Chapter 2
Danny
DELILAH
Danny was like an uncontrollable blaze in a fragile world. Everywhere he went, chaos seemed to follow.
He craved adventure and thrills just as much as he needed basic necessities like food and water. Danny was always the life of the party, the kind of guy who might land himself in jail after a wild night out. It was that bold, reckless spirit that first drew me to him.
Hannah and I first met Danny at Saint Maria’s Home for Young Adults.
After aging out of the foster care system, we both graduated from high school.
With no employment, no family support, and no financial resources, we relied on Saint Maria’s, a Catholic charity home dedicated to helping teens transition into independent adulthood.
The day we moved in, Hannah and I carried our sad trash bags of belongings, one each, up the stairs of an old red brick building beside the church.
From the shadows cast by stone pillars wrapped in creeping vines, a confident, rugged, auburn-haired young man leaned back, puffing arrogantly on a cigarette.
He was the epitome of the cool bad guy you see in every high school TV show.
He wore a tight white T-shirt that made his tan biceps bulge, and I could not help but gawk.
Slowly, he lifted his chin, his eyes meeting mine from beneath thick, straight brows.
They were the most alluring shade of brown, so dark they were nearly black, yet still full of depth.
Like a forgotten, bottomless well, that I found myself drowning in.
Suddenly, I collided with a No Smoking sign, sending me stumbling backward.
I fell and dropped my trash bag, its contents spilling across the crumbling stairs.
Clothes and toiletries scattered everywhere, while my jar of pickles, miraculously unbroken, rolled to his feet.
He glanced down briefly, flicked his cigarette away, picked up the jar, and walked toward me with effortless confidence.
Still on the ground, I looked up at him, struck by just how tall he was.
Hannah rushed over to help me up. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked.
I rubbed my aching cheek as embarrassment flooded through me, far more painful than the actual sting. I struggled to find my words.
“What the heck happened?” she asked again.
I was about to invent some bullshit excuse when the auburn-haired guy spoke up.
“Your friend couldn’t keep her eyes off me, and then she clocked that sign,” he said with a wry grin.
“I, I was not,” I snapped back. “I just can’t believe someone would have such blatant disregard for the rules. You were smoking.” I gestured toward the sign. “It clearly says no smoking.”
Not bad for a lie pulled straight out of my ass, all to spare myself a little humiliation.
“So you read the sign and then decided to run into it?” he taunted.
Shit. He saw straight through my lie. He had dismantled my logic in seconds, all while looking at me with that stupid, smug, beautiful face.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, scrambling for a way out, when he leaned in. He closed the space between us and gently placed my jar of pickles into my hand. In a smooth, breathy voice I could feel against my ear, he said, “See you around, Pickles.”
My body shuddered. My breath hitched, and I am pretty sure an audible gasp escaped me.
His voice lingered, the sensation rippling through my entire body. He flashed a wicked smile, winked, lit another cigarette, and then casually disappeared from view.
“That was the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen,” Hannah blurted out.
Right. Hannah. I had almost forgotten she was there. I was still in a daze.
“No way. He’s a jerk,” I said, rubbing my cheek.
“So does that mean I can call dibs?” she asked, flashing her signature mischievous grin.
“Too bad. I’m already talking to someone,” she continued. “Looks like Saint Maria’s bad boy is all you, Boo.”
Later, I would learn that Saint Maria’s bad boy had a name.
Danny.
Long before I met Jared, Danny drunkenly convinced me to get a matching tattoo with him after bar hopping on my twenty first birthday. We were all completely shitfaced. I do not even remember how many drinks I had, or how I got home.
We danced, took shots, laughed, and I vaguely remember some truly awful karaoke. After saying our goodbyes to Hannah and her boyfriend, Danny and I headed down the main street. Well, he walked. I was draped over his back because my feet hurt too much to function.
I should have known better than to wear heels. The bounce of his heavy steps made me feel like my bladder was about to give out. I had drunk way too much, though still not nearly as much as Danny.
“I really need to pee, Danny. I can’t hold it any longer,” I pleaded.
“There’s an alley over there,” he said, nodding across the street.
“I am not peeing in an alley. I will pee all over myself,” I said, horrified.
He huffed, “well, it’s 2 a.m., pee-pee-princess, and nothing’s open."
