Delilah Green Doesn’t Care

DELILAH KISSED CLAIRE, then buried her face in the other woman’s neck while wrapping her arms around her waist. She inhaled her meadowy scent, the slightest tang of sweat just underneath, and felt her own heart slow down for the first time in two days.

She’d tried.

She’d tried really hard to stay away from Claire ever since Iris dropped her off at the Kaleidoscope Inn on Saturday afternoon. No texts. No calls. And definitely no goddamn impromptu stops by her house. She knew she needed a break from all the feelings this woman stirred up inside her. She’d spent the time taking photographs around town, going through her online portfolio for the Whitney show, hanging out at Stella’s last night until close to midnight, but Bright Falls wasn’t the easiest town for her to be alone in. It was quiet and still, and while there was a certain charm in the introspection it inspired, Delilah had never been very good at soul-searching.

In fact, she’d staunchly avoided it for the past twelve years.

So it was no surprise that by this morning, she was going out of her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about Astrid and their conversation by the fire. Her entire childhood kept rolling out from where she’d kept it hidden for so long, the ways she’d neatly wrapped up Astrid’s coldness and disinterest unraveling.

But maybe even worse than all this incessant thinking was this want. This pull toward Claire was getting absurd. And it wasn’t only about sleeping with her again. Delilah simply wanted to see her, talk to her. Kiss her gorgeous mouth, sure, but even just standing right here in her foyer felt like diving into a cool lake after a walk through the desert.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked, settling her arms around Delilah’s shoulders, hands drifting into her hair.

Delilah nodded, face still pressed to her neck. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t feel okay. She felt small and desperate, a little kid in need of a hug.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Claire said.

Delilah finally lifted her head. “I said I was fine.”

Claire tilted her head. “And I call bullshit.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Delilah felt a small smile work its way onto her mouth. That Claire Sutherland could tell when she was bullshitting her—and what’s more, seemed to actually care—suddenly felt like a small miracle.

“Let’s go do something,” Delilah said, pulling Claire closer, hands sliding down her backside. She kissed her, just once.

“Like . . . go out?”

“Yeah.” Kiss. “Like go out.” Kiss.

Claire laughed. “Where?”

Delilah grinned, an idea springing into her head. She knew Claire wanted to keep their relationship under wraps for now. If she let herself, Delilah could get very moody about the whole thing again, but she just wanted to have fun tonight.

She wanted to take the woman she liked out on a date, plain and simple.

“A place,” she said, kissing Claire one more time, “where I can hold your hand.”

“ROLLER SKATING?”

Claire laughed, her hands flying to her mouth as Delilah pulled Claire’s Prius into the Sparkles parking lot. The roller rink was in Graydon, a town about twenty-five minutes east of Bright Falls, so there was very little chance of anyone they knew seeing them. Delilah remembered a couple of birthday parties here when she was in elementary school, before her father died and birthday parties were a thing she did like a normal kid.

“Roller skating,” she said, getting out of the car and flipping up her ruffled umbrella, then jogging around to the passenger side to open Claire’s door for her.

Claire raised her eyebrows at her as she stepped out, the rain and the neon lights from the rink’s signage reflected in her glasses. After Delilah had suggested going out, she’d changed into a pair of jeans and a slouchy off-the-shoulder T-shirt, and brushed out her messy hair, which now flowed around her shoulders in soft waves.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Let the record state that I’m gallant as shit,” Delilah said.

Claire laughed. “I feel very wooed.”

Then Delilah slipped her fingers between Claire’s and they ran inside while the rain continued to pour down, like two teenagers on a first date. That’s a little how Delilah felt as well—giddy and just . . . happy. It was a strange thing, to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time. It made her realize how much she’d missed it, how important the sensation was. For years, she’d been getting by, mistaking physical closeness with someone for a night as actual happiness. But holding Claire’s hand right now, sneaking glances at her and watching Claire light up in response, this was something altogether different.

Delilah paid and they got their skates, storing their shoes in little cubbies along the carpeted floor. The shiny wooden rink glimmered under a disco ball, colored lights flashed, and eighties music moved all the skaters along as though on a river.

“I haven’t done this in forever,” Claire said, laughing as she stepped onto the rink.

“Me either,” Delilah said, still holding on to Claire’s hand, which turned out to be a mistake. Because when Claire wobbled, so did Delilah. And when the wobbling turned into full-on flailing, both women went down in a flourish of swear words and a tangle of limbs.

“Ow,” Claire said, rubbing her ass as tweens and teenagers flew past them and laughed.

“God, it’s high school all over again,” Delilah said, but she was smiling. She managed to get to her knees, then her feet, pulling Claire up with her. “Okay, let’s take this slowly.”

“Good idea.”

And so they did. Delilah held Claire’s hand, and they pushed themselves along the floor, picking up speed after one time around the rink. It was a bit like riding a bike, muscle memory kicking in, and soon they were flying over the lacquered wood, air-conditioned wind in their hair while Whitney Houston sang about feeling the heat with somebody. Skating was so simple, even silly, but as Claire squeezed Delilah’s fingers, laughed when Delilah tried to skate backward and landed on her butt again, kissed her quickly after helping her up, Delilah couldn’t think of a time she’d ever felt like this.

Not with Jax. Not with anyone.

In the back of her mind, Delilah knew this wasn’t a good thing. She knew this whole deal with Claire was based on the fact that it would end. She knew, and yet, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her mouth to Claire’s temple as they stood in line for soda and pizza. She couldn’t stop her smile from crinkling up her eyes when Claire tucked an errant curl behind Delilah’s ear. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining a whole life, so different from the one she’d already made for herself hundreds of miles away.

