Delilah
"You look...good." Meghan sips her martini and furrows her brow.
"You sound surprised. Do I usually look like crap?"
"Honestly? The last few months? Yeah."
"Gee thanks." I scowl at my best friend, but in all honesty, it's the truth. Still, I hate actually hearing it.
"Of course you didn't look like your normal self, Del. You lost your husband. That would mess with anyone." She takes another thoughtful sip, lifting the index finger off her glass and pointing it more or less in my direction. "This is different. You've gained back a bit of weight, and there's actual color to your complexion that didn't come from the cosmetic counter. You've like you've gotten more sleep, too, haven't you?"
"I have. Yesterday James and I went out for lunch after our boxing session and..."
"Wait. What? Boxing? You? And John's brother? This I gotta hear." Meghan leans forward, arms crossed on the sticky table-top, eyes wide with amused interest, mouth slightly agape.
"It's nothing, really." I don't want to make a big deal out of anything having to do with James, because Meghan will run with it. "He's been a real sweetheart. It's his brother, and he's torn up about it as much as I am. We're leaning on each other and getting through it."
"Uh-huh. Boxing. Spit it out."
Meghan's not going to let this go. "I was missing John big time. I threw my shoe. Dented the dresser. James decided I needed to get my anger out, and dragged me to the gym and taught me a few boxing moves. I hurt like hell afterward. End of story."
Meghan busts out laughing. "Isn't he some sort of Goliath? I'd have paid good money to see cute little five-foot-nothing Delilah whaling on a gym bag. How'd you feel after? Did it work?" She gulps down a big sip, making me cringe.
"Slow down, Meghan. I'll be pouring you out of here at this pace." She grins, throws up a hand and signals the bartender for two more glasses of jet fuel. I've barely drunk half of mine. "I have to say, smacking a bag helped purge some of the rage I had brewing. It was awkward as hell, though."
"How come? Did James embarrass you?"
"Not at all. He was terrific and patient. It was all the other muscle heads who were gawking." My phone beeps. I read the message and type a quick reply.
"You do realize you're blushing, don't you?"
"Uh, no. Why would I be blushing?" My face is on fire.
"Who was it and what did he say?" My phone dings once more, and the heat returns. "There it is again."
"It was James. He was asking where I am. He thought I'd be home from work, because he drove by the shop and it was dark. Said he was worried."
"And...?"
"And, I told him I was with you at the bar across the street from the condo." The bartender sets down our second round of martinis, and I'm suddenly glad I'm within walking distance, because driving after drinks with Meghan is impossible, and always results in an Lyft ride or taxi. I push away my empty cocktail glass—how did that happen?—and slide the fresh drink toward me. Maybe I should switch to water instead. A sip convinces me the cocktail is the way to go. This isn't going to turn out well. It never does.
"Hey, haven't I seen you at the gym? With that big guy?" Startled, I glance up and recognize one of the gawkers. He's tall, built, and fairly good-looking. Meghan concurs, if the drool on her lip is any indication.
"Yeah, probably."
He sticks out a hand, and offers the grin guys use when they're confident they're about to score a pick-up. "Ben Dougherty. You looked great out there."
I shake his hand. Not a single spark. I didn't expect or want one, but still... "Delilah. Thanks. It was my first day hitting a bag. This is my friend Meghan."
Without an invite, Ben slips into the chair between us, offering Meghan a quick "hi, how are ya?" and returning his attention to me. "I could give you a few pointers. I'm there every day."
"Thanks for the offer. I think I'll stick to my current coach." Ben leans in, totally ignoring Meghan, his eyes burning into me. It's obvious he's hitting on me, and it's making me extremely uncomfortable. I wish I hadn't removed my wedding rings, and can't remember why I did. As if he read my thoughts Ben zeroes in on my ring finger and is emboldened by the barren space.
"How about you let me take you to dinner and see if I can change your mind? There's a great place down the street."
"I...uh..." Nerves sizzle through my body. I don't want to be rude, but I'm no where near ready to date anyone. A familiar, warm, strong hand slinks across my shoulder and lightly grips the back of my neck, under my hair. My whole body relaxes.
