Delilah(10)

“Mind if I cut in?” she asks, tightening her arms at her side to create more cleavage.

Dylan snubs her. “No thanks, Nikki. I’m already dancing with Delilah.”

I smile sweetly at her and I nearly feel the burn of her death glare as she starts to back away. “Well, maybe later, then. After little Miss Sweet-and-Innocent goes to bed,” she says without looking at me, putting me in my place like a true she-devil.

Still, he ignores her and keeps his hands on my hips, swaying us to the music, and she finally walks away. We continue to dance and talk about lighter things, like our favorite food, color, band, car. We do this for hours, and every time he smiles or laughs at something I say, I feel my stomach somersault and feel myself never wanting the night to end.

But it does, and by the time I have to go home, I feel like I’m floating. Dylan walks me to my door. He brushes his lips across mine. And then he stays there until I’m safely inside and lock the door.

It’s a perfect night. Everything is so perfect and I dance my way back to my room, feeling as though I just got a leading part. But then I look out the window just before I go to bed and see Dylan standing in the driveway talking to the she-devil herself, laughing as she touches his arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s just talking and friendly touching, but as I lay in bed, hurting and on the verge of crying, I realize that tonight meant everything to me.

And that was a dangerous way to think, because I was already letting myself drown in Dylan and there was so much farther to sink. So many more tears. Heartache. Disappointment.

Pain.





Chapter 4


Maneater


It takes me some time to let the whole Nikki thing go. It’s not like I say anything to Dylan about it, but every time we talk, I can’t help but wonder if he hooked up with her that night, if he looked at her like he looked at me. Made her feel special like he makes me feel every day.

We haven’t gone on an official date yet, so I still don’t know his secrets. I do start spending a lot of time out in the front yard, though. Dance class has ended for the summer, so there’s not a lot of stuff to do. But I keep busy, reading out in the front yard, tanning out in the front yard, even going as far as mowing the lawn, just so I can watch Dylan work on his car, occasionally checking out his ass and anything else I can get my eyes on.

The amazing thing is, he always comes up and talks to me. Every day for two weeks straight. A lot of our conversations are centered around the car he’s working on. Even though I have no interest in cars, I nod and pretend that I’m superinterested in everything he says, so he’ll keep on talking to me and hopefully like me. He also asks me a lot of questions, like my likes and dislikes, where I’m from, what I do for fun. He doesn’t try to kiss me again, though, and I find myself missing the touch of his lips and the feelings the kiss stirred inside me.

“There’s no way that could be true,” I say after a very long conversation about music and concerts as we stand beside the fence. “You really saw Unwritten Law play?”

He nods as he wipes his greasy hands on a rag. “Yeah, three years ago.” He tosses the rag on the ground. “They’re even better live.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I’d been mowing the lawn when he finally came out of the house, and so I’m sweaty and gross, but I didn’t want to walk away, afraid I’d miss the chance to talk to him if I did. “I think most bands are,” I say. “At least more powerful. Well, except for heavy metal bands, but I can’t stand that music anyway.”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably my least favorite, too.”

“It’s such a shame that you still can’t watch old rock bands play like Lynyrd Skynyrd,” I say. “Now that would be something to see.”

“You seriously listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd?” he asks, making his way back to the fence after collecting a bottle of water from the cooler beside the car.

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I listen to a lot of classic rock actually, but that might be because my mom’s been branding it into my head since I was five.”

He angles his head to the side as his gaze quickly skims to the front door of my house just behind me. “Your mom seems like an interesting woman,” he says.

I try not to react, even though I want to shout at him that she’s a true maneater. “Yeah, I guess.”

He leans against the fence, the muscles of his lean arms rippling as he crosses them on top of the metal post. “What does she do for a living?” he asks.