Better Than You: part 6

6.

 

She was slower to warm up than any girl he’d ever met, but after two glasses of wine, Delta began to shed some of her biting defensiveness and talk to him like he wasn’t something she’d scraped off the bottom of her expensive shoe.

 

“You didn’t!” she exclaimed over the top of her wineglass, her smile wide, her brown eyes full of laughter. She was a completely different person from the frosty bitch who’d squared off from him at Nordstrom.

 

“Well, I scanned it,” he admitted. “You shoulda seen the look the checkout girl at Barnes & Noble gave me. Guess that’s what I get for buying a chick book.”

 

“Wuthering Heights is not a chick book,” Delta said, still smiling. “It’s classic literature.”

 

“Then why does it make me feel like a chick?”

 

“You’re insecure about your masculinity?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s also a great way to not get laid on a date, you know.”

 

She ran a manicured finger around the rim of her glass and snorted. “Oh, damn.”

 

“I’m serious. My pants are stayin’ on if I keep getting abused like this.”

 

Her face smoothed and the puppy dog look she tipped up to him would have seemed more earnest if a smile wasn’t threatening. “Poor little abused you.”

 

“I know.”

 

She laughed – it was a lower, deeper sound than he would have expected. True and not forced. “Okay, so, in your scanning, what did you think?”

 

“I think that Heathcliff guy is messed up.”

 

“That’s the whole point, though,” she said, voice taking on an excited edge. She liked books; she hadn’t been lying about that. “Without his unrequited love, there would be no tragedy. And look at the power Catherine held  – she was the source of his every happiness and she intentionally played him.”

 

“She’s not your role model or something, is she?” Mike asked, a kernel of worry forming in the back of his mind. If she was quick to judge, haughty and dismissive, he could work around all that. But if playing hot and cold with him was some kind of game, he was in way over his head.

 

She rolled her eyes. “No. Catherine's a bitch.”

 

He lifted his brows in silent question and she gave him a light pretend smack with the backs of her fingers.

 

“And I am too but not in the same way.”

 

“You’re not a bitch,” he said automatically. Of all the lessons his mother had tried to teach him, that was one of the few that had stuck: never call a girl a name. He lived by that – except when it came to his sister. And Jo was always asking for it, little shit. Jordan was passing in front of them as he coughed into his shoulder suspiciously. He was a little shit too most of the time.

 

“Really?” Delta challenged, her brows plucking up at their arched centers.

 

“I did say you were high maintenance though.”

 

She laughed again. “It’s even sweeter hearing it for the second time.”

 

With the exception of Jordan’s emotionless dickhead routine, coming to Double Down had been a good idea. It was dark and the patrons around them smelled like the cigarettes they’d sucked down before coming inside. No one paid them any attention save the occasional ogling Delta got when she uncrossed and crossed her long legs; Mike had given one guy a glare that had sent him relocating across the bar. The music was low, unobtrusive, and out of her element, without any pretenses to uphold – the same as at the bowling alley – Delta was relaxing. Their forearms were pressed together on top of the bar and her long dark hair kept brushing across the sleeve of his white oxford. Her midnight blue dress was clingy, covered in sequins, and sleeveless; she kept leaning in closer and closer, seeking out body heat, goose bumps visible on the V of skin where the dress’s neckline plunged down into her cleavage. Had she been anyone else, he would have been sure he was getting lucky later. But with Delta, he wondered if she’d even let him walk her to her door, and how pathetic was he that he cared?

 

“What were you doing at Aces tonight?” he asked, reaching for his beer, and could tell by her expression that she knew he wasn’t asking casually like he had over the phone earlier.

 

Her finger went around her wineglass again and she breathed a tired-sounding sigh. “My friend Regina loves it. She wanted to…go doubles tonight.”

 

“A double date,” he said, and she nodded. “So my rival likes the night club scene?” He asked it lightly, or he thought he did, but Delta gave him a withering look.

 

“Don’t say ‘rival’. It’s not like that.”

 

“What should I call him then? My challenger? The wannabe? The other guy?”

 

“Don’t -,”

 

“You’re dating two guys,” he reminded. “There’s not a pretty way to spin that, sweetheart.”

 

Her spine went rigid and she withdrew her arm away from his. “I’ve been seeing Greg for three months,” she said. Her expression was closing up, the cold exterior crystallizing again. “I just met you.”