"Babe, sorry I'm late." James kisses me on the temple and slips the hand the rest of the way around me, pulling me against his hard body. Sizzle? Jesus, no. He's lit a freaking bonfire in me. All my nerve endings are exploding under his touch. James uses his other hand to grab a chair and move it close to me. "Hey, haven't I seen you around? The gym maybe?" I can tell from his voice James is playing dumb. He knows damned well the guy was there and why he's here. Ben's face goes taut.
"Yeah. I recognized Delilah and came over to say hi."
James kisses me on the cheek this time. Laying it on thick. "My girl's first time on the bag. She's a natural, aren't you, love?" Oh, yeah. Real thick. I'm grateful for the rescue, though. The testosterone-fest happening at this table is quite amusing.
"Hardly. What kept you late, baby?" I'll play along. Ben might be a nice guy, but he can go be someone else's nice guy. I glance at Meghan. She's captivated by the whole scene. I'll be drilled on this for days.
"Well, Mrs. Coury," I almost choke on my drink. Technically, I that's who I am, but James is using my belated title to deflect Ben's advances. "I was getting outfitted for my gear, and practicing at the range with the new pieces Neil has for me. Every gun is different, even if it's the same. Right, dude?"
"Oh, sorry. This is Ben. He offered to coach me at the gym."
Ben stands, fuming and a bit embarrassed. "I didn't know you two were married. Sorry to bother you." He spins and leaves the bar. James, however, doesn't move. His arm stays wrapped around my shoulder, and he grins at Meghan.
"You must be the lovely Meghan. James Coury. My friends call me JD. Nice to finally meet you."
Meghan's gaze bounces between us like she's figured out a deep, dark secret. "Nice to meet you. Gotta say, Ben was coming on a bit strong. Delilah's lucky to have you in her corner."
He winks at me. "I'll always be in Delilah's corner. Always. No doubt about that."
****
"Hey John-baby." The hot water is like needles poking my back. It should hurt, but it makes me feel alive instead.
"Hey Delilah. I miss you, baby."
"I miss you too, John." Of course, my husband isn't speaking to me, other than in my imagination. Who the hell cares? If having a fake conversation with him keeps me sane, what difference does it make?
"Some gym rat hit on me today. James came to my rescue. He's wonderful. Thanks for sending him to me. I don't know what I'd do without him."
"He's the only person I trust with you. He'll keep you safe. Whatever you need, James is there."
"He is." Tears mix with the water from the shower head. I'm no longer sobbing during these chats, but my eyes don't stay dry, either. While there's still a gaping hole in my heart and soul, the clenching, burning ache in my gut has settled. I'm sad. "I love you."
"I love you, sweetheart. Always."
Reluctantly, I turn off the faucet as those words, spoken so often by John, echo in my mind. I can hear his voice, low, rich, sensual with an edge of playfulness. Every word packed with meaning and promise. He'd say it to me on the phone, at night before we fell asleep in each other's arms, for any reason or none at all. "I love you sweetheart. Always." What I wouldn't give to hear it for real one more time.
As I dress, my mind wanders to the scene at the bar. I recall James saying something similar and smile. I'll always be in Delilah's corner. Always. James' protectiveness is a huge comfort. I've come to rely on it in such a short time. Is that bad? Does it create a problem for him? At what point do I stand on my own and cut the cord binding me to James? Is it too soon? Has it been too long already? Does he resent being my keeper? Does he need me as much as I need him? Or does he wish I'd get my shit together so he can move on and grieve in his own way? The man's been in the Army for years. Since he's come home, he hasn't had any time to settle in and make a new life for himself, other than getting the job with the security company. If he's like most red-blooded guys, he was probably looking forward to meeting girls. The thought of James flirting with some bar slut—or, even worse, bringing her home to his bed—fills me with dread. As ridiculous as it is, I don't want to share him with another woman, slutty or not.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I mutter to myself, slam the bedroom door behind me, and head for the kitchen. There's a cup of tea with my name on it.
"You okay, D-doll?" James twists his large body to face me from his seat on the sofa. He hits mute on the remote, stifling noise from a ring fight on TV.
