.
Anger—pure, unadulterated rage—flashes through Harrison’s eyes. An anger I have never once seen on him. “Oh, don’t worry, I never for one second would blame her for whatever the fuck is going on here,” he spits, gesturing wildly between us.
Graham holds his hands out in a placating motion, but I’m worried it’s only going to make Harrison madder. “Harrison,” he says slowly. “I can explain.”
“You can explain?” Harrison repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Then explain, Graham. Explain why it looks like you just fucked my little sister!” he shouts.
“Harrison!” I stand, trying to move between them, but Graham blocks my path.
“I’m sorry, look—” Graham starts, but those two words—the admission of guilt—seems to send something snapping in Harrison’s mind, because before Graham can finish, Harrison spans the distance between them and punches him square in the jaw.
I scream, and Graham staggers back, holding his hands out in defense.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” Harrison shouts. “Every woman in this town isn’t good enough for you? You had to prey on my sister?”
“It’s not like that,” Graham says, moving away as Harrison lunges for him again.
“Yeah? What’s it like then?” he goads.
“Harrison, stop!” I yell, but he ignores me.
“I thought it went without saying,” Harrison seethes. “My baby sister is too good for you, and you leave her alone. Whore around with whoever you want—except for Delilah!”
Graham is shaking his head, his hands still out in front of him.
Harrison is a big guy, but Graham is bigger.
I know between the two of them, in a real fight, Graham is more likely to win.
But he’s not fighting back. He’s barely trying to protect himself.
“I know,” he admits, and the defeat in his eyes almost kills me.
I reach for Harrison, grabbing his arm and refusing to let him advance. “I started this,” I tell him, trying to get him to look at me, to pull his hateful gaze away from Graham.
“And he should have stopped it,” Harrison says without looking at me.
“I know. I should have,” Graham agrees, and my gaze darts to his. Something akin to hurt flashes through me, but I push it away. “I’m sorry, Harrison, I never should have done this.”
I swallow, feeling the need to agree, to pile on, to soothe Harrison in some way, but my mouth is suddenly dry.
Does Graham really mean that? Should I feel the same way?
And why … don’t I? My hand slides from Harrison’s arm to my side, and I simply stand there as Harrison and Graham glare at each other.
“I’m sorry, Harrison,” I mutter.
“Don’t apologize,” he snaps at me. “He’s the one who should be apologizing.”
“And he did!” I nearly yell. “Did you not just hear him? He admitted it was a terrible idea, okay?” Graham looks at me, but I avoid his gaze. “And besides, I’m not a child. I’m not an innocent in this, no matter what you want to believe.”
“No, Delilah, he’s—”
“I know what he’s like!” I interrupt. “I know what he’s like, I know what men are like, I know everything you’re trying to say right now—but it doesn’t matter. I’m an adult who gets to make my own decisions. And if you’re angry at him, you’d better be angry at me too.”
Silence settles over the room as Harrison stares at me. Not with anger, like I want him to, but with defeat. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t be here right now,” he mutters, before brushing past me and out the still-open door.
I have half a mind to follow him, but deep down, I know he needs to be alone. The door slams, leaving Graham and I alone once again.
“I …” I start. “I didn’t realize he’d be that mad …”
“You should go,” Graham says quietly.
My head snaps up in shock. “What?” I ask numbly.
Graham rubs his jaw where Harrison hit him—the skin starting to darken into a bruise. “You should go home,” he says, his voice soft.
Confusion rushes through me. “Are you … mad at me?”
He shakes his head, but I don’t know if I believe him. “I just think you shouldn’t be here when Harrison comes back.”
He’s probably right. It’s logical. But something about what he’s saying feels …
final. I stand there, frozen, for a few moments, trying to process everything that’s just happened.
Finally, I force my feet back to Graham’s room, finding my dress from last night and changing back into it. I toss his t-shirt on the bed.
On my way to the front door, I pass Graham, but he’s not looking at me. He won’t look at me.
I pause. “I’ll talk to you later?” I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds.
He nods. Doesn’t say anything.
And I leave.