Chapter 4 Graham
Chapter four
Graham
I kick my boots off by the front door of the apartment, beelining toward the kitchen.
It’s only mid-afternoon, way too early for dinner, but I’m always starving after work.
I skim the fridge shelves, trying to choose between leftover spaghetti or nachos when the front door opens and voices ring through the living room.
I turn just in time for Harrison to ask, “What’re you doing home?”
I shrug, grabbing the tub of leftover spaghetti. “Was a slow day, and Tate said I could take off early since I worked last weekend.”
Just then, I notice Harrison’s little sister, Delilah, next to him. “Hey, Dee,” I say.
“Hi, Graham,” she greets before shooting an indignant glare at Harrison. “Graham could’ve taken you!” she says.
I raise my eyebrows.
“I didn’t know he’d be home,” Harrison defends. Then he looks at me. “She drove me back from the mechanic.”
“Ah, finally gave in on the truck?”
He purses his lips.
“Time for the TV,” Delilah pushes her brother. “I still have work to do today, unlike you two.”
Harrison chuckles, but a vibration from his pocket stops him in his tracks. He pulls out his phone, glancing down at it. “It’s the mechanic,” he says. He answers with a professional hello that quickly turns a bit more casual and—flirty? I cock my head at him, catching Delilah rolling her eyes.
Then he heads toward the small balcony of our apartment, sliding the glass door open.
“Where are you—?” Delilah starts before he slides the door shut, turning around and leaning against the balcony railing.
Silence settles over the room as she stares at Harrison’s back through the glass door and I stare at Delilah. Then, she turns to me with a grimace. “Whether this call actually has anything to do with his truck or not, I’m going to assume he’ll be a while,” she mutters.
My eyebrows raise further.
“He was flirting with the receptionist at the auto shop,” she clarifies.
I nod. “Well, I figured he probably wasn’t flirting with Luthor.”
She smiles at that, and Delilah’s always had one of those adorable smiles. The ones with dimples. Ever since she was a kid.
She huffs and crosses her arms.
“You here for anything other than just dropping Harrison off?” I ask. It’s not wholly unusual for her to be around. She just seems rather … expectant.
She purses her lips. “Harrison was finally going to help me get that old TV of his over to my apartment. Payment for driving him to the mechanic.”
“Seems fair,” I agree. And I know what TV he’s talking about. It’s one of those small ones he recently just upgraded for one with better gaming optics. “I think it’s in his room if you want me to help you get it out to the car,” I offer.
Delilah seems to consider this for a moment before replying, “He was also going to help me get it in my apartment on the other end.”
“Ah.” I fiddle with my Tupperware of spaghetti, then I shrug. “I could follow you over in my truck.”
She’s shaking her head, her shoulder-length brown curls bouncing, before I’m even done with my sentence. “You don’t have to do that,” she says. “It’s your day off.”
“Technically, this is a bit of a bonus half-day,” I press.
“Besides, I’ve got nothing else to do.” And it’s true.
I’d planned on working today and therefore have no afternoon or even evening plans.
I’d probably just end up vegging out on the couch watching TV.
Helping Harrison’s little sister seems like a better use of my time.
The matter settled in my mind, I toss the Tupperware back into the fridge and head toward Harrison’s bedroom. I throw a glance out to the balcony on my way; Harrison is leaning over the railing, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Yeah, he’s not budging anytime soon.
“Are you sure?” Delilah’s voice wafts after me, the kind of tone that’s socially placating yet I can tell she’s grateful.
“Don’t worry about it,” I toss over my shoulder, striding into Harrison’s room. As usual, it’s a pigsty. Although I probably can’t say my room is much better. I glance around, zeroing in on the old TV in a box in the corner.
Delilah comes up beside me.
“That one?” I point.
She nods. “Pretty sure.”
I cross the room, heaving the box into my arms, glancing down to double check that the cables and remote are thrown in as well.
It isn’t all that heavy of a TV—most are pretty light these days.
But I can see how it would be a bit of an awkward handle for someone of Delilah’s size.
I’ve heard her refer to herself as “fun size” before, and while I wouldn’t say it to her face, I kind of agree.
“Thank you, good sir,” Delilah says with a dramatic arm flourish, directing me to the door.
I chuckle. “Dork.”
Her laughter follows me through the living room and out the front door. Her beat-up, gray SUV sits right out front, and I shake my head as I make my way over, waiting for her to pop the trunk. “When are you going to get a newer car?” I ask.
She shoots me a look. “When I’m a rich and famous ghostwriter, that’s when,” she deadpans, pulling open the hatch.
I snort. “Normal people need safe cars too.” I set the box in the back, maneuvering it so it won’t slide around during transit.
“It’s perfectly safe,” she counters.
I eye the suspiciously low rear tire. “You sure about that?”
“Besides, I work from home—I don’t need to drive as much as other people.”
My eyebrows draw together. “That’s not an answer to my question.”
Delilah just shoots me one of her dimply smiles before shutting the trunk and hopping into the driver’s seat. “Meet you at my place!” she calls before starting the car.
I shake my head with an amused grin before trekking across the parking lot to my truck. Delilah’s apartment complex is only a couple blocks from ours, and I know which unit is hers. Harrison and I were basically manual labor for the day she moved in.
I pull up next to Delilah’s SUV, wrangling the TV box from the back as soon as she opens the trunk. “How are things going with the whole ghostwriting job?” I ask as I wait for her to lock her car.
She shrugs. “Fine. Normal. Pays the bills.”
