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Delilah Duke Guzman. Oh-ho-ho. No, she did not.
Delilah Duke Guzman. I shake my head and smile again. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely smiled. Delilah Duke Guzman. If she wants, she can keep the first name. I’ll probably never call her that, so it won’t matter. Duke is permanent. I need to get the James back in there.
“Put your lips on her and I’ll make you swallow your fucking teeth.”
🤭
“What the fuck what, De-li-luh?” he seethes,
“And then what? What’s your plan after I pack a bag and leave with you?” “You’re going to marry me.”
I stare at her. PEOPLE NEED YOU HERE? I needed you. I still fucking need you.
I add it to the list of things that piss me off. It’s a long fucking list.
“Why me?” she whispers, searching my face intently. “Do you have any idea how much I lost because of the attack?” I ask. “I dropped in the draft. I didn’t get the money I’d been promised. The teams I wanted to play for, who were interested in me, passed. And then you. . .” And then you fucking left me there by myself, to pick up the fucking pieces of the heart you shattered because I was stupid enough to fall for you.
I’ve learned to exercise patience. Well, that might be a stretch, but I’ve gotten good at exercising patience. Fuck, okay, I’ve gotten better at it.
“I’ll hate you for it,” she says, eyes still narrowed. I shrug. “I don’t really care.”
The man she fell in love with would have thrown himself at her feet by now, begging her to return to him, but I’m not that man anymore. I don’t beg. I demand.
She makes me want to strangle her. She makes me want to fuck the shit out of her. She makes me want to strangle her while I fuck the shit out of her and make her come screaming my name.
I should look away. A decent man might, but she took my decency with her when she left me lying in a hospital bed three years ago.
