Chapter 6
DELILAH
The first thing I hear when I wake up is Lacey moaning through the wall. Loudly. Like obnoxiously loud. Like “This is the best sex I’ve ever had. Oh my god, Carter, don’t stop” loud. I swear this is like some porn type moaning.
I groan into the pillow, pressing it over my ears, but it does nothing. The walls of this stupid-ass frat house might as well be made of paper.
To make things worse, I’m not alone. There’s a giant, heavy arm draped over my waist.
I blink at the bare, muscled chest inches from my face, and then it all comes rushing back.
I was drunk, irritated, and giddy as hell watching Troy Hawkins walk out of the party with his tail between his legs.
The second he was gone, I felt a new kind of freedom settle in my bones.
No more Troy Hawkins ruining my night, I can sleep with whoever I want to.
Now, I could finally do what I set out to do—find a guy, have some decent sex for once, and go home feeling satisfied for the first time in forever.
That’s when I saw Deano.
Big, broad, built like a damn tank.
A hockey guy, I think. Maybe football? Either way—he is huge, warm, and looked like he could throw me around a little.
And after one too many tequila shots, I decided—him.
“You’re looking real good tonight,” I murmured, my fingers trailing over his ridiculously muscled arm.
He smirked, leaning in. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” I swayed a little, the liquor making me loose and bold. “Bet you could break me in half.”
His dark eyes lit up. “Oh, sweetheart, I’d ruin you.”
That was all I needed.
“Prove it.”
Five minutes later, we were in his room.
Ten minutes later, we were still in his room… and absolutely nothing had happened.
Because, well. Deano couldn’t get it up.
He kept trying, muttering about how it was “just the alcohol”, but eventually, he just flopped onto his back with a frustrated groan.
“Shit! Sorry, babe, this never happens. I’ve been fucking spiked or some shit.”
“Mhm.” I stared at the ceiling, pressing my lips together to stop from laughing.
Not at him. Not really. At the situation because, of course, the one night I actually go out of my way to find good sex, this happens.
I end up in my bra, in bedsheets I am not sure have ever been washed, staring at this guy’s flaccid penis.
Deano sighed heavily. “Sorry, babe. Guess I talked a big game, huh?” He kept calling me babe. I wonder if he actually knew my name.
“Just a little.”
He ran a hand down his face. “Fuck. This is embarrassing.”
“For both of us,” I muttered, then winced. “Sorry. That was mean.”
He chuckled, surprisingly good-natured about it. “Nah, I deserve that.”
I sighed, already planning my escape. Normally, this is where I’d leave. Where I’d mutter some excuse, grab my stuff, and slip back into the cold night alone.
But then he quietly said, “You can still stay, y’know.”
I blinked and looked over at him.
“To spoon.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking a little shy for a guy built like a Viking. “If you want.”
I should’ve said no and gotten the hell out of there.
But…Something about the way he asked made me hesitate.
It wasn’t sleazy or expectant.
It was genuine. And Deano was warm. Like, really warm. And my apartment was fucking freezing.
So instead of leaving like I should’ve, I let out a deep sigh, rolled over, and mumbled—
“Fine. But I swear to god, if you try anything—”
“Relax, babe. I respect the cuddle code.” He nuzzled into me. I tried to ignore the musky sheets and fell asleep in seconds.
I blink back to reality, staring at Deano’s broad chest. He’s snoring lightly, completely dead to the world.
And next door, Lacey is still having the best night of her life. Or morning of her life. Good for her, I think bitterly, burrowing my face into the pillow. At least one of us got lucky.
And somehow, Troy fucking Hawkins still exists in my brain. Not in a sexy way or even in an angry way.
Just in a frustrating, lingering, why-the-hell-am-I-thinking-about-him-at-all way. I exhale slowly, my head starting to ache from the alcohol.
I need to get out of here and go home. Deano stirs, his arm tightening around my waist.
“Mmm, babe.” He sighs happily. “You smell nice.” Well, shit. I might act tough but something about this cuddly man being all soft makes me want to stay maybe just a little longer.
Deano snuffles in his sleep, his massive arm still draped over my waist like I’m a human-sized teddy bear.
I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, but he just grumbles and tightens his grip.
Somehow, this is my life now.
Lying in a frat house bed, wrapped in the arms of a guy I didn’t even sleep with, while my best friend gets railed into another dimension next door.
To top it off, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I’ll have to send out more pathetic emails begging someone to be my goddamn partner.
This is a low point.
Making sure not to wake sleeping beauty, I grab my phone off the nightstand and open my inbox.
One unread email.
I click it, my stomach already sinking.
RE: Future Innovators Competition – Partner Opportunity
Hey Delilah,
Wow, long time! I have to admit, I was surprised—but flattered—to hear from you. I always wondered what might’ve happened if things between us hadn’t gone the way they did. It’s a shame we didn’t work out.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be wise for us to team up. Given our history (lol), it might get... complicated. And I don’t want to jeopardize either of our chances by letting old feelings get in the way.
Still, I hope there are no hard feelings. Best of luck in the competition.
Warmly,
Riley
I stare at the screen.
One date. We went on one date. If you can even call it that. He monologued through dinner, tried to shove his hand up my shirt, and then cried when I said no.
That’s not “a thing.” That’s a therapy anecdote.
The audacity. The absolute Olympic-level delusion of this man.
I slam my laptop shut and sit back with a groan, scrubbing my hands down my face.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “He thought we had history.”