I follow her up the concrete stairs to her landing. “Anything else new in your life?” I press.
“Nah,” she says.
“Got yourself a boyfriend yet?”
She throws a suspicious look over her shoulder. “Are you trying to get intel on me for Harrison?”
That draws a laugh out of me. “Mainly just making conversation, but yeah, if you were dating, Harrison would definitely like to know.”
“I’m sure he would,” she mutters, struggling with the lock on her front door.
I laugh harder. “You seem annoyed by that.”
She shoots me another look, her big, brown eyes somehow bigger, before focusing back on the lock. “Yeah, if you had Harrison for an older brother, you’d be wary of telling him about your dating life too.”
“It’s just cause he worries about you,” I defend, following Delilah into the apartment when she finally gets the door unlocked. I glance around. She’s rearranged since moving in. I realize it’s been two years since I’ve been in here—the day Harrison and I helped move all her stuff.
“What’s he worried about? I barely date anyway,” she comments, tossing her purse on the kitchen counter.
“Really?” I arch an eyebrow.
She shoots me a quizzical look.
I shoot her one back.
“What are you accusing me of?” she says with a shake of her head.
“You barely date?” I deadpan. I’m not blind.
Delilah may be my best friend’s little sister—complete with vivid memories of how annoying she’d been in elementary school—but I’m still acutely aware of how, well, cute she is.
I’d assume she has no trouble dating at all.
In fact, I’d guess that chasing guys off with a stick would be the more pressing issue at hand. Hence, Harrison’s concern.
“I barely date,” she repeats, as if I’d just declared the sky blue.
“Yeah. Okay.” I’m not buying it. She looks like she’s going to argue with me, but I ask, “Where do you want the TV?”
She blinks, then points to the TV stand on the far wall where a very small, very old TV sits. I cross the room, setting the box down. “Want me to help set it up?” I offer.
She shoots me a slightly guilty smile. “Do you mind?”
“Well, you swindled me into coming all the way over here, I might as well finish the job.”
She gasps in mock offense. “I didn’t swindle you!”
I’m chuckling to myself as I unbox the TV, cords, and remote control. I work in silence for a few moments, unplugging the old TV and setting it aside.
“Even if I was dating, Harrison has no right to be worried,” Delilah eventually says from beside me. She’s sitting cross legged on the carpet, watching me work.
“I think that’s what big brothers do,” I say. While I have siblings, they’re both brothers, and older. But I can imagine the urge to protect a younger sister if I had one.
“What does he worry about?” I can’t see her face, but I can practically hear the eye roll.
“Some asshole taking advantage of you, probably.” I hoist the new TV out of the box, setting it on the stand, then reach for the cables.
“He thinks I’m that easy to take advantage of?”
“Yeah.” I start plugging things in, and it takes a few seconds for me to notice Delilah’s pointed silence. I brave a glance over my shoulder to see her sporting what can only be described as a pout.
“Do you think that?” she presses, narrowing her eyes.
Jesus. Okay. “Uh … I mean …”
Her eyes widen. “You do! Why do you guys think that?” She looks actually shocked.
I lean back with a sigh. Fuck. “Delilah, it’s not that; it’s that there are assholes in the world.”
“Sure, and I could get struck by lightning tomorrow—what’s your point?”
Suddenly overwhelmed, I run a hand through my hair, frowning.
“I’m just an idiot who doesn’t understand how the world works, is that what Harrison thinks?” Her tone is even, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. How did she get to that from what I said?
“No,” I say quickly. “You’re just a sweet kid. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just—”
“I’m not a kid,” Delilah snaps. And suddenly she’s standing, twirling around, and I sit there, bewildered on the floor. How the fuck did this conversation get away from me so fast?
She stalks to the kitchenette on the other side of the room, her arms crossed, her face set in a scowl.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, standing up. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Harrison is just looking out for you. It’s cause he cares.”
“He’s worried because he thinks I’m a baby who can’t take care of myself,” she says, her voice suddenly quieter, with a bit less bite.
“Well, you are his baby sister …” I’m still trying to figure out where I went wrong here, what set her off.
Delilah sniffles, a hand moving to brush something off her cheek. Fuck, is she crying? “Dee,” I start, alarmed. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, Graham,” she mutters, beelining past me to her bedroom down the hall.
I watch her go in bewilderment, standing alone in the silence of the living room after she slams her door. I blink, then frown. What did I say? What the actual fuck did I do to make Delilah cry? She was crying, right? I wrack my brain but come up empty.
Damn Harrison and his stupid phone call with the stupid auto shop receptionist. I turn back to the task at hand. Delilah may be sulking in her room, but I told her I’d help set up her TV, and I’m going to do just that.
It doesn’t take me long to finish plugging everything in, quickly turning it on and making sure the remote works before setting it on a nearby table. I stand, glancing awkwardly down the hallway.
“Delilah?” I call hesitantly. When she doesn’t answer, I tread closer to her closed bedroom door. I press my hand against it. “Dee, whatever I said, I’m sorry. I set up the TV; everything should be working fine.” I pause for a few seconds before adding, “I’ll leave you alone now.”
I cross the apartment, closing the door and heading down the concrete stairs to the parking lot below, still wracking my brain for a clue as to whatever the fuck just happened in there.
I shake my head as I hop into my truck, starting the engine.
I’ve never been good at reading women. For me, they’re impossible to understand.
And Harrison can harass me all he wants for it, but if I can’t get through a short interaction with a woman I’ve known pretty much all my life, there’s no chance at me having a stable relationship with one.
So yeah, Single Graham is here to stay.