Delilah's Tears

Chapter Twenty

James

"Delilah, let's go home, and I'll tell you everything. Explain it."

I sound angry, and I am. All the progress I made tonight. All the trust I gained. All the hope that blossomed. Fucking mowed down in less than five minutes by a sleazy near hookup that never should have happened. And Ryan? What the hell? If this fragile thing between Delilah and I lasts the night, he'll be lucky if I don't beat the shit out of him. He had no right to interfere. It's bad enough Roxanne was here. Encouraging her to intrude and stir up trouble? Uh-uh.

"John, if you are up there, man...if you are on our side...please rescue me here."

Praying to John is a fool's errand, but short of groveling—which I will happily do if it works—I'll try it.

"Was she the 'fun' on that job?" Delilah's expression is blank. I can't read a damned thing. We are, however, holding hands, which perplexes me. I ain't letting go, though.

"Yes. No. Both. Neither. Dammit, D-doll. Can we go to your place and talk it out?"

Delilah blinks a dozen times and glances around the quickly emptying room. "All right."

"All right?"

"Yeah. All right. That's it." She turns and leads me out of the ballroom. On the way out, I spot Ryan and Roxanne. If I weren't so fucking pissed I'd laugh. Both Lisa and Zann are reaming the two of them. I guess they saw what went down.

The car is like a morgue on the way home. I wouldn't be surprised to see frost forming on the windows. I roll many variations of an explanation through my aching head. None sound good. When it comes down to it, I had sex, more or less, with Roxanne. I've never regretted getting naked with a woman more. Hell, I want to slice off my own damned balls.

Inside Delilah's condo, she tosses her purse on the counter, kicks off her shoes and goes into the bedroom. The door slams. I stand in the middle of the living room like an asshole wondering what to do, what to say, what's gonna happen.

I pull off my suit coat and loosen my tie as I head into the kitchen in search of the bottle of booze I left behind. It's sitting on the counter, an empty glass next to it. What was D doing drinking bourbon? Not bothering to find a clean glass, I pour a healthy amount into it and toss back half.

"How do you do that? That shit burns like a mother fucker."

I nearly choke as I didn't hear Delilah return, but more so, because I've never heard her cuss so vividly. She usually avoids it. In answer, I shrug. "It's an acquired thing. When you're an asshole like me, you find yourself burying your sorrows more often than not. I figured I might need to do a bit of burying tonight."

"Ah. Right." Having changed her clothes, she grabs a bottle of white wine and pours a reasonable amount, taking small sip. The silence is awkward. She slips past me and makes herself comfortable in a corner of the sofa. With nothing else to lose, I sit next to her without crowding.

"So, you got busy with boob-a-liscious while 'working.' " She sets down her glass in order to offer up air quotes. I feel about two inches tall.

"Fine. Here it is. Then you can kick my ass out." I finish the rest of the drink and pour more from the bottle I brought from the kitchen. This is not going to end well. The writing is on the wall. Without meaning to, I fucked up, pure and simple. "I was working. With Demetri and Jax. The job I told you about was the truth. We had to mingle with the crowd and act like playboys to get into the private club."

She nods. "You must be a terrific actor, then." Her voice drips with sarcasm. Sting.

"Yeah, well, a lot of beer and booze happened. A lot. I'd been trying unsuccessfully to bury all these feelings I had for you for weeks. I flirted with Roxanne, but that's all it was supposed to be. Just a front to set us up. The more we drank, the more making out with Roxanne seemed like a great idea." Delilah winces. "Somewhere in my fucked up brain I told myself I needed to..." God, I can't say this. It sounds so awful on so many levels.