Discovering Delilah Read online

  That makes me feel a little more at ease. Even though this explanation should embarrass me, it doesn’t. I’m a good student, and I’m going to nail this.

  “You have a look of determination in your eyes.” She smiles. “It’s really cute.”

  “I’m kind of a competitive student.” I always had to be, to meet the grades my parents expected, but I don’t tell her this as she relaxes back onto the couch again and brings her own hand between her legs.

  Holy crap, that’s so hot.

  “Touch me,” she whispers.

  I stroke her around her finger, then press mine into her all the way and crook my finger. Just as I feel the spot I think is right, she moans. My heart skips a beat, knowing I accomplished this. Watching her face flush and her teeth trap her lower lip as I repeat the move over and over while she strokes her clit and comes apart right there around my fingers is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen. She reaches for me and I think she wants to kiss me, so I move quickly up to meet her lips, my fingers still buried deep inside her. She tucks her forehead against my neck, thrusts her hand into my underwear, and takes me up, up, up, and we spiral over the edge together.

  Questions. Answered.

  I don’t know how long we lie together on the couch, but sometime later we bring the wineglasses into the kitchen and I carry my phone and boots to the door, knowing I look as freshly fucked as she does, and not caring. Her hair is awry and her lips have that kissed-too-hard look. I’m no longer embarrassed, and I don’t feel funny standing with Janessa at her front door. It’s hard to imagine that a few hours ago I was standing on the other side of the door debating leaving. Thank God I didn’t.

  I feel so much freer than I have ever felt and so much gratitude toward her. It’s a little overwhelming. My body is still humming from her touch and from the confidence she’s given me. From knowing, once and for all, that I’m definitely into girls.

  “Thank you, Janessa. I don’t know how long I would have gone before ever…”

  She cups the back of my head and presses her lips to mine. “You’re amazing. Just be careful, you know. Be smart. Respect your body.”

  I nod.

  “Are you okay? Are we okay?” Her eyes get serious.

  I nod faster than I mean to. “I don’t feel weird. Oh gosh, do you?”

  “No. No, Delilah, I don’t. But I’ve been with lots of women.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’m so thankful. And you’re so beautiful, and so nice, and I just hope that when we see each other again we won’t feel funny.” I bite my lip. “And I’m rambling and nervous and excited, and…I’ll shut up now.”

  She laughs. “I think we were pretty straight up with each other. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, and hopefully now you’ll feel confident enough to go after the one girl you really want.”

  “If she’s into girls.” I roll my eyes like it’s no big deal, but I hope and pray Ashley is not just into girls, but into me.

  “You won’t know unless you try, and life’s too short not to go after what you want.”

  After we hug goodbye I head to my Jeep. The air feels lighter and my head feels clearer than it ever has. I start up the Jeep, and as much as I want to drive straight over to Ashley’s and share this feeling with her, I don’t. It doesn’t feel right to be with her after being with Janessa. I drive home with the windows down and the cool night air blowing through my hair. It isn’t until I reach my house that guilt sneaks in, stealing the excitement of my newfound pleasure like a thief.

  Chapter Four

  ~Ashley~

  ENDLESS SUMMER SURF Shop is located a block away from the boardwalk. It’s painted bright yellow with a huge sign out front featuring a surfer riding a wave. Every morning we line up a display of surfboards out front and wheel one of the sale racks out to the sidewalk. We have a bike rack out front for customers to chain up their bikes while they shop. Between the brightly colored surfboards and the yellow building, our shop is easy to spot, even from a distance. One of the coolest things about working here is that when we aren’t busy, Brent Steele, the owner and an amazing surfer, lets me set up a chair and paint in front of the store. Some days I just leave my easel there and go outside for a few minutes here or there.

  I’m sitting out front of the shop now, thinking about Delilah. Ever since we began meeting on the dunes, I wake before the alarm, and on the mornings we don’t meet, like this morning, the day is not nearly as bright.