"Yeah. I'm good." Liar. I avoid getting caught up in a conversation by fussing with a tea bag and heating water. The sound flips back on. A brash announcer hollers about the technique of the two beefcakes pounding the ever-loving daylights out of each other on screen. I glance over at the two muscled bodies in tight-fitting shorts grappling. Sweaty, a bit bloody. Rolling around on the mat as the referee dances over them. Guys. What's with them and pounding each other senseless? Or watching other guys do it?
As I dunk the bag in the water, I study James' mannerisms. He's caught up in the fight, leaning forward so his thick forearms rest on his thighs. His tense jaw moves in a sort of rhythm, clenching when a punch is thrown. His body is stiff, as if he's participating vicariously. A bell rings and the ref shouts the winner's name. James relaxes, clicks off the television, and stands. He stretches hard, pushing his mammoth arms high above his head so every muscle strains against the tight T-shirt he wears, lifting the hem several inches.
Holy hell. I'm treated to a patch of smooth skin where his toned back tapers to a trim waist. His jeans sit low, slipping down a bit so the very top curve of his taut, firm ass is visible. A devilish voice in my head dares me to drop the tea, rush toward James, and lay my fingertips along the path of his body he's revealed. I draw my hands into tight fists to stave off the itch of temptation, but my eyes remain glued, even when he lowers his arms and turns to face me. When he clears his throat, I quickly glance up to find an amused expression aimed at me. Oh, shit. I was checking out James.
"See anything you like, D-doll?" Wow. There's major heat brewing in his gaze. A heat dangerously close to igniting an unwanted charge within me. Sure, he's teasing, but it's not all innocent, if I'm reading him right.
"I...uh...I..." I gulp a sip of tea to buy myself a moment. "I was zoning, that's all."
James actually smirks. "Uh-huh." He saunters toward me and slaps his palms on the counter, leaning in. Talk about intimidating. "I can tell when a woman's checking me out, babe. You were checking me out."
The static in the air is full-bore. I swallow, my mouth and throat bone dry. What just happened here? All I can do is blink at James. I have no idea what to say. And, he's staring back at me as if I'm the main course for a starving man, the heat rolling off him. After the longest, most uncomfortable silence in the history of awkward, I manage to croak out a flip response, shrugging my shoulders as I do.
"Eh, I'd give you an eight. Maybe a nine, if I'm being generous." James answers with howling laughter, pounding a fist on his chest.
"D-doll, you broke my man-ego. Shattered it. I may have to hit the gym an extra hour every day to recover from the burn."
I pick up my tea and stroll out of the kitchen. "Do what ya gotta do, man." I retreat to the safety of my bedroom.
****
With the closing snick of the door behind me, I set the hot cup on the dresser, and flop face-down onto my bed. My bed. The one I shared with my husband. Every night the ghost of his arms wrap around me, easing me into sleep. I twist onto my side and squish my eyes closed, trying to conjure the memory of his strong arms encasing me. A hollow feeling tears through me. For the first time, I can't feel him. The sensation has dimmed and gone out.
"John-baby, where are you?" I whisper into the pale light of my silent room. He doesn't answer me. Is he gone for good? My breathing picks up its pace, as a wave of panic lances through me. I thought I'd always remember how John felt with me. Digging deep into the well of hope, I tell myself it's because it's not night and I'm not snuggled into bed in the dark. Then, I wonder how long I'll keep playing these mind games with myself. Surely this can't be healthy.
I'm distracted by the sound of the bathroom door closing across the hall, and the shower starting. Without warning, my mind zeroes in on James' body—the skin I was transfixed by, his large, muscular frame. The desire pooling in his dark eyes as he leaned over the counter.
Desire? Is that what it was?
My skin comes alive with a familiar, prickly sensation. One I haven't felt, since...no. Am I insane? Surely my body is playing cruel tricks on me. I bury my head in the pillow hoping to suffocate this completely inappropriate reaction my chemistry is churning up at the thought of James, naked, in that shower.
I hold my breath. I count backward from one hundred. I count six dozen sheep. I attempt to recall the name of every teacher I had from kindergarten through high school. If I remembered any math equations or theorems, I'd recite them.
My brain hurts. Good.
I flick open my eyes. The room is dim in early evening light. When did that happen?
