Chapter Fourteen
Delilah
I’m still fused to Benji on a spiritual, sexual, and cellular level when someone has the audacity to knock on the door.
Who the hell knocks on a Sunday afternoon? That’s either church people or a traveling scam cult. Could be the neighbors.
The knock comes again. Harder this time. Aggressive. Impolite.
“Benji!” It’s a woman’s voice. Shrill and familiar.
Oh no.
That’s Margo. That’s chlorine-scented, perfect teeth, definitely flirts too long at the community pool Margo.
Benji groans. “Shit.”
“Benji!” she yells again, like she owns the patent on his name.
“Is that pool lady?” I ask, squinting toward the door.
“Margo,” Benji sighs. “Yeah.”
Wait… “Is she your?” I gesture vaguely.
He winces. “Not anymore.”
Not anymore.
I don’t love that phrasing.
I really don’t love that she thinks it’s still her business to knock on his door like she’s got visitation rights to his dick.
Suddenly, all the lingering shade she was throwing at the pool makes a whole lotta sense. The way she stared at me like she already imagined my body in a dumpster behind a Walgreens.
Benji slips out of me with a groan, and I make a noise only dogs can hear.
Then he stands and pulls on a pair of lounge pants that somehow make his dick look even bigger.
They cling like a second skin and that is the moment I realize, I will kill for this man.
I will gnaw Margo’s designer sunglasses clean off her smug face if she’s here to do some passive-aggressive ‘just checking in’ bullshit.
I roll out of bed slowly because my legs are noodles and my body is still humming. Every step is a Benji broke me reminder.
And yet. I move.
Benji freezes, all honey-warm limbs and surprise. “Precious, what are you doing?”
I ignore him. I go to the dresser. Open a drawer like I live here, find a t-shirt that smells like him, pine, sunscreen, and sweet boy afterglow, and yank it on. It hits mid-thigh, loose and oversized, with one shoulder sliding down.
“Delilah, what are you doing?”
“I’m answering the door,” I say sweetly, stalking toward it like a cat with a bomb strapped to its chest. “Just being neighborly.”
He makes a panicked grab for me but I’ve already thrown open the door.
There she is. Margo. High ponytail. Mascara still intact like the laws of humidity don’t apply to her.
Her mouth opens. Then her eyes flick to me. To my neck. To my thighs. To the shirt that is definitely not mine.
Her face goes slack, like she just licked a live wire and tasted my orgasm on the wind.
“Hi,” I chirp, all teeth. “Did you need Benji? He’s a little fucked out right now, but I can take a message.”
“Tell Benji he has two days to remove the garden gnome and repaint the porch trim or the HOA will issue another formal fine.” She smiles. It’s not warm. It’s the kind of smile you give someone right before you key their car for leaving underwear in your boyfriend’s glove box.
“Oh, and next time? Maybe play some cover music.” She pivots on her designer heel and types furiously as she walks away, probably submitting a noise complaint and ordering lip filler at the same time.
I shut the door.
“HOA?” I ask, turning slowly toward him.
Benji groans. “She’s the HOA president.”
“She’s what the actual fuck?” I ask.
“I know. I know. It’s stupid. I was drunk.
It was once. I didn’t even stay the night.
I thought it was just.” He runs a hand through his hair, mortified.
“But ever since, she’s been reporting me for everything.
Noise violations. Lawn length. I got a citation for ‘unapproved holiday lighting’ in July. ”
I stare at him.
“She’s committing HOA war crimes because you didn’t call her back after one drunk fuck?” One part of me salutes her villain arc. The rest of me wants her deported from this ZIP code immediately.
He nods helplessly.
“That’s… honestly iconic. I respect the pettiness. But also? She’s dead now. I’m going to kill her with kindness and a blowtorch shaped like a Hello Kitty.”
“She’ll back off now,” he says, eyes trailing down my legs. “She saw… us.”
Us. That’s fucking adorable. I want to embroider it on a pillow and beat her with it.
“No, Benji. You don’t just move on from a dick like yours. Especially not when it’s attached to a walking, talking emotional fantasy with the body of a Roman statue and the soul of a golden retriever. You could break a nun’s will with one hug and a cinnamon roll.”
“I’ve tried to be nice,” he says. “I’ll pay the fines. I’ll fix the porch. I’m sorry.” Then, like an anxious deer presenting peace offerings, adds, “Do you want cuddles? Or snacks? I have donuts. Maybe garlic Ritz. You can eat me if that’s better.”
I agree to all of the above.
He steps closer, still shirtless, still unfair. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
His hand brushes my waist. “You made her disappear with just one sentence.”
“She should’ve knocked less.”
His lips twitch. “I really like you, Delilah.”
I look up at his mouth, still swollen from me, and smile like the fucking lunatic I am. “I really like you too.”
Margo thinks she can win an HOA war?
Bitch, I majored in psychological warfare with a minor in fake niceness and slutty vengeance.
Let the games begin.