  I leaf through my sketch pad, trying to find the picture of Delilah I started yesterday morning. At least I’ll see her tonight. Cassidy and Brooke planned a birthday party for my friend Brandon Owens. He’s the one who introduced me to Delilah at the beginning of the summer.

  Brandon and I went to college together. We met the first week of our freshman year, and we clicked right away. He’s a tough nut, all attitude and hard edges, but there’s a softer side to Brandon that I don’t think many people get to see. I don’t know why he let me into his inner circle, but I’m glad he did. I would never have come to Harborside or met Delilah if it weren’t for him. Brandon’s from Harborside, and after I had a really bad breakup, Brandon suggested that I move to Harborside instead of going home to Rhode Island. I love my family, but nothing beats living at the beach. I’ve been living in an apartment down the road for almost a year and have fallen in love with everything about the town and all the friends I’ve made.

  Brandon’s sort of living at Delilah’s now. He crashes there almost every night. All of Brandon’s friends, many of whom are also Delilah’s friends, accepted me into their group pretty easily. And now that Delilah and Wyatt decided to sell their house in Connecticut and stay in Harborside, I like it here even more.

  I find the sketch I was working on and begin refining the arch of Delilah’s slim eyebrows. Her hair is blonder than mine and silkier. Mine’s dirty blond and longer than Delilah’s. Sometimes the urge to run my fingers through her hair is so strong that I have to shove my hands in my pockets, or if we’re on the dunes, I have to put them beneath my thighs. And when we’re at my place? That’s the most difficult, because while we’re watching movies or sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean, all I can think about is taking her into my bedroom. It’s really bad. If I knew she was a lesbian, I’d feel better, because I’d just do all those things I want to do. Not knowing is killing me.

  Ugh. I hate this feeling.

  I gaze at the sketch and move from her delicate eyebrows to the shading around her expressive eyes—the eyes that I nearly fell into yesterday morning. I tell myself the same thing I’ve been telling myself all summer. The next time she looks at me like that, I’m just going to kiss her.

  Give up my fear of her being straight and just do it.

  I look up at the sound of a motorcycle and see Brent’s twin brother, Jesse, parking in front of the shop. He’s good friends with Delilah, too, and very protective of her. I imagine myself kissing her and Delilah pushing away, her green eyes wide and appalled. And then I imagine Jesse’s thick dark brows lowering into an angry slash.

  Okay, so I won’t kiss her.

  It was a stupid idea anyway. You don’t just kiss a girl, especially if you aren’t sure if she’s straight or not. Been there, done that. It’s an embarrassing situation that there’s no easy way out of, like asking a woman if she’s pregnant when she’s not.

  “Hey, Ash. Is my brother around?” Jesse’s tall and broad with shoulder-length dark hair, several tattoos, and a well-manicured beard and mustache. Although he and Brent are twins, Jesse’s face is harder, his expressions more serious than Brent’s. Jesse also always wears jeans and boots, which I don’t understand given that he lives at the beach. But then again, I don’t understand the leather band he wears around his thick wrist or the chain that hooks to his wallet, either.

  “He was in the back when I came outside.” I notice a guy heading for the shop and tuck my sketch pad and pencil into my backpack. “I’ll go in with you.”

  “Are
you going to Brandon’s party tonight?” I ask as he pulls the door open.

  Jesse’s dark eyes run over the racks of clothing and surfboards lined up against the far wall and finally land on his equally tall and long-haired brother helping a customer in the back of the shop.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. You?” He’s watching Brent intently as he asks.

  “Absolutely. See you there.”

  He’s already on the move toward his brother.

  The guy I noticed outside comes into the shop talking on his cell phone. He’s tall, with sun-streaked blond hair, lean and muscular, and walks with a definite surfer swagger. He shoves his phone in the pocket of his board shorts, and I do my job.

  “Hi. Is there anything I can help you find?”

  “Nah, just checking out the longboards and some clothes.” His eyes take a slow roll over me, and then he turns toward the boards.

