Chapter eight
Delilah
I apply another round of lip gloss and stand back, surveying myself in the bathroom mirror of my apartment. My shoulder-length hair is curled in soft waves, I’m wearing makeup, and I’ve donned a purple sundress. It’s cute. Most of what I wear would be consideredcute. Not sexy or glamorous by any means. This just so happens to be the dress that hugs all my curves in the right spots and therefore, by default, is the sexiest outfit I own.
Because tonight, I’m having sex.
For the first time.
With Graham Whitaker, of all people.
I feel an odd mixture of excitement and nausea. I’m also a bit lightheaded. I haven’t eaten all day, so that might be why. But every time I moved a piece of food toward my mouth, I felt like I might hurl. While I haven’t seen Graham since my humiliating proposal at his apartment last week, we have been in communication regardingthe night. Tonight.
He insisted on buying me dinner first, which was oddly sweet but wholly unnecessary. Besides, we can’t exactlygo outin a town as small as Cedar Ridge. Harrison would get word of it before the “date” was even over. So we compromised by him bringing over wine.
I managed to get a birth control prescription from my doctor, and Graham said he’d get condoms. I also shaved pretty much every inch of my body and spent way too much time naked in front of the mirror trying to get used to the fact that another person is going to see me like this. And not just any person. Graham.
Another wave of nerves rolls through me, and I swallow thickly.
I lean forward, staring myself down in the mirror.You are going to have sex tonight, I tell myself.And you’re going to like it. And do well. And everything is going to be great.
I wince, not feeling nearly as confident as I want to. But before I have time to spiral further, there’s a knock at my front door. I exit the bathroom just as Pickles is making a run for the bedroom. He’s never been the brave type. Part of me wishes I could hide under the bed with him.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my dress as I cross the apartment and open the door.
Graham stands outside in dark jeans, a button-down shirt, and a black cowboy hat perched atop his head. In his hands, he holds a bottle of red wine and … a bouquet of flowers.
“You got me flowers?” I breathe, confused and shocked and touched all at the same time. It takes me a second to realize Graham hasn’t responded right away, and when I look up at him, he’s simply gazing down at me … silently, his jaw slightly unhinged. “Graham?” I ask.
He blinks, clears his throat. “That dress—looks nice on you,” he says quietly, then offers a small smile.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping aside. “Come in.”
He enters the apartment, striding to the kitchen counter where he sets down the bottle—a little loudly, I might add. He sucks in a breath of air, glances around, and then turns to me. “Do you have a vase for these?” he asks, his voice a bit pitchy. Holy shit. Is Grahamnervous?
“Yeah.” I breeze past him, opening up a cabinet and pulling a vase free. I spin around to fill it with water, only to have it slip from my hands and clatter loudly into the sink. “Shit,” I mutter, reaching for it. When it’s finally filled, I set the flowers inside.
“Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do that,” I fill the silence, not looking at him.
“It felt like the thing to do,” he says softly.
I nod.
“Do you want wine?”
“Yes,” I answer before he’s barely finished the sentence.
The corner of his mouth ticks upward. “Nervous?”
I chuckle softly. “A little,” I admit, turning to grab two wine glasses from the cabinet, but just as my hands meet the cupboard knobs, Graham is beside me, gently placing a large palm over mine.
“I can get them,” he says quietly.
“No, you’re good—” I start.
“Dee,” Graham says softly, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my temple. “Go sit down.”
My eyes meet his, and the second they do, something hot and foreign ignites within my lower belly, and I swallow. When I don’t immediately respond, he raises an eyebrow at me.