"D-doll? You okay? You've been in here a while." James' footsteps pad to the edge of the bed, which shifts under his weight when he sits next to me. He smells good. Fresh from the shower. His fingers comb through my hair. Wow, that feels fantastic. I turn to face James, shocked that he's shirtless, only wearing his favorite pair of worn jeans. He didn't even bother to button the top button, allowing my gaze to follow the faint dusting of his happy trail another inch below his navel.
"Doll?" He leans in, his hand now tracing lightly down my back while the other brushes my cheek. Frozen, I stare deep into his eyes. "Jesus, Delilah." His bare chest rises and falls in a tortured rhythm I'm sure matches mine.
"James...I..." I have no idea what to say. Our eyes are locked on each other and I can't tear mine away. My own chest aches fiercely, anticipating what I can't explain or deny.
"Fuck, Delilah." James closes in on me, stopping a breath away from touching his lips to mine.
"James..." I still have no words. I'm afraid, yet I'm not. My body is burning, too hot, begging for what it has no business seeking.
His lips brush against mine finally. Not quite a kiss. More of a test. A test to see if one of us will chicken out, or if he likes what he feels.
"Fuck, Delilah." He repeats the two words that, while seemingly empty, hold a world of meaning. With a deep groan of surrender, James crashes his lips against mine, his hands lifting me off the mattress and against his hard, bare chest. Then, they slide around my body, one wrapped around my back, the other grasping my neck beneath my hair. All holding me in place as his lips explore mine, the kiss deepening, his mouth opening against mine while his tongue laps at me until I do the same. He pulls away for a fraction of a second, long enough to murmur, "Jesus, Delilah," before returning to plunder my lips with his in a dance so erotic and sensual I'm ready to tear my clothes off and beg him to...
A knock at the door startles me, and I sit up.
"Delilah?" James? I glance around. To my surprise, I'm alone in my room, my eyes heavy, panting as if I ran a race.
"Yeah?" The confusion is beginning to clear enough for me to realize I'd fallen asleep.
"You okay in there?" His words are like a shot to my ass. I bolt off the bed and rip the door open. I quickly scan his body. Thankfully, James is fully clothed. He's even wearing a light jacket. "Your hair's a mess, D-doll." He reaches out to smooth it and I step back, raking my own fingers through the tangles. I can't let him touch me right now.
"I fell asleep. Sorry." Easing past James in the doorway, I step out of the room. "You going somewhere?"
He grins at me like I'm a clueless child. "Chinese food."
"Chinese...? Oh, right. Let me, um, change my clothes. Be right out." I flip on the light, and slam the door in James' face. We'd planned to go for an early dinner. Can I even face James over a table tonight after my dream? I tear off clothes and pop into the bathroom to freshen up. Good lord, the dream was so intense I'm gonna need to change my panties. I'm by myself and blushing furiously. What the hell is wrong with me? I had a freaking sex dream about my brother-in-law. Splashing water on my face, I pray I can pull myself together. Just in case, I tug on the most casual, least sexy outfit in my closet. Old jeans which are on the baggy side, and a worn UCLA T-shirt, plus a pair of beat up, used-to-be-white Keds. No makeup. Hair in a sloppy ponytail. My reflection in the mirror reports back to me: Kid sister look. Good enough. For extra measure a zippered hoodie goes on top. Perfect.
Wearing my down-graded appearance like a suit of armor, I make my way to the living room, confident I couldn't attract a hobo in this get up. James takes it in and smiles. Almost laughs. Then he strolls over and tugs on my pony tail, his other hand tipping my chin so our eyes meet. His deep and dark and bold.
"Jesus, Delilah." The words echo through me, bouncing back the memory of those from my dream. "You are too damned cute. Always." There's that phrase again. He kisses me on top of my head, snags my small hand in his big one, and tugs me to the door. "Let's go. I'm starving. A gorgeous woman made me wait past my meal time."
I can't speak, so I simply follow. When did my feelings for James become so muddled? So confused? It's wrong and I know it. Maybe I'm just having a moment.
Maybe.
****
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***I'd like to thank James from www.goonwrite.com for the cover to "Delilah's Tears."