Page 124 of The Cost of Forgetting You

Then, just as quickly, he retreats. He sucks the remnants of me off his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. Lips that find mine and open, pleading with mine to open too. I do. And his tongue moves against mine, tangling and unraveling again and again, till I’m convinced I’m going to have to beg him to take me home and fuck me right now.

I pull away, and the world is hazy. All except Truett, who exists as he always has for me: in Technicolor. “Tru?—”

“I brought shots!” Alicia’s holding two up over her head. “Well, for Delilah and me at least. Beer for the gentlemen per Destin’s request.”

I blush scarlet. Alicia and I have just gotten close again, but she said it herself. She’s always been able to read me like an open book. One look at me and she’ll know I’m guilty as sin.

She places one shot in front of me. It’s clear, likely vodka since there’s no lime. My stomach burns at the sight of it, but when our eyes meet and she gives me a knowing wink, I decide even the worst shot in the world is better than facing her right now.

“Cheers!” She holds hers out. Destin passes a beer to Truett, and they both join in as well. “To good health. Old friends. And forever loves.”

“Cheers,” Destin echoes.

I swear Truett nudges me as he chimes in.

Finally I echo them all and down the shot before I can hang too much hope on a simple toast.

“Okay, now I promised you dancing”—Tru slides out of the booth and reaches back for me—“so dancing is what you shall get.”

I giggle. I’m doing a lot of that tonight, despite not being a particularly giggly person. Before I know it, my hand is in his and I’m floating across the room to the little dance floor. “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw spills from the jukebox, whether on purpose or by sheer dumb luck. I grin up at Truett, who sweeps one arm around my waist and uses the other to take my hand in his, and shake my head. “How did you know it’d be a slow song?”

“I have my ways,” he says, then glances over my shoulder. I follow his gaze and find Alicia has managed to get Destin out here after all. When she catches us looking, she shimmies her shoulders and offers a thumbs-up.

“I love her,” I say, sighing. The room is spinning, probably because we are too. But it feels good. Light and carefree in a way I haven’t been in years. Or ever.

“I’m glad you have her.” Tru steps away from me and guides me under his arm, capturing me as I spin away from him and lowering me into a dip.

“Truett Cole Parker, since when did you learn how to dance so well?”

He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

I raise mine too. “What? You’re the only one who can whip out middle names?”

He snorts. We’re moving in tune with each other as though we’ve done this a thousand times. He retreats; I follow. He pushes in; I let him guide me away. When our gazes meet again, he says, “Yes, I can dance.”

“Some other talent you picked up while I’ve been gone?”

Something sad flashes in his gaze, but it’s gone before I can hyper-analyze it. It’s replaced by a simmering heat so visceral I’m right back in that booth in a second, his fingers inside me, thinking I’ll make a fool of myself by coming from his touch alone.

“I’ve got so many talents I’ve been saving for you, Delilah.”

The music fades out, leaving us locked in this breathless embrace, his hard length pressing against my stomach and a responding warmth spreading through my limbs.

In the brief silence before another song loads, I hear an alert come through on my phone. I’m about to ignore it when another follows suit. Truett’s brow furrows. “You might wanna get that.”

“Already on it.” I pluck my phone from the back pocket of my jean skirt and glance at the screen. “It’s Roberta.”

Alicia and Destin step into our orbit as Truett asks, “Is everything okay with Henry?”

“Is your dad all right?” Alicia adds.

I squint at the screen, trying to make it make sense in my alcohol-induced haze.

Roberta

I hate to interrupt, but your dad isn’t doing well. Very agitated and confused.

Roberta

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