THEY DIDN’T TALK the entire drive back to Bright Falls. They didn’t talk when they pulled into Claire’s driveway, or when Delilah flipped up her ridiculous umbrella and put her arm around Claire’s shoulders, shielding her from the rain as they ran up the front walk.

They didn’t talk as Claire unlocked her door and let them into the dark house, both of their shirts spotted with water. Claire didn’t turn on any lights or offer Delilah a drink. She simply took Delilah’s hand and led her to the bedroom. There, Claire undressed her, slowly and with this serious look on her face that made Delilah’s throat go thick. Claire’s fingers shook, and Delilah grabbed her hand, pressed her mouth to Claire’s palm. Claire inhaled a ragged breath, but still, neither woman spoke. The room was dark, the only sound their breathing, cotton sliding over skin and puddling on the ground.

Claire pushed on Delilah’s sternum, directing her to lie back on the bed. As Delilah obeyed, she kept trying to think of something to say, to laugh about, but none of this felt funny. It didn’t feel desperate or like a distraction or something they both needed to relieve some stress. It didn’t feel like a spillover of pent-up lust.

It felt like it was on purpose.

Claire pressed her mouth to Delilah’s, their tongues touching in a slow, silky dance. They’d stayed like that for a while, just making out soft and easy. When Claire began to glide south, pressing kisses to Delilah’s neck, between her breasts, just below her navel, Delilah watched her, hands trailing over any part of Claire’s skin she could reach. Need thrummed through her body, not just between her thighs, but everywhere. Her gut, the middle of her chest. It knocked the wind out of her, and Delilah never wanted this to end.

“Wait,” she said when Claire parted her legs and started to settle between them. She pulled on Claire’s arms, guiding Claire’s body north again until they were face-to-face. “I want to see you.”

Claire pressed her forehead to Delilah’s, kissed her slowly, then adjusted her body so their legs were entwined like pretzels, thighs pressing against each other’s centers.

Delilah gasped at the contact. The wet slide of the other woman’s skin against hers was almost too much to bear. It was hot and intimate, wild and safe all at once. Delilah rolled her hips, and Claire rolled back, a dance that pulled a moan from Delilah’s throat. Claire released a sort of animal sound as Delilah gripped her ass, guiding her up and down and in circles, the press of their centers intense and perfect. Delilah’s belly tightened, her clit aching as it slid against Claire’s thigh. She sort of wanted to slow down, taste Claire, feel the heat between her legs with her fingers, but she reminded herself that they had time.

They had all night.

Claire arched her back, lifting her torso up a little so that her thigh pressed even harder right where Delilah needed it. She felt her orgasm building as Claire increased her movements, ran her thumb over Delilah’s tight nipple. Still, neither woman hurried. Even as Delilah’s physical need for release reached a desperate pitch, her veins felt honeyed. Delilah was wrong. She wasn’t fucking Claire. They weren’t fucking at all. This was something else altogether, though she wasn’t sure what. All she knew was that as Claire’s body responded to her touch, the other woman’s breath quickening, her center pushing against Delilah’s for relief, their gazes never left each other.

And when they both came, Claire biting her swollen lower lip, a low groan rumbling in her chest, she kept her eyes open and on Delilah the entire time.

It was the most gorgeous thing Delilah had ever seen.

She didn’t untangle herself from Claire. Instead, she unfolded the quilt at the end of the bed and pulled it over their heads, cocooning them inside. She wasn’t ready for the outside world yet. She wanted this to last. They had all night, sure, but one night didn’t feel like enough. She didn’t want the sun to rise, more wedding drama, the end of her two weeks in Bright Falls looming up ahead like a mountain she wasn’t sure how to climb. She just wanted this. Claire curled her arms round Delilah’s waist and pulled her close, no space at all between their heated skin. Their legs tangled, Delilah’s head tucked under Claire’s chin, her fingers trailing across Claire’s back.

“Do you do this a lot?” Claire asked after a while, twirling one of Delilah’s now-frizzy curls between her fingers.

Delilah lifted her head to look at her. “Do what?”

Claire smiled. “Wine and dine your dates.”

“You call this wining and dining?”

Claire laughed. “I mean . . . the roller skating and then . . . I don’t know . . . this.” Claire waved a hand, indicating their curled-together status, which, if it were anyone other than her, Delilah would definitely categorize as cuddling.

The truth was, no, she didn’t do this a lot. She didn’t date. She hooked up. She didn’t lie peacefully after sex and cuddle. She rolled over and fell asleep until two a.m., when she usually jolted awake trying to remember where she was before she collected her clothes and went home. She sure as hell had never taken a woman roller skating before. She’d never even taken a partner to dinner. Not since Jax.

Delilah watched Claire watching her. She couldn’t be sure what Claire was thinking here, but this thing between them wasn’t just casual anymore. Delilah was sure of it. And what was more, Delilah didn’t want this to be only that, just kisses and coming. She wanted . . . this. Roller skating and amazing sex and this peaceful sort of talking and not talking, cuddling and questions and a place to belong.

A person to belong to.

She had no idea what to say or how this would work. If it could work, if Claire even wanted it to work. But for now, she framed Claire’s face in her hands and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.

“No,” she whispered. “I’ve never done this before in my whole life.”

Claire seemed to deflate, relaxing against her as she kissed her back, and they didn’t talk again for the rest of the night.