Delilah
It’s easier to pretend like it didn’t happen than to face the reality. Every other minute, those piercing blue eyes penetrate my every thought and remind me that I saw him again, kissed him again, and was dying for it like I had before. Not only that, but so much more transpired.
And I enjoyed it. I wanted more.
I could lie like an expert witness on the stand and tell myself it was for answers, but the crackle I felt between us, the dose of lust and shot of heat can’t be ignored. There’s something fucked up in my head. It’s wrong and I’m aware, but I can’t change it, no matter how much I lie to myself.
Shutting off the blinker puts an end to the clicking as I park my car in the parking lot. My motions are automatic as I reach for both the umbrella and my purse before stepping out onto the wet asphalt. There’s only a bit of rain spitting from the skies, but with my hair newly done, I’m not risking a drop landing anywhere near me.
The whoosh and click of the umbrella opening amid the staccato of my heels is followed by my car door shutting as I search for Cody’s car.
A coffee date with my FBI agent lover two days after I came apart in my bed at the hands of a serial killer, I would imagine, is unique for the patrons of this diner.
It’s a cute place with cozy seating, located at the corner of a quaint street on the far end of town. Even the pastel blue sign that reads Pick Me Ups in a flowing script is adorable. It doesn’t fit the man I’m meeting or the relationship we have. Coffee is coffee, though, and this is far more casual than the dinner date he preferred and I turned down.
The second I spot Cody’s car, I know I should quicken my pace to get to him. I already told him I was running late, and I hate to keep him waiting. My limbs betrays me, though, and the thumping in my chest refuses to support my body’s need to move.
It’s almost like this moment is the same as the other night. I’m participating, but not really here. There’s space between and I’m merely observing.
The flesh and bones of my body are present and yet I’m only the shadow. Oh how easy it would be, if one could slink away and hide from reality that easily. But as I approach the black glass front doors and shake out the umbrella on the thick black welcome mat out front, I know all too well that I did what I did.
I just don’t know what Cody’s done, what he knows, or what I’m willing to tell him.
There’s more than what he’s willing to tell. Between coffee and small talk about scandal and murderers threatening me, I have to decide where Cody fits into all of this with far too limited information.
The door swings open and warmth hits my face while the delectable scent of coffee and citrus pastries swarms my lungs.
Black and white checkered floors, subway tiles and a long coffee bar with black leather stools give the place charm and a ’50s flair.
I didn’t even want to see his handsome face. I didn’t want those steely blue eyes to see right through me, but in this moment, when Cody’s gaze locks onto mine from a booth in the back corner, I feel weak. Drawn to him and eager to tell him everything. Literally, I’m desperate to tell him everything.
To expose every little detail. The desire passes as quickly as it came.
“Would you like me to take that for you?” a waitress with coral pink lipstick asks and smiles at me. As I hand over the umbrella and my coat, my pulse quickens. Cody’s gaze is still on me, but I can’t look back at him.
I’m second-guessing everything. Every move. Every piece of the puzzle. With a heavy exhale I take the seat across from Cody and offer him a simper.
“Still in one piece,” he comments and with it I broaden my smile, which makes him smile in return. It’s always struck me as such a charming smile. “You had me worried,” he says.
Although I part my lips as if I have an easy response to give him, which I don’t, I’m saved by the waitress. The same one who took my coat in her poofy dress with puffed sleeves and a black apron tied at her waist.
“A hot cup of coffee is exactly what I need, please.”
“Flavor of the day is blueberry.”
“Just regular, please.” She nods and turns to Cody.
“Black for me.” The waitress blushes at Cody’s response, as if he’s just hit on her by ordering coffee.
“Not sleeping well?” he asks when she slips off.
I shake my head no, although that’s not quite true. I’m sleeping better now than I was at his place. It seems unnecessary to tell him that, though.
“You could always come back,” Cody says and the guilt weighs down on me at the offer. When did the tables turn between us? With him pining for me while I keep my distance?
The truth nearly slips out from between my lips as my heart aches inside my chest, moaning something to my lungs about how much we need him. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to him. That’s the one truth that hasn’t faltered. That and the fact that I’m certain something bad is going to happen.
When you play with fire, you’re bound to be burned. I refuse to let him be a bystander in the wreckage I’m headed toward. Thankfully I don’t have to answer, since the waitress is back in no time with our coffee.
We’re quiet, neither of us speaking until she asks us if there’s anything we’d like to eat.
“Cinnamon buns,” we answer simultaneously. The smile I wear on my face at that is a sad one and Cody sees it.
“So … about my place versus yours?”
Swallowing thickly, I carefully pick up the simple mug of coffee and take a sip before giving him an answer he should accept.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I wasn’t sleeping well at your place either and I like being on my own.”
Images blur together in my mind. The memory of Cody’s broad chest above mine as he thrust himself inside of me, mixes with the sharp intake I took as Marcus pressed himself against me.
The sudden onslaught of detailed debauchery has me nearly dropping the white ceramic mug on the saucer. It clanks in protest and with trembling hands, I cover my eyes. Vaguely, Cody’s apology is little more than white noise.
“Sorry,” he says but I’m quick to object to it.
“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks and all I can think of saying in response is a lie.
“I told you. I’m tired.” I’m not, though. I cling to my coffee cup. This is how cheaters must feel. This wretched twisting in my gut roils and churns. We didn’t have a label, we didn’t have rules or boundaries. Nevertheless, we have secrets.
It was odd before, between us. But caught in Cody’s gaze, it’s almost torturous now. I sit across from a man whose only personal possessions are those of a boy he lost long ago. And I know Marcus knew his brother. What I don’t know is if Cody knows it too.
Without trust, the tension is palpable as I pick up the bun the waitress sets down, the one I’m certain I won’t be able to stomach.
“Thank you for coming. I know after the other night …” he doesn’t finish his trailing thought.
“I’m sorry.” The apologies don’t quit and for once, I don’t mind it. Because I am so damn sorry. Truly to the pit of my stomach. Every definition of the word.