13. Delaney
DELANEY
“I’m really fine to sleep on the floor,” I say, laying out the one spare blanket I could find in this whole fucking cabin. It really is just my luck that the reservation got messed up. The reservation that I made, trying to prove to Mrs. Crane that I’m not some dumb pop star.
Really showed her, didn’t you, Delaney?
She was flustered when we broke the news to her, but Connor calmed her nerves by showing her the detailed room assignments we had sorted out.
It took an hour to get everyone settled, and Crane made us all take an oath of “no funny business,” but finally, the cabin below our little loft descends into silence.
The loft, much like the rest of the cabin, is quaint and cozy.
One side is open to the main cabin space below, while the other is lined with huge windows.
I’m sure in the morning, the sunrise will be incredible.
Any other day, I’d probably find it charming in a country bumpkin kind of way.
But tonight, it’s stifling. Overwhelming. Making me so fucking anxious.
It’s not like Connor and I haven’t shared a bed before.
But we were children.
And not in a fake relationship.
And something about that goofy fucking grin has my stomach wound up in knots.
“Lanie Lou, don’t be ridiculous. If anyone is sleeping on the floor, it’s me. Gentleman, remember?”
That motherfucker smiles at me in a way that only he can, casually slipping in my nickname, and my heart skips a beat.
I blame the copious amounts of coffee for my racing pulse.
Definitely has nothing to do with the gleam in his eyes that makes me think, in certain scenarios, he’s far from a gentleman.
“Well, I feel guilty. I’m the one who made the reservation, so if anyone is sleeping on the floor, it really should be me.” I sit down on the makeshift pallet bed, arms wrapped around my knees as if I’m proving my point.
A shit-eating grin creeps onto his face as he flips the light switch, sending the loft into darkness.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight, and in that moment Connor crosses the small room and drops down onto the floor beside me, wedging himself between me and the edge of the futon.
“Well then,” he says, mirroring my posture, his dark muscular arms wrapping around his knees, “I guess we’re both sleeping on the floor.”
I lean my weight into him. He doesn’t budge. “Connor, this is ridiculous. I really don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
He leans right back, nearly toppling me over. “I really don’t mind either.”
In the moonlight, he looks so much more like the boy I used to know. Always smiling and joking around. There’s an ache in my chest, thinking back to those simple days. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy.
I don’t think I’ll ever be that happy again.
“You’re still stubborn as hell, I see,” I grumble, yanking a pillow off the futon behind him.
“I could say the same thing about you.”
“I’m going to sleep, Connor,” I say, rolling away from him.
“So am I, Delaney.” I can hear the smile still plastered on his face as he scoots down beside me. Warmth covers me despite the thin blanket. Connor tugs me closer until my back presses against his chest.
“Connor,” I whisper-yell as he slides his arm under my head. His ridiculously comfortable, muscled arm.
Heaven help me.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh,” he whispers back. “I’m sleeping.”
“Connor!” I yell louder this time, twisting in his arms to face him. “This is so dumb. Get up on that bed.”
He pops one eye open. “I will if you will.”
Groaning, I push up to my knees. “Fine. But I’m mad about it.”
He sits straight up, a wide smile on his face. “Wouldn’t want you any other way.”
We quickly remake the futon with the blankets and pillows from the floor.
“No cuddling,” I say, pulling the blanket up to my chin and rolling to face the wall.
“But cuddling is the best part about sharing a bed!” Connor teases, dutifully rolling onto his half of the futon.
“Ew, no. I have a hard-and-fast rule about that. No cuddling, no spooning, no spending the night.”
The futon dips and groans as Connor rolls back towards me. “For real? You don’t let your partners stay the night?”
I fight back a nervous laugh, the conversation suddenly taking a personal turn. “It sounds weird when you say it that way, but uh… yeah, I like my space. I like waking up alone.”
“Wow, Delaney. Wouldn’t have thought that about you.” The sarcasm is tangible. “You give off big cuddle me vibes.” Connor jabs my ribs with his elbow. “That warm and bubbly personality of yours just screams hold me all night.”
I roll my eyes into the darkness. “Har har har. You’re hilarious. Should quit your day job and pursue comedy.”
I roll over, the small futon creaking beneath us. The moonlight is bright enough to trace Connor’s sharp jaw, full lips, those soft eyes. He is comfort and danger all wrapped up in one. His body radiates heat, and the closeness gives me pause.