As I scanned the dimly lit shops lining the street. I noticed a shabby old building at the far end with fluorescent lights still glowing inside.
“Look over there. They look open. Their lights are still on,” I shouted, pointing toward the tattoo shop on the corner.
He picked up the pace, continuing my piggyback ride straight toward it.
The bald, cranky man covered in ink, who I assumed was the owner, reluctantly agreed to let me use the bathroom. After narrowly avoiding disaster, I came back out to find Danny studying the tattoo posters lining the walls.
“Come here,” he said, waving me over, that familiar chaos dancing in his eyes.
“I have an idea,” he continued. “You close your eyes and move your finger over the poster. When I say stop, that’s the one you’ll get.”
“What? No! that’s insane Danny” I replied.
It truly was insane even by Danny’s standards. “Come on Pickles, don’t be a baby.” He teased.
I used to despise that name he gave me on those steps years ago, but it had started to grow on me. I had come to rebrand it in my mind as a term of endearment.
“I’m not a baby, I’m just drunk and don’t want to do something I will regret!” I spat back.
“Come on Pickles, live a little, tell you what, whatever you get I will get the same thing in the same place, my treat, think of it as my birthday gift.” he wagered.
“A matching tattoo” I asked. “I never pegged you as the romantic type” I teased.
“I’m not, I just want to have a piece of you, and you have a piece of me so we can always remember this night.” He confessed.
I wasn’t sure what was so special about our evening, yeah, we had a good time, but it was only just another birthday.
However, he actually sounded sincere for once, so I was intrigued.
We were close friends but not officially dating.
Three years of flirting and sexual tension, a persistent game of cat and mouse and now this?
This wasn’t our dynamic, he was not sweet and affectionate.
He was Danny, the pain in my ass, sexy, charismatic, impulsive ball of fun that I just could not help but be infatuated with.
“You’re drunk and impulsive but… fine.” I said after a pause.
He gave me a look of satisfaction. I felt his body come close behind me, then he covered my eyes with his large, rough hand.
“No peeking,” he said in that deep, breathy voice that brushed my ear and sent a rush of heat through my body. With his other hand, he guided my arm until my finger hovered over the poster. Then I felt his touch slide down my arm, along my ribs, and settle at my hip.
He had never touched me like this before. My heart raced, erratic and loud in my chest. I moved my finger slowly up and down the rows of small tattoos, choosing at random. After what felt like forever, he finally said, “And… stop.”
My finger landed on a heart pierced by a downward sword. “Oh God, what a cliché. Seriously?” I asked.
“I like it. Where do you want it?” he said.
“Nowhere Sister Martha can see, or we will never hear the end of it,” I replied.
He nodded, and with his hand still resting at my hip, his fingertip slipped just beneath the waistband of my skirt, tracing lightly across my skin to my lower hip. The smallest touch unraveled me. My breath fluttered, my body responding far more than it should have.
“How about right here?” he asked softly, his breath warm against the curve of my neck.
I nodded without hesitation, completely under his spell. In that moment, I would have agreed to anything he asked.
The sharp bite of the needle sobered me instantly.
I welcomed the sting, grateful for the distraction from the way Danny had touched me only moments before.
When the artist finished, we stood in front of the mirror, clothes shifted just enough to reveal the fresh ink.
We studied the matching marks quietly, each of us now carrying a small piece of the other.
“See, Pickles? We look good together,” he stated with complete confidence.
Good together. What did that even mean? Was this his way of asking me to be his girlfriend?
A normal person might have just asked, but Danny being Danny, of course it had to be something reckless, outrageous, and permanent.
Not wanting to assume anything, I answered with the only thing I was certain of. “I agree.”
We left the tattoo shop changed. The energy between us felt stronger, heavier. He held my hand, fingers laced with mine, as we strolled down Main Street. Then I felt a sudden tug.
“Follow me,” he said, flashing a devilish smile that revealed his dimple. God, I loved that dimple.
“Where are we going?” I asked, struggling to keep up in my heels.
He led me toward a dimly lit alley wedged between two old brick buildings.
“The pee-pee-alley? Are you serious?” I teased.
He did not slow down. Keeping his grip on my hand, he pulled me around the corner, behind a stack of broken pallets. In one smooth motion, he turned me, so my back met the cold brick wall, our hands joined above my head.