His hands moved to cup the backs of her knees, and he arched his neck to kiss her. Delilah felt the familiar tumble of butterflies, the warm melting of her limbs. Nothing happened fast, but when she would look back on it later, in her innocent purple room, she would be unable to remember how it went from such a careful kiss to his hands moving up her bare thighs, slipping around to her hips and putting so much pressure there with the tips of his thumbs that she hoped he would leave small indentations she could find later with her own hands.
When he finally grew brave, and impatient, and kissed her with more teeth and growl than lips, he moved one hand between her legs. He’d said he didn’t know what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Soon she had one hand wrapped around his wrist, showing him, and the other dug deep into his hair, ensuring his mouth never moved far from hers. The room reverberated with the quiet afterward, and he stared up at her for a long minute, unspeaking.
Delilah didn’t think it was possible that anyone, ever before, had felt what she felt when Gavin carefully kissed her top and then her bottom lip and told her, “I am yours already. Completely.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded, glancing down at her bandaged arm, and already his eyes clouded over again.
He walked her home, lifted her so he could take his time and made her drunk with kisses, before watching her walk toward the dark quiet of her house.
Delilah had a lot to think about—Gavin’s hands and smile, his confession that he loved her, and the relief in his eyes when she was falling to pieces—and it would have to sustain her for some time, because after he disappeared down the sidewalk, he didn’t reappear for two days.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her
Strange, or maybe not, that she could focus on her work when he was in class and was a useless mess when he wasn’t. He hadn’t texted to say he wasn’t feeling well? hadn’t called or e-mailed to give her the heads-up that he wouldn’t be at school the next day.
Delilah ate lunch with an anxiously chatty Dhaval beneath the tree. He rambled on and on about math class, about what Kirk Teller said to him at lunch. He talked about his new shoes and his father’s new car. He had a million words, and they all tumbled frantically out in a nonstop torrent.
Delilah felt acutely, painfully hyperaware. When Gavin was at her side, she felt safe, because even if House hated her, it cherished him. Until last night she didn’t think it would ever actually hurt her, and if it did, it certainly wouldn’t do it when he was nearby.
But now Delilah knew there was no safety anywhere. He wasn’t here, and even if he had been, apparently it wouldn’t matter. Was he safe?
Life wasn’t supposed to be like this; it wasn’t supposed to be chronically terrifying. She wasn’t supposed to wonder if the tree was listening to their conversation or if the grass would poison her skin if it could. She wasn’t supposed to wonder what danger awaited her on the walk home, whether the sidewalk would crack suddenly, and just so, snapping her ankle. Or whether she should start trying to stay awake at night.
“Dee, are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Dhaval leaned forward, breaking into her trance.
“Sorry, no.”
He exhaled slowly, looking out at the kids playing basketball in the distance. After several long beats of silence, he asked, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
She remained mute.
“You have to know how it looks,” he said, turning and gesturing to her arm. “It looks like he hurt you, or you look insane.”
Finally, she turned to him, glancing up at the tree branches—they didn’t seem to be moving closer—before whispering, “I already tried to tell you how messed up it is, and you didn’t believe me.”
“So tell me everything again.” After she gave him a skeptical look, he added, “I want to hear more. I think. . . I think I believe you now.”
“Not here.”
Delilah stood, brushing the dried grass and leaves from her skirt before pulling Dhaval toward the trailers and into the empty practice room. She sat him down on the very same piano bench where Gavin had been sitting last night. The very same bench where he’d touched her with such an aching, open tenderness. She could still feel the pressure of his fingers.
“Why are we in here?” Dhaval asked, looking around.