I cringe. Exhaling sharply and go back to the Future Innovators finalist list.
Next letter: L.
I scan the names quickly, stopping when I hit a familiar one.
Liam Longde
Oh, no.
The name rings a bell in a way that makes my stomach turn—not in a dramatic ex kind of way. Just in the awkward mutual group project, sat next to each other in studio once for a whole semester kind of way.
He always wore those technical sandals with socks and brought full thermoses of soup to class.
We never really talked, aside from a few painfully stiff hi’s and that one time he asked if I’d proofread his research paper on wind turbines.
I said no. He acted like I’d personally offended the field of renewable energy.
But he’s in environmental engineering and, annoyingly, very smart.
And now I’m about to email him begging him to be my partner. While being spooned by a man who couldn’t get it up.
This might actually be my rock bottom.
But whatever. I need a partner. So, with gritted teeth, I start typing.
Future Innovators Competition – Partner Opportunity
Hey Liam,
Hope you’re doing well!
I saw your name on the Future Innovators acceptance list and wanted to reach out. I’m currently looking for a partner, and since we both have experience in sustainable design, I thought we might work well together.
Let me know if you’re still looking for someone!
Best,
Delilah
I stare at the email. It’s fine. It’s too polite, considering I kind of want to die while sending it, but I can’t think of what else to say.
“I’m sorry I kicked you in the balls, but I think we can both agree you were being a douche. So even stevens? Anyway, let’s win this thing?” Yeah…I don’t think that has a much higher chance of working.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. Then I drop my phone onto my chest and groan into the pillow.
Deano shifts beside me.
“Mmph. You good, babe?”
“No,” I say flatly.
“Cool,” he mumbles. Immediately falls back asleep.
I close my eyes.
Well, my final year is off to a fantastic fucking start.
After an embarrassing walk of shame from frat row, I spent the rest of my day getting myself ready for term.
Reading ahead in my architecture textbooks.
Mr. Abernathy lets me loan all the textbooks I need to for free as part of my job perks.
I know he doesn’t need to do it, and I wish I knew how to thank him for it.
Before I know it, I’m hunched over my laptop at 3:17 AM, staring at the UMS Financial Aid portal for what feels like the hundredth time this month. The same message glares back at me in bureaucratic red letters:
APPLICATION STATUS: DENIED
My third rejection this year. I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars, breathing through the familiar panic that rises like floodwater in my chest.
“It's fine,” I mutter to no one. “This is fine.”
On my bedside table, there's a stack of bills I've been avoiding—rent, electricity. I made good money as a counselor over summer while Mr. Abernathy shut the shop for “renovations,” even though it looks exactly the same as before, but not enough to cover these expenses and my tuition like I was hoping. A grant would’ve bailed me out. Beneath them is the letter I received last week from UMS Student Accounts, my final tuition payment for the semester is due in three weeks. $4,850 that I can’t afford to spend all at once.
I pull open my budget spreadsheet. Opening another tab, I navigate to the Federal Student Loan page. I've avoided this for nearly four years, worked myself to exhaustion to stay debt-free. Applied for every grant, worked part-time or full-time wherever I could.
I watched my mother get buried under payday loans and credit card debt, bill collectors calling at all hours, the lights shut off more than once. The way she'd flinch every time the phone rang. A childhood of that is enough to put anyone off accepting any form of loan.
The application form is simple. Clean. Almost inviting.
My cursor hovers over the “APPLY NOW” button. It feels like surrender.
But I'm out of options. Three more semesters until graduation.
Three more rounds of tuition, books, rent.
I need this degree. And I need the Future Innovators grant more than ever.
Ten thousand dollars. My mind immediately divides it.
$4,890 for next semester's tuition that's already past due, $1,875 for three months of back rent, $680 for the health insurance I've been avoiding calls about.
That would still leave enough to fix my ancient laptop that keeps shutting down mid-project and have enough spare.
I grip my pen tighter. This isn't just an opportunity. It's a lifeline.
And, more than that, winning would mean possibilities. Recognition. Access to firms that normally wouldn't look at someone like me. A way out of this cycle that I’ve been born into.
Last year's winner, Mira Rai, went straight from graduation to a junior architect position at Foster + Partners in London. No connections or famous last name, just pure talent and the credibility this grant gave her. That could be me.
But, until then, I need this loan to stay in college. I click the button and begin filling in my information. When I reach the requested loan amount, I type in exactly what I need for tuition. Not a dollar more.
My hand trembles slightly as I electronically sign my name. The screen changes to a confirmation page, informing me my application has been received.
I close my laptop and lean back against the wall, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. The money will come through. I can stay in school. But now, I owe someone. And I've seen first-hand what that can do to a person.
I decide, then and there, that I will not become my mother. I won't be trapped by debt, always one step behind, always waiting for the next bill, the next disappointment, the next rejection.
I'm going to win that grant. And whatever job I land after graduation will pay enough to wipe out this loan before it can grow roots. I'll work nights, weekends, whatever it takes.
Because I promised myself years ago, no one will ever have power over me because I owe them money.
No one.
Setting an alarm for 6 AM, early enough to squeeze in more project work before class, I curl up under my thin blanket. The radiator in the corner makes an ominous clicking sound before falling silent again.
As I drift toward uneasy sleep, numbers and deadlines swirl in my head. Three weeks until tuition is due. Over three months until the grant winners are announced.
Ten thousand dollars that could change everything.
I need to win.