 

“Well, if Greg was so awesome, you wouldn’t have ditched him tonight.”

 

“I -,”

 

“What?” he kept his voice neutral, but the truth was not what she wanted to hear. She clenched her dainty little jaw and glared at him murderously. “You think you’re too good for something like that? Just admit it: this Greg loser is a total dud and you’d rather be with me, but for some reason, it’s fun to keep me wondering.”

 

“Where do you get off?” she said through her teeth.

 

“With you if you’ll get over yourself.”

 

Her eyes flew open in shock, then narrowed to slits. Jordan, silent as always, had materialized on the other side of the bar and whistled. “Ladykiller, man,” he said with a snort.

 

“Shit, I didn’t mean -,” Mike sighed, but Delta was already recoiling. Shutting down. She moved as far away from him on her stool as she could get and pulled her sparkly little purse up in front of her on top of the bar.

 

“I think we’re done here,” she said, and stared at the back wall.

 

She wanted him to shut up and take her home, he realized. She honest to God did think she was too good for him, and now that he’d stepped out of line one too many times, she thought he should play chauffeur and keep his hands to himself.

 

Mike motioned to Jordan for the tab and chugged down the rest of his beer. He’d take her home. He’d do what she wanted. But he wasn’t doing it quietly. “You know,” he leaned in close and thought she might have cringed away from him, “you can act all offended if you want to, but you like me.” If it was possible to blink angrily, she did it now, still staring at the back wall. “If you’d get out of your own damn way, and give me a real shot, you wouldn’t miss your little Greg for a second.”

 

**

 

You like me. Of all the true statements Mike had delivered before they’d left the bar, that had been the truest. It was why, as she gave him directions to her apartment and sulked in his passenger seat, guilt descended the likes of which she hadn’t felt for leaving Greg behind at Aces. She did like him. Liked him enough that she felt like a cheater who was running around on her boyfriend with a younger, hotter model. Forget cheater, she felt like a man in that respect. She felt reckless and stupid and she really wanted to apologize and invite Mike Walker up for one more drink and whatever might unfold on her couch afterward.

 

She gave him the code to get into the gate at her apartment complex and directed him to her unit. He didn’t look angry, not really, but he was big and silent beside her in the dark car as he swung into a parking spot and that was foreboding in and of itself. When she started to let herself out, he killed the engine and popped his door.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Walking you up.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“Do you know the odds of someone with your legs getting jumped in a dark parking lot? I’m walking you up.”

 

She didn’t argue, and the weight of his hand against the small of her back was comforting. And maybe something more than that. All the way up to the third floor she tried to come up with an adequate way to say she was sorry without sounding weak and flighty. But she was in uncharted territory here and her head was full of wine. When they reached her door and she pulled her keys out of her pocket, Mike sighed.

 

“Have a good rest of your night or whatever,” he said behind her, and Delta cursed to herself as she stared at the shiny brass numbers on her door.

 

For one last desperate moment, she scrambled for something witty and charming to say that wouldn’t make her sound pathetic. Then she gave up and turned to face him. “You were right,” she said, an unhappy frown pulling at the corners of her mouth as she flicked a glance up to his green eyes.

 

“About…?”

 

“I do like you,” she said with a sigh, “against all my better judgment. And Greg really is a dud, but -,”

 

She pressed herself back against the door when he lunged toward her. His hands landed on either side of her head and he ducked down and kissed her.

 

It was an aggressive, invasive kiss. It was exactly what she’d imagined of him, but better – real and hot and left her mouth opening under his. She didn’t feel her hand go slack, but her keys rattled as they landed on the carpet between her shoes. He stepped into her and his hand felt huge as it moved over her shoulder and his thumb traced up her throat and the soft underside of her jaw. It felt like it lasted forever and not long enough at the same time; she stretched toward him, completely shameless when he pulled back.

 

Her heart was galloping behind her breastbone and her stomach was tying itself in excited knots. It’s the wine, she told herself, but it wasn’t. It was the sharp, night and day contrast between what she was used to and whatever this was. Mike grinned and she hated him for it, but she wanted him to kiss her again.

 

“Do you…” she flattened her palms against his chest between the open halves of his jacket, fingers digging into hard muscle through his shirt. “Wanna come in for coffee…or a beer…I don’t have beer…or sex or something?”

 

“Hell yes.”

