He’d never been very good at the romantic negotiations. The heavy, insinuating looks from girls when they moved to stand close to him. The cloying awkwardness of a girl trying to speak to him and becoming more and more self-conscious as he politely waited for her to finish saying whatever it was she wanted to say. Thankfully, most girls would eventually decide it was easier to pretend he wasn’t even there. But Delilah was a battering ram.
It was partly what drew him to her, but only partly. Her complete fearlessness felt calming and trustworthy, but her lips? and skin, and the hint of her breasts beneath her sweater didn’t hurt either.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” he lied.
“Liar. I just told you I wanted you to ask me out. Whether you’re intrigued or horrified, you have to be thinking about something.”
He didn’t bother denying it; he just smiled and looked at her face some more. She was so beautiful. Her skin was unreal, tiny freckles but otherwise smooth and clean with just the right amount of color blooming across her cheeks as she watched him. He could draw those eyes, he thought. Charcoal, maybe smudged with the edge of his little finger. Delilah’s eyes were wide-set, almost strangely almond shaped, and a turbulent gray-green like the crashing surf of Hallway Painting, waves pummeling stone and sand.
He would draw her later. He’d take the sketch downstairs, sit with Piano, listen to a song that he imagined would make drawn Delilah come to life, and he would pull her close to him, dance her across the floor. She would feel him, so real with her hands tugging his hair and her teeth pulling at the collar of his shirt like an impatient kitten, purring into his neck.
“Gavin?”
The real Delilah was waiting for an answer. How could they date when they didn’t even inhabit the same world? She, a mystery in her crisp shirt and pleated skirt, so unable to give up the prim uniform of Catholic school. He, with his tangle of hair, black shirt, jeans in the final throes of coherence.
“I’m not sure I’m really your type.”
Her smile curved her mouth into something edible. “I think you are.”
“I think you might be dangerous.” His left eyebrow quirked up, teasing her.
She laughed then, all husky and soft, and the sound burrowed into him, warming him from bones to skin. “I don’t think so, Gavin.”
“What would we do on a date, anyway?”
Her smile straightened, and she looked so earnest he would believe her if she told him the ground had turned invisible. “We could get milk shakes.”
His brows lifted.
“And maybe after we walked around for a while drinking our milk shakes, you’d hold my hand.”
He laughed. “Slow down, now.”
“And we’d talk. You’d talk.”
His expression fell a little.
“I hear it’s required on dates,” Delilah added. “It’s what I do every day with you. It’s your turn soon.”
“Talking really isn’t my strength.”
“I know,” she assured him.
“Then why would you want to go on a date with me where we have milk shakes and eventual hand-holding and awkward conversation?”
“Because,” she said, licking her lips into a sweet, shining red-apple kiss, “I’ve basically been at a convent for six years, and I’ve had a crush on you since we were nine. When I get you to say more than two words at a time, I feel like I’ve won something major.”
“Like a trophy made of chest hair?” he teased.
“Like a war.”
His skin pebbled in gooseflesh when she said that, not because it scared him but because it thrilled him to hear it from this tiny girl who drew pictures of bleeding crosses and eyeless skulls.
“What do you want from me, Delilah?”
“I want to be the only girl you look at.” No pretenses; she always said things like this, as if it cost her nothing to bare herself.
“You already are.”
“I’d like to be your girlfriend, Gavin Timothy.”
“Girlfriend? Or girl friend?” He felt the need to offer her plenty of chances to take it back.
“One word. ‘Girlfriend.’ ‘Sweetheart.’ Whatever you call it. That’s what I want with you.”
“Sweetheart?” he repeated, teasing. “My best gal?”
Shrugging, she whispered, “Yeah.”
He looked to the side, considering what that would mean. “You would have to know about me.”