“True, but you’re one of a kind, Tarbell.” She shook off whatever odd mood she was in and found another smile, a real one, the pretty one that made him want to kiss her on the nose and collect a giggle. “You want some grub?”
“God, you’re so cute and you sound like some kind of cowboy/city slicker hybrid.” He’d said it without thinking—it certainly wasn’t a criticism; he liked that she had very different moods at very different times. But once it was out of his mouth, he thought about it and realized that sometimes she seemed almost schizophrenic. Big-city sophistication one minute
(“The best sushi I’ve ever had was in Chicago, along with the best pizza and the best pumpkin pie. Isn’t that a weird trifecta of best?”)
and country cowgirl the next.
(“I’m not crazy. If you ever tried milk fresh from the cow, you’d love it. It’s warm and foamy and rich, it’s like drinking dessert. Stop making gagging noises!”)
But when he’d asked about it, he’d gotten the patented Delaney shrug and a casual “I lived all over as a kid.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. Were you happy anywhere as a kid? Or was it all “eventful,” all the time? Where’d you come from? What happened between your birth and watching me pitch my wallet into the lake? And where do the others fit in? Especially Donna?
“Take two ladies to supper?”
“No, but I’ll take you guys. Don’t you make a face at me, Claire Delaney. If you open the door like that, you can’t be mad when I walk through it.”
“Shut up,” she said kindly, and he did. For a while.
Twenty-three
“Hey, there’s good news for you, Delaney.” He passed the paper over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a newspaper made of paper. Some poor sap hadn’t grabbed his change out of the vending machine and so the Cerca News was his because you snooze you lose, sucker! Was this how hunters felt when they bagged a lion or something? Triumphant and a tiny bit ashamed?
“What’s that supposed to mean? Why good news for me?” She took in his startled expression and leaned back, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. I’m tired.”
No doubt. She’d sleepwalked again last night (sleptwalked?). And though it had been a few days, she hadn’t brought up the DNA test again.
To be fair, neither had he. The day they met, he’d been all about reclaiming his life and his money, not even in that order. But then things got weird(er). And now there was Lillith. The truth was, if he found out he wasn’t Lillith’s dad, the adventure was over. Delaney and her family and Lillith would be out of his life. Forever.
Definitely Stockholm syndrome.
Speaking of Lillith, she hadn’t had much to say lately, either. And the man who’d tried to snatch her hadn’t been seen since. Neither had his partner, whom they referred to as “the Other Jerk” for the sake of convenience. It should have been good news. But since there was far more going on than Rake had been told, it just made him uneasy.
To hide this, he insulted his host again. “You spend too much time crunching numbers. You’re always hunched over your laptop. You’re gonna look like the witch when she gave Snow White the apple.”
“It’s what I have to do,” she said shortly. “And I’ve got better posture than you do. One of my foster mothers was a fanatic about that stuff.”
Well. That took the wind out of his sails. Jeez, how many homes was she bounced around in? “Uh, sorry.”
She shrugged it off and squinted at the paper. “What’s the good news for me?”
“Says right here.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Rake, you’ve got a gift, no question. The girls say you speak Italian like a native, which is a good trick for someone who’s never lived here. You’re fluent in French, Spanish, Russian, and German, too, right?”
He blushed at the compliment and groaned in embarrassment, two things he had never done at the same time. “Was there anything I didn’t tell you that night? The time I threw up on the girl I had a crush on in fourth grade? Where I lost my virginity and got pinkeye the same night?”
“In the parking lot of the MGM grand!” Delaney couldn’t even get to the end of the sentence without cracking up.
“Ha! Wrong!” He jabbed a finger at her face in triumph. “That’s where Blake jettisoned his virginity. He wouldn’t go near the Restaurant Guy Savoy parking lot because they only had two Michelin stars.”
That just made her laugh harder. “I’m starting to think you’re on to something with that whole ‘Blake’s the worst’ thing.”
“Right?” Never had he been fonder of someone he hadn’t slept with. The woman was genius-level perceptive! “Anyway, I lost mine to Tammy Terrin in my mom’s walk-in closet.” Vermouth must be avoided at all costs; among other things I reminisce about my twin losing his virginity. Not Freudian or weird AT ALL. “How about you?”
“It’s boring,” she warned.
“Doubt it.”
“I was twenty-two—”
“What?”
“—and it was in a hotel room with an actual bed and everything. Very vanilla. Lights off. Missionary. Wham-bam-etc.”
“Perv! Sickest thing I ever heard.”
“There weren’t any good parking lots around,” she said with a straight face. “So we had to make do with a Days Inn.”
“But Delaney, you’re supercute, I bet lots of boys would have loved to have been your first. Why’d you wait so long?”
Her smile, which had broadened at “supercute,” became fixed, and in an instant, the fun was done. It was as if all the muscles in her face froze at once. “Oh, you know,” she said with a vague gesture. “A few times I almost did, when I was younger. It—it wasn’t exactly my idea, those times. To lose my virginity. I learned how to keep them off me, but—”
“You don’t have to finish,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry to be asking. It’s none of my business.” He realized his hands had locked into fists and made a conscious effort to unclench. Names, I need names, goddammit. Also addresses. Blood types, too, maybe. They’ll all need hospitals.
“There’s nothing to tell—I told you they tried, not that they succeeded.” She actually patted his hand, because they lived in a fucked-up universe where she’d endured a brutal childhood and now was trying to make him feel better. “And to be honest I was kind of scared to lose it—to find out what all the fuss was about. What was it about sex that could make people so completely, dangerously irrational? To take risks they’d never, ever take in their right mind? Something not to be fucked with, no pun intended. So I put it off for a while.”
“Okay. I can see that.” Dangerous and irrational, yes. Of course. But tender and exciting and wonderful and sweet and sweaty and amazing, all those things, too. And it was even better when you were in love with the person, or so he’d been told. “Makes sense.”
“And then I finally met someone nice and we did the deed after his graduation at U of M. And it was … you know.” She smiled. “Fast. Which was fine with me.”