 

He stepped away from her so she could snatch up her keys and unlock her apartment. Her hands shook. How many nights had Greg pulled the knot in his tie loose and given her his version of the look, and she’d felt a whole bunch of nothing in response. Two tragic dates with Mike and she was blushing head to toe and running the possibilities through her mind.

 

Pathetic, she reminded herself, and didn’t care.

 

He shut the door behind them as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on its decorative peg. The lock clicked into place and she heard the rustle of his bomber jacket sliding off his arms. He hung it beside hers and the cracked old leather of it looked so out of place in her mocha-colored entry hall with her dainty furniture pieces that she almost laughed. God, what was she doing? She wasn’t impulsive, she didn’t take guys home she didn’t know, she didn’t…

 

“What?” she was staring at him, she realized, and her expression wasn’t encouraging because he was starting to frown. “You’re not just jerking me around, are you?”

 

“No,” she snapped.

 

His eyes moved over her, so, so green. His face softened if that was even possible. “Are you freaking out? Shit, I -,”

 

“No.” She pushed her hair back and shook her head. She was, if she was honest, but she didn’t want to be. It wasn’t voluntary. “No, I’m not.”

 

“God, you’re difficult,” he said, and it didn’t sound like an insult.

 

“I know.” She wet her lips and took a deep breath. “I’m -,”

 

Sorry was cut off by a knock that startled both of them. Mike gave her a raised-brow look. “I don’t -,” she started, and then Greg’s voice floated through the door.

 

“Delt, are you there? I saw your door shut.”

 

Shit, he’d been right behind them.

 

“Is that him?” Mike asked. “Is that the dud?”

 

She shushed him with a wave.

 

“Delt?” Greg called. “Come on, I know you’re home.”

 

“I, um…”

 

“Can I get rid of him?” Mike asked, a malicious look flashing through his eyes. He moved toward the door.

 

“No!” Delta hissed, throwing herself between him and the door, a hand curling around the knob to keep him away. It wouldn’t do any good, she realized as she stared up at him, because he could pick her up with one hand and knock Greg unconscious with the other, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

 

“Delta, honey,” Greg said.

 

“Honey,” Mike mimicked. “Let’s make out while he’s standing there.” He leaned down like he intended to do just that and she clapped a hand over his mouth.

 

“Shut up.”

 

The doorknob wiggled in her hand as Greg tested it. “I’m fine,” she called back, hating how shrill her voice was. “You didn’t need to bother coming all the way over here.”

 

“Open the door.”

 

“No. No, I…” Mike licked her palm and she pulled her hand away, glaring at him. “I’m sick,” she lied, “That’s why I had to leave the club. I didn’t want to expose you.”

 

“What’s wrong, are you okay?” he actually sounded concerned. “Let me in and I can -,”

 

“No, it’s okay, I don’t want you to catch -,”

 

“Delta, open the do -,”

 

“Get lost, jackass,” Mike said, and his deep voice reverberated in the narrow entry hall, bouncing against the door. Delta gasped. “If anybody’s playing doctor tonight, it ain’t gonna be you.”

 

She waited, pulse leaping, furious, and the silence stretched on the other side of the door for a long, regrettable moment. Finally, the shuffling sounds of Greg’s shoes retreated down the carpeted hall. The door that led into the stairwell opened and then closed with a squeal of hinges.

 

“You asshole,” she tried to shove Mike and he wouldn’t budge. “You can’t say that to him. He -,”

 

“I don’t give a shit about him,” he said, suddenly serious as he pressed his face in close to hers. “You said you wanted competition, well, I’m competing, baby, and I’m not gonna be some dumbass who lets that guy have his fair turn. If you don’t want me, say so, ‘cause I’ll play the game all day if I’ve got a chance of winning, but if not, I’m outta here.”

 

Men tried to bribe her: dinners and drinks and flowers. They tried to buy her: jewelry and weekends away and lavish compliments. But they didn’t fight for her. Didn’t fight with her, and she was fast coming to learn that she sort of loved that – the sparks and venom and promise of something worth remembering between her Egyptian cotton sheets.

 

“Your call,” he shrugged like he didn’t care, though his eyes gave away how badly he didn’t want to be kicked to the curb.

 

She arched away from the wall and pressed herself against him, arms sliding all the way up around his neck. “Kiss me.”

 

And he did.