I don’t like to cuddle. Don’t like the intimacy of lingering.
I like a good romp as much as the next girl, but I’ll only share my bed long enough to get what I want, a good hard fuck and then a quick goodbye, after they sign an NDA of course.
But lying here with Connor, moonlight painting a picture of the perfect Prince Charming, I’m starting to see the appeal.
An involuntary sigh escapes my lips, and I press just a smidge closer.
Without hesitation, he responds, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. “Didn’t mean to get too personal, Lanie.”
“How’d you know that’s what I was thinking.”
“Because I know you,” he says, hand stilling on the side of my neck. “Might’ve been a while, but I’ve always been pretty good at reading you.”
He’s right. And that feeling, of being so deeply known, threatens to crack my heart wide open. I feel the prick of tears at the corner of my eyes, emotion bubbling dangerously to the surface.
This is why I don’t fucking cuddle.
The temps must’ve dropped overnight because I wake up shivering.
Rolling towards the wall of windows, I see the early morning sun peeking through the mountains, and shit, you just don’t get views like this in L.A.
The leaves are still unchanged in Ridgecrest, but up here in this mountain town, the trees are putting on quite the show.
I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed autumn in Tennessee. Reminds me of being a dumb kid running through the Major’s orchard, throwing rotten apples at Connor. The mushy insides would explode like little bombs. He thought it was disgusting, I thought it was hilarious.
Connor inched closer and closer to me all night.
Every time he brushed against me, he’d mumble a sleepy apology and scoot away, acutely aware of my aversion to cuddling even in his sleep.
The thoughtfulness alone was enough to warm me from the inside out.
Add in the fact that he’s six-foot-something of solid muscle, and I was borderline overheated all night long.
Which explains why I’m so damn cold now. Connor wiggled out of bed an hour ago for a run. He halfheartedly tried to convince me to join him, but there was no way in hell I was going for a run before the sun came up.
I can hear Mrs. Crane banging around in the kitchen below, which means I need to get up and help with breakfast prep, even if I’m not much of an asset in the kitchen. But especially after the fuck-up with the reservation, my need to prove myself is burning hotter than ever.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
Connor’s head pops up over the railing as he climbs the stairs to the loft, his full, broad, shirtless body coming into view. Sweat glistens across his chiseled chest and I can’t help myself.
Pushing up to sit at the top of the futon bed, I openly stare. “Damn, Connor. I swear you’ve gained ten pounds of muscle since I’ve been home.” Each individual ab is perfectly defined, his pecs dark and toned.
A blush creeps onto his face. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been putting in a little extra work at the gym. Figured if I was gonna be on all these gossip sites, I should look like I belong. Gotta make it seem believable that you’d pick me.”
That admission makes my stomach flip-flop. “Connor, you didn’t need to do that! Trust me, you were plenty hot before. You definitely look the part.”
He simply lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, breezing right past my compliment. “I gotta shower then I’m on pancake duty. Think you can handle getting the batter started?”
“Sounds fairly idiot-proof, but time will tell.”
Students emerge from the bunk rooms, with messy hair and sweatpants, and sleep in their eyes. Our bus driver, Mr. Ralph, gets a fire going in the big stone hearth. Even Mrs. Crane seems surprisingly relaxed.
It’s been a long time since I woke up to anything other than an empty house. My penthouse in L.A., my parents’ house here, just big, empty rooms. By contrast, the cabin is bustling with life, a cozy contentedness reverberating off the log plank walls.
It makes my skin crawl.
“What’s with the scowl, Delaney?” Connor joins me in the kitchen where I’m making a mess of the pancake batter. “Didn’t sleep well? I’ll call and see if I can get the reservation fixed. Or I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
God he’s so endearing when he’s worried about me. Any normal person would be delighted that someone was being so sweet. But me? My palms are sweating and the room is starting to feel too crowded. The shiny, happy students, the look of concern on Connor’s face–it’s all a little too picture perfect.
“All good Captain America. Don’t need you to swoop in and save me.” I brush him off and quickly start another pot of coffee in an attempt to rectify the panic building in me. I thought the mountain air was supposed to be healing. Maybe the L.A. smog has damaged me beyond repair.
“Yooo, Miss James, can you pour me a cup?” Simon slides up beside me at the counter.
