Delilah: The Making of Red (Nova #2.5)(8)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

It’s a perfect night. Everything is so perfect and I dance my way back to my room, feeling as though I just got a leading part. But then I look out the window just before I go to bed and see Dylan standing in the driveway talking to the she-devil herself, laughing as she touches his arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s just talking and friendly touching, but as I lay in bed, hurting and on the verge of crying, I realize that tonight meant everything to me.

And that was a dangerous way to think, because I was already letting myself drown in Dylan and there was so much farther to sink. So many more tears. Heartache. Disappointment.

Pain.

Chapter 4

Maneater

It takes me some time to let the whole Nikki thing go. It’s not like I say anything to Dylan about it, but every time we talk, I can’t help but wonder if he hooked up with her that night, if he looked at her like he looked at me. Made her feel special like he makes me feel every day.

We haven’t gone on an official date yet, so I still don’t know his secrets. I do start spending a lot of time out in the front yard, though. Dance class has ended for the summer, so there’s not a lot of stuff to do. But I keep busy, reading out in the front yard, tanning out in the front yard, even going as far as mowing the lawn, just so I can watch Dylan work on his car, occasionally checking out his ass and anything else I can get my eyes on.

The amazing thing is, he always comes up and talks to me. Every day for two weeks straight. A lot of our conversations are centered around the car he’s working on. Even though I have no interest in cars, I nod and pretend that I’m superinterested in everything he says, so he’ll keep on talking to me and hopefully like me. He also asks me a lot of questions, like my likes and dislikes, where I’m from, what I do for fun. He doesn’t try to kiss me again, though, and I find myself missing the touch of his lips and the feelings the kiss stirred inside me.

“There’s no way that could be true,” I say after a very long conversation about music and concerts as we stand beside the fence. “You really saw Unwritten Law play?”

He nods as he wipes his greasy hands on a rag. “Yeah, three years ago.” He tosses the rag on the ground. “They’re even better live.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I’d been mowing the lawn when he finally came out of the house, and so I’m sweaty and gross, but I didn’t want to walk away, afraid I’d miss the chance to talk to him if I did. “I think most bands are,” I say. “At least more powerful. Well, except for heavy metal bands, but I can’t stand that music anyway.”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably my least favorite, too.”

“It’s such a shame that you still can’t watch old rock bands play like Lynyrd Skynyrd,” I say. “Now that would be something to see.”

“You seriously listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd?” he asks, making his way back to the fence after collecting a bottle of water from the cooler beside the car.

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I listen to a lot of classic rock actually, but that might be because my mom’s been branding it into my head since I was five.”

He angles his head to the side as his gaze quickly skims to the front door of my house just behind me. “Your mom seems like an interesting woman,” he says.

I try not to react, even though I want to shout at him that she’s a true maneater. “Yeah, I guess.”

He leans against the fence, the muscles of his lean arms rippling as he crosses them on top of the metal post. “What does she do for a living?” he asks.

“She works at a bar,” I reply agitated. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… I just see her coming and going with a lot of men.”

“That’s because she sleeps with a new one every day.” It sort of just slips out, but I don’t want to take it back. In fact, I’m hoping it repulses him.

He arches a brow at me, looking more interested than he did before, which means I epically failed. “Really?” He considers something for a moment and keeps glancing at my house like my mom’s going to walk out in her underwear, which probably wouldn’t be the first time.

I press my lips together, hating how interested he is in her. “Well, I’m sure if you hit on her, she’d probably sleep with you too,” I say spitefully.

He glances at me with a questioning look on his face. “You think so?”

Anger simmers under my skin. “Maybe. She likes her guys young.”

His gaze bores into me. “And you’d be okay with that?”

“If you slept with my mother?” I ask. “You can do whatever you want.” I hate my mother right now. Hate that she’s so pretty. Hate that she likes to sleep with guys more than she likes her daughter, because I know right now if Dylan hit on her, she’d snatch him up, use him, then spit him back out.

Which is exactly what I want to do, except for the spitting-out part. I’d want to keep him.

He stares at me for a few moments longer, and then his intense gaze softens as he almost looks pleased. “You want to go somewhere with me?”

My jaw nearly drops. What the hell? How do we go from asking questions about my mother to asking me out on a date finally? Still, I say, “Where?”

He stands up straight, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Me and a couple of friends are going to go down to the fair in Jackson to ride the rides and hang out. I’m sure it’s going to be pretty lame, but we could make it fun.” He winks at me and grins, dimples appearing, and my heart skips a beat.

“Sure, that sounds fun,” I say in a calm voice, despite my giddiness.

“Does it?” He bites back his amusement as he starts to walk back to his house. “Alright then, Red, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

My brows knit. “Red?”

He suppresses a grin as he steps back toward me and extends his arm. I stop breathing, terrified and excited as he hooks his finger around a strand of my hair. “Yeah, your hair.” He ravels it around his finger, tightly, pulling on it just enough that it sort of makes my scalp sting. “Red is actually my favorite color… I plan on painting my car red and everything.” He tugs on my hair a little bit harder, watching my reaction with fascination. “In fact, I think I’m going to call you that from now on.”