  It never really bothers me when guys check me out. I think it’s the whole long blond hair and fit body thing they’re attracted to. Guys are so cursory. It’s like they have a mental checklist that can be marked off in three seconds: A face that doesn’t require too many beers to look good, boobs, nice ass. Whereas with girls, at least with me, when I check a girl out, it goes much deeper than looks. The first thing I notice is a girl’s eyes. Are they cold and wary or intense and seductive? I like them to be somewhere in the middle. Wary enough to be careful, but sexy in the right moments.

  Like Delilah’s.

  Gaaaahhhhh! Stop!

  I’ve never been interested in guys. Never even kissed a guy. I do like to look, though, from an artistic perspective. Sometimes that gets me in trouble and guys think I’m checking them out, so I’ve learned to be discreet about it. I can’t help it if I find the human body fascinating. I’m an artist. It feels natural to notice sleek curves and taut muscles. It’s not like I’m Brandon or anything. He practically undresses guys and girls in a single glance and would sleep with either or both at the same time. I’ve never felt a need to flaunt my sexuality. I don’t even like to talk about it, but after dating Sandy Andraka for a few months, I realized that I also don’t want to be someone’s dirty little secret. Sandy acknowledged me only as a friend in public, because she wasn’t out yet. Because I was sensitive to her feelings, I overlooked all the telltale clues of a liar. We saw each other only on weekdays, at my place, and never after ten at night. It was only after we broke up that I found out she was living with a guy and our relationship was nothing more than a fun distraction for her.

  “Excuse me.” Blond surfer guy waves in my direction.

  I push thoughts of Sandy away and go to help him.

  “Hi. What can I help you with?”

  He holds up a shirt. “Do you have this in XL?”

  “I’ll check.” I go in the back room and retrieve his size, and when I bring it to him, he’s on the phone again, having a heated discussion as he watches me approach.

  I hand him the shirt and he holds up a finger, asking me to wait.

  He covers the mouthpiece and asks, “Isn’t it easier for girls to surf than guys?”

  “Um…” I notice Brent and Jesse come out of the back room.

  He raises his brows.

  “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t surf.” I hate admitting that to customers, but it’s true. Brent hired me because I’m organized, a hard worker, and really good with people. He said it would be good if I learned to surf, and I had planned to learn when I first moved here, but then I got busy. “Ask him.” I point to Brent.

  “Dude, I’ll call you back.” The guy ends his call and leans on the clothing rack, like he has all the time in the world. “How can you work in a surf shop and not surf?”

  “I know the mechanics of it. I’ve read up on it. I’ve just never taken the time to learn.”

  “Do you like working here?” he asks.

  I can’t tell if he’s asking because he’s interested or trying to figure me out. He’s looking at me so intently that I think it’s the latter. “Yeah. I like working with customers, and I’m not one of those people who could sit behind a desk all day, so for now, yeah, I like it.” I’m hyperaware of Brent and Jesse just a few feet away, and although Brent knows that one day I hope to make a living with my art, I’m careful not to reference it.

  “Drake!” Brent and Jesse join us. Brent high-fives Drake. “I see you met my best employee, Ashley.”

  I laugh. I should have known Brent would know him. He’s one of the best surfers around. I’d bet he knows every surfer in Harborside.

  “Ashley.” Drake holds out a hand. “Nice to formally meet you.”

  Jesse pats Brent on the back. “See you at the party. I’ve gotta run.” He waves to me. “See you tonight, Ash.”

  “Party?” Drake asks.

  “Yeah, for Brandon’s birthday,” Brent explains. He and Brandon play in a band together all over town.

  “Cool. Is it an open party, or do I need to know someone besides you and Brandon to get in?” Drake asks as we walk toward the cash register.

  Brent turns to me. “Think Wyatt and Delilah will mind?”

  “How should I know? But based on their past parties, probably not.” Parties at Wyatt and Delilah’s house are always crowded with Brandon’s friends.

