CHAPTER 034: A History With Delilah
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~~KNOX~~
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I can hear Hunter retching his guts out in the bathroom, each heave a reminder that last night did its job. That’s how you know the bachelor party was a success–when the groom wakes up barely human mungover, and halfway questioning every decision that led to this moment.
We both got back late. Way after the rehearsal dinner ended. The after–party spiraled into something else entirely–shots of things I couldn’t name, groomsmen and strangers dragging us into different corners of the bar, music too loud to remember what it meant to have coherent thoughts. I have a strong stomach. Always have. But even I pushed my limit last night.
Now I’m sprawled across Hunter’s hotel room’s couch, one leg hanging off the edge, half–covered with a throw blanket I don’t remember grabbing. The air conditioner hums too cold. The light filtering through the curtains is too bright. My head doesn’t hurt, but it’s heavy.
The bathroom door creaks open. Hunter emerges, pale and damp and dragging his feet. His shirt is wrinkled and riding up his stomach, and there’s a faint splash of water on the front–probably from when he tried to splash his face clean and
missed.
He groans and collapses into the second couch, hand covering his eyes.
“Man, I gotta call in sick,” he mutters.
I huff a dry laugh. “You’ll be fine.”
“I feel like there’s a cannibal inside me slowly eating its way out.” His voice is hoarse. “You’re the worst best man ever. You should’ve looked out for me. Now it’s looking like there isn’t going to be a wedding today.”
I sit up slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. Before I can think to stop myself, I hear the words slide out of my mouth:
“Would you think of me as a bad friend if I said I don’t want the wedding to happen?”
Hunter snorts. “I think I knew your stand on this wedding from day one. Honestly, I’m surprised you came to Asheville at all. That you agreed to be my best man. You hate my fiancée. You’ve always hated her.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Well… you’re my friend. I have to partake in your happiness. I have to be happy that you’re happy with Delilah.”
“I am happy,” he says automatically. Then quieter, like he’s trying to convince himself. “I’m so happy.”
He doesn’t sound happy. He sounds… tired. But that’s probably just the effect of the hangover.
I sit all the way up now, turning to watch him as he rests there with his eyes still closed.
“There’s something I need to ask you, Hunt,” I say.
“Shoot.”
“What is it you see in Delilah that makes you want her–with everything? With all her flaws?”
He exhales. “I don’t know. She’s just… different.”
. “Different in the way she spends your money?”
He chuckles. “I don’t mind her spending my money.”
“I just don’t get the appeal.”
“You’d get it if you’d ever dated her.”
That stops me.
I did date her.
And it’s because I dated her that I don’t get it.
Sure, I’ll admit it–Delilah back then was a fantasy. Queen bee. Smart, polished, seductive. She had the kind of charm that was engineered. She knew what to say, how to smile, how to flip her hair at just the right moment to keep a boy hypnotized. Being with her back then was like being handed a trophy in front of everyone.
But the shine wore off fast–ripped away the day I came home and found her riding Finn on my bed.
Whatever I’d felt before that moment died clean.
So no, I don’t understand the appeal. I don’t understand the idea of chasing someone who’s made it very clear they don’t want you the same way you want them.
1/3
………y cise entirely. I want someone who comes unhinged at the thought of me. Someone who spirals when I touch them. Who trembles under my stare. I want madness. Possession. I want devotion.
And lately, when I think of those things, it’s her face I see.
Sloane.
The girl Finn couldn’t stop talking about through those phone calls, emails, and letters he sent to me from college. His so- called “best friend.” The stalker. The girl who somehow wove herself into every story he told for a solid two years before I came back home. The girl who hovered and watched and obsessed–yet never walked away. I’d always wondered how that fire didn’t turn him on.
And when I met her at the airport, I knew.
I wasn’t going to be able to keep my hands off her.
So yeah–Delilah? The one who flirts like she’s bored? Who makes people feel like they’re lucky just to be options? She doesn’t do it for me.
Sloane, though?
She’s a storm. I intend to milk every one of those crazinesses from her until I’ve consumed her fully.
Maybe I’ve let this Delilah situation go too far. Hunter deserves better too.
“Hunt,” I say, voice low, “there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
He doesn’t open his eyes. “Is it going to worsen my headache?”
