Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(86)

“Oh, it will be. Any delay is because Dave is frolicking on a Vermont hillside somewhere, too busy to look at his phone.” Absently, I grab the wine bottle and remove the foil. I pick up the corkscrew and start turning before I remember. “Whoops! Sorry. I’m going to let you do this.” Delilah is back to drinking things that she unseals herself. Phobias can’t always be vanquished by one bold sip of coffee in a hospital room and some positive thinking.

And I really don’t blame her. I’m still having bad dreams about the night she was drugged. Sometimes in the dream, I can’t reach her. And then I wake up in a cold sweat.

“You open it,” she says.

“Yeah?” I finish the job, then pour her a glass and offer it to her.

With a look of determination, she takes it from my hand and immediately takes a sip.

“What, you couldn’t wait for the toast?” I tease.

She frowns, and then notices my grin. “You asshole!”

I cackle. Then I lift my glass. “To new apartments and big risks.”

We touch glasses, and I hold her eyes while we both take a sip. Then we sit back to admire the view. Outside, the sun is setting. The sky over Manhattan is streaked with orange.

“God, I fucking love this place,” Delilah exclaims. She grabs her phone off the table and peeks at the lock screen. “No message yet. But the realtor seemed pretty excited to hear from me.”

“It will come,” I promise. I wrap an arm around her. “Nice kitchen, by the way. I like that it’s open plan.”

“I like it, too. I like everything about it. I want to furnish a condo, like grownups do. I moved into Brett’s place with a suitcase, and moved out with barely more. I’m going to choose furniture, damn it.”

A gurgle of laughter escapes me.

“I know I sound like a diva right now,” she says, patting my knee. “I promise not to make everything pink and girly.” She sets her wine glass down and turns to me.

“Like I’d care,” I say. “I laughed because choosing furniture does not sound fun to me. I’ll sit on whatever.” Just to prove the point, I set my glass down, too. Then I move my ass onto her lap and gingerly sit down.

“Ralph!” she complains. “That’s not funny.”

“Switch with me, then?”

“Fine.”

I move off of her, sitting on the couch. Then I put my hands on her waist and turn her around so that she’s straddling me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she breathes.

I run a hand up her black T-shirt. “This is almost what you were wearing when I met you.”

“Almost?” she blinks, clearly having no memory of her clothing that fateful day.

“Your shirt said, Kind of a Big Deal.”

“Oh!” She grins. “I remember. That was my favorite shirt for a while.”

“Not any longer?”

“I gave it away a long time ago. Anytime I wore that shirt I meant it as irony. But after you start selling out stadiums, it just makes you look like a diva.”

“Just so you know? You were kind of a big deal to me then. And you still are now.”

Her face softens. “You say the nicest things.”

“I mean them,” I whisper.

“I know,” she whispers back. “That’s what makes it nice.”

“Delilah—I love you, sweetheart. I know it’s soon. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to—”

“I love you, too,” she says. “Even if my life is still a mess. You’re just so easy to love.”

My heart swells. “Kiss me?” I ask, lifting my chin. “I’ve been hungry for you all day.”

With a smile, she leans over to comply. I wrap my hand around her hair and take what I need. Her mouth is silk against mine. One kiss leads me right into another. I use my free hand to stroke down the smooth skin of her arm and tug her closer.

Pretty soon we’re hardcore making out on a rented couch, half our pizza forgotten. And my heart isn’t the only thing swelling. “Delilah,” I whisper.

“Yes?” she breathes into my mouth.

“We could christen this place tonight. Break it in. Try it out.”

“Is that good luck?” she asks, her smile rubbing mine.

“Totally,” I say, and she laughs. “Couch or kitchen counter?” I murmur as I slide her T-shirt up.

“Both,” she says, removing my shirt and then wrapping her arms around me. We’re skin to skin. “We’ve earned it.”

She’s right. We have.





Eight Months Later





Silas





I’m face down in our bed, Delilah’s naked body pressed against mine. Sunlight is streaming through the window, and my alarm is sounding. I reach out a hand and fumble around until I silence it. Then I push my face into my pillow again and sigh.

It’s April, and we’ve already clinched a playoffs spot. So that’s awesome. And today’s my birthday, which is nice too, I guess. Delilah and I had very energetic sex until two in the morning in celebration.

I do not want to wake up, though. Because we’re leaving on the last road trip of the season this morning. It’s been a great season. An epic season. But I don’t want to leave. Not when the bed is this comfortable, and the girl beside me so warm and naked.