Page 54 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Her shifting twists her T-shirt’s neckline. My eyeballs zero in on the tease of visible skin—because Delilah, skin—then I freeze. I don’t blink. A black string I hadn’t noticed hangs over her collarbone, dipping below the cotton of her shirt. It could be any black string. Any necklace, but my heart beats faster. So damn fast I can barely talk. “Is that . . .”

She frowns. Follows my line of sight, then bites her lip and presses her hand over the center of her chest. “It is.”

The moon necklace I made for her. The one she said she’d never take off.

The one I assumed she destroyed in a blaze of fury.

Neither of us is petting Candy now. Delilah watches me. I watch her. I’m not sure what wearing my necklace means, but it means something. “I figured you threw it away.”

Swallowing slowly, she traces the shape of the moon through her shirt. “I got rid of most of your stuff, had a bonfire while Maggie cursed you and squirted gasoline, but some things . . .” She shrugs, giving me a sad smile.

She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. She kept this necklace and the reglued horse figurine. Even though I broke her heart, a part of her still cared enough to save pieces of me.

Maybe she always hoped I’d come back.

“May I?” I reach for the string but wait for her to give me the okay to touch it. To touch her.

She nods, and I fit my fingers under the string, can’t help grazing her collarbone and silk-soft skin. Heat spirals through my stomach. Goose bumps erupt along her neck.

Loving her reaction, I pull out the pendant and run my thumb over the smooth rock. “I like seeing this on you.”

“I don’t know why I put it on. I mean, it’s not like we’re us anymore. But you were my best friend, and it’s been so nice spending time together. And I—”

“Delilah,” I cut in.

“Yeah?” She’s breathing harder, so many emotions swimming in her eyes.

“I don’t care why you’re wearing it. I’m just glad you are.”

She blinks and nods. We resume petting Candy, our fingers brushing again but lingering more. The extended contact makes my blood rush. My heart becomes a fireball burning up my chest. She focuses on my mouth, her eyes falling heavy, and I nearly launch myself at her.

“I should probably go,” I force out. I don’t want to leave or move, but I’m offering her an opening. A chance to tell me to stay, to confess she’s not engaged and ask me if we can give our relationship a second chance.

She traces my nail again, turning the area into an erogenous zone. “Probably best.” Her finger slowly leaves mine. “I have an early start.”

“Yeah, sure.” I deflate slightly and hate standing up, but she’s wearing my necklace. I’ll take that as a win. I’m also turned on from the finger flirting and don’t attempt to hide it.

I adjust myself best I can and look up to catch Delilah focused on the bulge behind my fly. My cock twitches. Pink sears her cheeks. I’d kill to see that pink steal across her chest and breasts, stain her skin with desire as I peel off her underwear and give her a filthy lick.

I grit my teeth and give my butt a hard clench.

At the door, with Candy doing her impatient dance, I linger before leaving. “I can make curry for tomorrow, if you want.”

“You make curry?”

We picked up food a couple of nights this week and alternated cooking the other evenings. Simple, easy meals like pasta, grilled chicken, and Cobb salad. I’ve been waiting to cross off number forty-seven on my list: make Delilah my orgasmic lamb curry.

“Sathya had me over to her family’s for dinner once, and I begged her mother to share her recipe.” Although I make mine with far fewer green chilies. “My spice collection is off the charts.”

“I love that you love to cook.”

I love that Delilah still loves things about me. “Aside from drawing and running, cooking was a great way for me to get out of my head. Kind of like baking for you—the simple tasks of following recipes shifted my focus. And if my food was good enough, it would shut my brothers up for longer than two minutes.”

She inhales deeply, attention hazy as if lost in thought. “I miss your loud family.”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, remembering my last sight of Desmond, his self-loathing as he gripped his steering wheel, saying he never wanted Sadie to see what he’s become. “I miss them too.”

More specifically, the people we were before my father ruined our lives.