“Probably.”
He pops one eye open, peering at me sideways. Then he groans and peels himself upright, hands cradling his forehead. “Alright,” he says. “Spit it out.”
I take a breath. “First of all, I just want to say that I’m really sorry for keeping this from you. I know I’m a terrible friend, and I know this is going to hit hard, but please… just know I’m telling you now because I want what’s best for you, and I can’t keep lying to you. Don’t hate me for it.”
Hunter groans. “You’re not helping my headache, man.”
“Just hear me out-”
“Hopefully before the third world war?” he cuts in.
I chuckle. “Yeah. Okay. So… about your bride–to–be-”
The hotel phone rings.
Hunter sighs and stands, swaying slightly before walking to the table and picking it up.
“Hello?” A pause. His brows lift in surprise. “A visitor? Name, please.” His eyes dart to me. “Alright… send her up.”
He hangs up and turns to me, still looking surprised.
“Who was it?” I ask.
“Reception. Apparently, your brother’s best friend wants to see me. Does she know you’re here?”
“Sloane?”
He nods. “Yeah. She’s on her way up.”
I shift on the couch, my hangover suddenly forgotten. My legs spread slightly, and my hands plant against the cushions, every part of me alert now. There’s a thrum in my blood that has nothing to do with the aftermath of last night and everything to do with her.
Sloane.
Even hearing her name on Hunter’s lips just now was enough to stir something low in my gut. The kind of stirring that makes my pants tighten and my jaw tense. This is trouble–I know it. But if trouble comes with her, then I’ll take it every time.
I’m watching the door now. So is Hunter. He looks intrigued. Curious.
Eventually, the knock comes.
Hunter crosses the room and pulls the door open, and there she is.
“Sloane, right?” he asks.
“Mr. Blackwell,” she says, stiffly. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
“We’ve not. Please, call me Hunter.”
“May I come in, Hunter?”
2/3
CHAPTER 034: A History With Delilah
He swings the door wide, and she steps in–and immediately locks eyes with me.
She’s in tiny shorts and an oversized white T–shirt that slides off one shoulder, the sleeves cuffed carelessly at the arms. Her hair is tied up, a few strands escaping, framing her face in the most chaotic and perfect way. No makeup. No jewelry. Just bare skin and fire in her eyes.
And I can’t stop looking at her.
I don’t have long to admire her because she storms in.
“You,” she seethes, pointing directly at me. “How dare you?”
I blink. “How dare me what?”
“You tried to sabotage my friendship with Finn. Who gave you the right?”
Her voice is sharp. Controlled. But I can hear it–the hurt just under the anger. I rise slowly to my feet, but she retreats a step, lifting a hand between us like a barrier.
“Don’t,” she snaps.
“Sloane…”
“Don’t you dare touch me, Knox.”
Hunter is already closing the door, his brows drawn in confusion. He clears his throat. “What is going on?”
Sloane turns to him, and it takes her no time to launch into her explanation.
“Mr. Blackwell,” she says, voice trembling with fury, “your friend is a terrible person. He made a deal with his brother, saying he would make you call off the wedding if Finn ended his friendship with me. Obviously, there’s something he’s been hiding from you–something he plans to use to make you walk away from Delilah. I just thought you should know.”
Then she spins on me, expression cold.
“You’ll see how it feels, Knox.”
I should be worried.
Hell, I am worried. That little bomb she just dropped is going to blow a crater in the middle of my friendship with Hunter. And she knows it.
But somehow, all I can think about is the way her eyes blaze when she’s angry. The way her chest rises and falls with the weight of her fury. The curve of her thigh under those damn shorts. This–this fury, this power–is intoxicating. She’s going to end up under me today, one way or another. I want to absorb this passion by burying myself inside her.
Hunter’s voice puts a halt to my wild thoughts.
“Knox,” he says, “what is she talking about?”
I keep my eyes on Sloane for a beat longer than I should. Then I turn to him.
“This… isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Find out what?”
I hesitate.
Sloane crosses her arms, watching me like she’s waiting for me to choke on my own lies.
. I sigh. “I had a history with Delilah.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens. “A history?”
“We dated. In high school.”
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