  “You know Brandon never misses a chance to play. Our band is playing tonight, so I can’t really introduce you to Wyatt and Delilah.” Brent joins me behind the counter and pats me on the back. “But Ashley…”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll introduce him around, sure.”

  By the time I’ve rung him up, I learn that Drake likes working with his hands, doing metal and construction type work, and grew up in Harborside.

  “In exchange for introducing me tonight, I’ll show you how to surf,” Drake offers. “You really should learn. Don’t you think, Brent?”

  “Absolutely. Ash, take him up on the offer. He’s the best surf instructor around.” Brent hands Drake his purchases.

  “You’re a surf instructor?”

  Drake nods. “Yup. Leave it to me. I’ll have you up on the board and comfortable within a week. You’ll love it—you’ll see. What’s your schedule? Can you make dawn patrol tomorrow?”

  Dawn patrol is when surfers catch early-morning waves. That’s usually when I sketch with Delilah, but we haven’t planned anything for the next few days, and honestly, maybe the distraction would be a good thing. It’s getting progressively harder to resist Delilah when we spend mornings together, and until she and I fall into a conversation that naturally transitions into talking about guys or girls, I’m keeping my lips sealed. She’s got so much going on, and she never talks about hooking up with anyone. I know it’s the last thing on her mind.

  “Sure, but just so you know, I might suck.”

  “Or you might be awesome,” Drake says.

  We exchange numbers, and after Drake leaves, Brent convinces me that Drake is the greatest surf instructor around and a trustworthy guy, which is good, considering we plan to meet here after work and go to the party together. He’ll be a welcome distraction, much easier to handle than drooling over Delilah—or worse, accidentally on purpose kissing her.

  Chapter Five

  ~Delilah~

  WHEN THE SUN goes down the temperature always drops, but tonight it’s cooler than normal—even so, I’m hot. Hot, hot, hot. I’ve been hot since I left Janessa’s last night. I’m all nervous energy and anxious anticipation. I hear Brandon’s band playing on the back deck, and I’m upstairs, pacing in my bedroom, waiting for Ashley to get here. I’m too nervous to wait outside, because now that I know I’ll like kissing her, I can’t stop thinking about the possibility.

  I’m probably going to wear a path in the hardwood. I’ve been pacing for more than half an hour. My bedroom is spacious, so there’s a lot of room to pace. I love this bedroom, with the double bed and the futon over by the doors to the deck. I’m glad I moved back in. Nothing compares to living right on the beach, and it’s easi
er to be here now than it was those first few nights when we arrived after my parents died. Back then I felt like their ghosts were everywhere. Maybe it’s because time has passed since they died, or maybe it’s because I spent several weeks living at Brooke’s and the memories had time to skitter away before I moved back. I don’t know, but it feels good to be back, and every day it feels more like home.

  I walk out the glass doors to the deck and look down at the people dancing and laughing on the beach. There are lots of people dancing on the deck while Brandon’s band plays. We live at the end of a private road, and the closest house is about half a block up the road. The beach is private as well, so we don’t have to worry about party crashers or bothering neighbors.

  Cassidy is taking pictures of the party—she’s always taking pictures. She’s been working with Brooke all summer at Brooke’s Bytes, and they just started a party-planning business. In addition to helping with the business side, Cassidy is the photographer for their events. I watch as Wyatt comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and nuzzles against her neck. She puts the lens cap on her camera, and her long brown hair swings as she turns in his arms and presses her lips to his. I long for that. The ease of being in a real relationship with someone I care about. Being able to hold and kiss and nuzzle without the guilt of who I want to do those things with.

  I want that with Ashley.

  Brandon’s band starts another song and, thankfully, it nearly drowns out the guilt raging in my head. People begin to whoop at the song choice. I don’t know most of the people who are here, but this is Brandon’s birthday party, and because his band plays all over Harborside, he knows tons of people.