“Simon, aren’t you captain of the swim team?” I ask, pouring the kid a cup.
Are teenagers allowed to drink coffee? Adding that to my list of things a responsible adult should know.
He nods, accepting his mug with a happy smile.
“And you were trying out for track the other day?” Another nod.
“And you’re in the senior choir?”
His golden hair flops as he nods again.
“I like to keep busy. And cast a wide net for scholarship opportunities.”
Mrs. Crane joins us by the coffee pot. “We’ll be sad to see you go.”
A glimmer of genuine emotion crosses her face as she looks over to Simon with fondness, and I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment.
The moment disappears just as quickly as Mrs. Crane claps her hands, snapping all heads her way.
“Okay, people. We have a busy day. I’m sure you’ve all familiarized yourselves with the schedule,” she says, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and it's definitely meant as a personal insult to everyone in the room. “But in case you need a refresher, we’re performing at a local elementary school at nine this morning, then lunch and some sightseeing downtown before another performance and dinner with the residents at Golden Oaks Retirement Home. Polos, jeans, and your cleanest tennis shoes, please. We want to look sharp.”
The slow, mellow morning instantly turns into a frenzy, pancakes flying off the griddle and teenagers fighting over limited bathroom space. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s getting ready in a hurry, so I decide to appoint myself as timekeeper.
“Three minutes left in the shower, Cass! Abby, you’re up next. Your time starts when I hear the water turn on.”
My phone chimes as I watch the timer count down.
Matty: You got service up there in the boonies?
Me: Yes lol just barely. Not enough beds tho… but that’s a story for another time.
Matty: OMG yeah I need those details asap.
Matty: Send me a selfie of you and the BF so I can post. We need more hype.
Me: On it boss.
Matty: Pretty sure you’re the one who signs my paychecks but I do like the sound of that.
Right on cue, Connor catches my eye from the doorway of the boys’ bunk room.
“Need something, Lanie Lou?”
Giggles erupt from behind the closed bathroom door, and for the first time since I’ve been back, I’m not annoyed that Connor used my nickname. I send up a silent prayer that the girls will tweet about it. A post like that would go viral for sure. Our English teacher calls Delaney James Lanie Lou!
Shit, that would be so good.
“Delaney?” Connor asks. “Did you need something?”
“Oh, yeah. Uhhh, babe, I did.”
Connor shakes his head at me, no doubt amused by how clunky affection sounds coming out of my mouth. But another round of giggles behind the door spurs me on.
Giving it my all, I croon out, “You snuck out of bed so fast this morning, I didn’t get a kiss.” I toss him a wink, really laying it on thick.
His smile widens, and if he’s embarrassed, he hides it well. Three quick strides and he’s towering over me, one braced against the doorframe above my head, the other snaking gently around my neck. His touch is firm and warm, sending a shiver down my spine.
He leans in close, lips hovering right by my ear. “How much of a show are we putting on here? Are we a modest couple, or going full on PDA? ‘Cause I’m down for anything, Delaney.”
He gives my neck a little squeeze for emphasis and my mind races at the possibilities of anything.
Stretching onto my tiptoes, I whisper back, “Just a photo op, Prince Charming,” before pulling out my phone and wiggling a little in his grasp. I land a hint of a kiss on his cheek and snap the picture.
“Come on, babe, are you trying to sell this thing or not?” he grinds out, voice deep and low.
Before I can process how good babe sounds coming from him, Connor snatches the phone away with one hand and tips my face up towards him with the other.
“This is how I kiss good morning.”
And then his mouth is on mine.
His kiss is gentle, but far from lacking. Instinctively, I grip the collar of his shirt, and pull him closer, giving way under the pressure of his mouth. His thumb softly strokes my cheek, and my knees go weak.
Then, as abruptly as it started, he pulls away, leaving me reeling from the best damn kiss of my life.
“Ahem.”
Mrs. Crane eyes us from the hallway, arms full of grocery bags. “If you two are done canoodling like teenagers, I’d appreciate some help loading these snacks onto the bus.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Crane.” Connor slips effortlessly back into work mode, taking the bags from Mrs. Crane before turning to the front door without so much as a backwards glance.
I, however, stay frozen in place.
That was fake, Delaney, I remind myself. Everything about this is fake.
But my racing heart? My wobbly legs? The ghost of Connor’s lips still on mine?
Those feel anything but fake.