Page 95 of Finding Delaware

Yeah, the amount of time I spent studying his IG posts to get everything right is embarrassing. I was going to add him in, too, eventually, but thank fuck that I didn’t. I don’t think I’d ever come back from that embarrassment.

Handing the book back, his eyes shine as he smiles brightly at me. “You’re a real artist, Huck. I’m serious. Those are so good.”

Damn, the pride in his eyes. It makes me feel…

I hate the way it makes me feel.

“I agree,” Salem nods. “You’ve got talent, Huckslee. Think about our offer. If you’re interested, let us know, and we’ll sort out the logistics.”

I huff an anxious laugh as I shove the book into my bag. “Logistics. What, are you their manager or something?”

“Marketing manager.” She rolls her eyes before glancing over her shoulder at where Logan is fixing dinner. “I’m trying to make my boyfriend their business manager, but he’s being a little bitch.”

“I don’t know the first thing about managing a business, Salem,” he grumbles, chopping onions, and that gets a laugh out of me.

“Isn’t that, like, the whole purpose of your college degree? To learn how?”

“Doing something in theory and practice are two totally different things.”

“How will you learn if you don’t try, babe?” She squints at him. “Why do you think I do all this shit for Taylor andChristian without getting paid? The experience. Knowledge. Duh. Well, and plus, they’re both broke as a joke.”

Dinner is spent with the two of them poking fun at each other while Taylor chimes in, and that peaceful feeling starts to settle over me again. It’s kind of...easy spending time with them. Despite all the heavy stuff between Taylor and me, the vibe that all three of them put off is warm and inviting, like family.

After moving to Cali, I spent a lot of time alone. Sure, I had my grandparents over the summer, who were amazing and took me on trips whenever possible. I had my roomie Shawn, who’s pretty chill and taught me to surf. A few friends from classes. I had my teammates, but they were just that; teammates. Coworkers. I never really hung out with any of them off the field. And then there were the boyfriends. One boyfriend after another, no relationship lasting longer than a year at most, because despite how hard I tried to make things work, I always felt...lonely. And fake.

But I loved the ocean. A painful, almost homesickness chokes me up when I think about how much I miss that wide-open, churning vastness. Sitting on a surfboard, tossed about by something alive and free and more significant than any of my problems. But still. The sea never made me feel this way, even on its calmest days. And I don’t know how to handle it because I ran away from Utah in the first place to feel like this. So why is it hitting me now, here, of all places?

Once dinner is cleaned up, Logan and Salem head upstairs while Taylor follows like a lost puppy. I stay on the couch, listening to their conversations while working on homework. I planned on sleeping down here; I really did. But when theirchattering starts to fade, I find myself heading up, throat closing with emotion at how they all make room for me in the bed like it’s an unspoken invitation.

Taylor’s eyes meet mine briefly before they sink closed, and I can’t help but think:

After all these years, why does it feel like I’m finally coming home?

Taylor

It’s our final day at the cabin, and Logan left for the day with Salem.

They borrowed my truck because Logan had some surprise or something for her, which means I’m stuck here alone. With Huckslee. On Valentine’s Day. Until they return later tonight.

He’s currently downstairs on the couch, doing homework or whatever, while I’m up here on the floor in the loft staring at the ceiling. Trying to get my feelings in order, wishing I could go down there and climb on his lap again, but that’s a big ol’ negative because he’s been in a piss poor mood all morning. All weekend, really, despite the few smiles I’ve dragged out of him like the sun playing peek-a-boo during a storm.

Fuck, he’s such a grump.

Probably needs to get laid.

Yeah, well, he can get in line because I’m the only one who’s touched my dick in like two months. Not really a record,seeing as how I spent six months in jail at one point, but it’s been many a year since I’ve gone this long without at least a blowjob, and it’s making me cranky as fuck.

Not for lack of trying. Really, every time Christian brings a chick back from the Prospector, he tries to share, but I’m just not into it. Seems my shit only stands at attention lately when it involves the sulky fucker downstairs who hates me, so that’s just great.

Hasn’t even touched me, and he owns this dick.

How unfair is that?

Thumping comes from the stairs, and I lift onto my elbows in time to see Huckslee pause on the top step, frowning.

“Why are you on the floor?”

He’s wearing a Calvin Klein sweater, sleeves rolled up to showcase his veiny forearms and jeans that hug his thighs. His curls are still damp from a shower.

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