Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2)(35)

I can’t think. I can’t talk.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be okay for a day? Where does that leave us?

She moves closer, telling me we’ll figure it out, but she doesn’t know everything, so how can she say that? She doesn’t know the pieces of guilt that are lodged deep within my psyche, spearing me every time I have certain thoughts or feelings. She doesn’t know the thing that might make it impossible for me to ever feel comfortable with public displays of affection. She doesn’t know that when I told my parents I was a lesbian and they gave me that look—the look that nearly brought me to my knees—I wished they didn’t exist.

And hours later…they didn’t.





Chapter Nine


~Ashley~

AT SIX THIRTY this morning the sky was gray and the air was damp and cold. It looked like rain was moving in, and the waves were rolling in with it. I was out in the frigid water, trying to learn to surf, when I spotted Delilah up on the dunes, bundled up in my sweatshirt, which she accidentally on purpose wore home last night. I didn’t care that I wiped out a zillion times, or that by the time I was done I was as frozen as a Popsicle. Delilah was here. She came on her own to watch me. She stayed for a long time, but I didn’t wave to her because I didn’t know if she wanted me to know she was watching or not. She didn’t mention coming to watch when she left last night. Then again, I got the feeling there was a lot she wasn’t telling me.

I know I freaked her out when I told her why I broke up with Sandy, but I don’t want to give her false hope. I know myself well enough to realize how tenuous my ability to be patient really is—or was—before meeting her. It took me a long time to finally end things with Sandy. Probably too long, and it took me only half a second to decide I’d never keep a relationship secret again.

Until Delilah.

I didn’t want her to leave last night. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms. I wanted to have coffee out on the balcony and laugh about how bad I am at surfing. I wanted to ask her to come and watch me.

It turns out I didn’t need to.

That kept a smile on my face all day. Now it’s seven thirty and I’m shoving clothes for tomorrow into my backpack. I grab my toothbrush and take one last look in the mirror. I’m meeting Delilah at the Taproom at eight. We’re having drinks with Wyatt and Cassidy, and then we’re spending the night at Delilah’s house. This will be the first night we’ve spent together since we became girlfriends, and I’m nervous and excited. I didn’t question why she didn’t want to stay at my place even though I was a little surprised that she wanted to sleep where there were other people in the house. I’d have thought she would want more privacy, but I don’t mind staying within Delilah’s comfort zones. I have a feeling I’m going to be learning what they are for a while yet.

I’m not much of a dress-up kind of girl, but I’m wearing a cute tribal-design miniskirt that fits like a glove with a loose-fitting, sheer, silky white tank top and a lace bra beneath it. It’s kind of mean, given that we’re going to be in public and knowing how much she loves seeing me dressed like this, but hey, sometimes a girl’s gotta pull out all the stops. I like seeing the look in Delilah’s eyes when she first sees me in a miniskirt. Her eyes go wide and her lips curl up in appreciation. I know she’s unaware of how seductive she looks when she drags her eyes down my body like she’s an addict and I’m her favorite drug. My entire body heats up, as if she’s just touched every inch of my flesh. I wasn’t ever sure if she meant to look at me that way, but now that I know I’m reading the look right, I want to see it even more.

I’m not going to push her to show affection toward me in public, but I’m only human. I want her to want me, and I want her to want me enough to open up and tell me why she clammed up last night when I reassured her and said we’d figure things out.

I sensed her building a protective wall around herself. Maybe not a big one, and maybe not one that will be up all the time, but she definitely went into self-preservation mode. I guess I don’t blame her.

Hopefully she’ll be no better at keeping up her walls than I was at keeping up mine.

I want to tear down all of her walls, but I have a feeling she needs to come to this decision on her own. I was fifteen when I told my mom I liked girls. She didn’t try to change my mind and she didn’t ask me if I was sure. She wrapped me in her arms and told that she loved me. She didn’t say that she loved me despite my sexual preference. She didn’t say she loved me despite anything. She simply said, “I love you.”