Unlikely Love: A Romance Single (7 page)

A tear ran down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. She wasn't bothered about her makeup running, or looking ugly. She was bothered about exposing her emotions in front of someone who seemed to know so much more about her than she knew about him.

Nolan Rigby was the only person who'd even tried to look past the veneer, she just didn't understand why.

Blinking her thick lashes, another tear rolled down her face. She kept her eyes closed listening to the rhythmic beating of her heart. It was making her entire body heat up, and it wasn't from the Spanish heat. A gentle thumb reached out and brushed away the tear. She leaned into his hand, wanting him to touch her. With her eyes closed, her other senses heightened. She could hear Nolan's sharp and short breaths and she could smell his thick and manly scent. In her mind's eye, she could see his exposed chest, his strong jawline dusted with stubble, his dark eyes and the glasses that framed them.

“You shouldn't be scared to be human,” he whispered deeply.

His voice was gravelly and it tickled the hairs on the back of her hand.

Eyes still closed, she felt a pair of rough and dry hands pick up her soft and dainty fingers. She didn't struggle. She let Nolan hold both of her hands in his and he gave them a reassuring squeeze. A little voice in the back of her head was telling her to pull away and kick him out of her room.

He'd made her cry. She hadn't let herself cry in so long.

Instead, she ignored the voice and listened to another voice, which was telling her she wanted to feel the touch of his rosé tinted lips against hers. She listened to the voice, and her eyes sprung open. Nolan was only inches away, as he held her, stroking the back of her hand with the same thumb that was still wet from wiping away her tear. Their eyes locked, causing a stirring inside. A stirring that she'd never felt with André.

She took his eye contact as approval and dived forwards, pulling her hands from his to grip his open shirt. She dragged his body towards hers and pressed her breasts against his open chest. Their lips locked, and he tasted just as she'd expected. A hint of rosé mixed with a hint of mint toothpaste. This close, his scent was intoxicating. She was so intoxicated, she barely noticed that he wasn't kissing back.

“Delilah, no,” he moaned, pushing her back into her chair with his hands firmly on her shoulders, “you're drunk.”

“I've had two glasses!” she protested, trying to lunge forwards again, but the hands kept her in place.

“Not like this,” he said, “it's not right. I wouldn't do that to you.”

The pink haze disappeared from her mind as she stared at the man that dared to reject her. There were so many men that would give their right arm to spend just a moment with the famous Delilah White. Had she met the one man who wasn't interested in her at all? Had she felt a burning lust for that man?

“Oh my god, you're gay aren't you?” she put her hand over her mouth, “You're so gay! How could I not see it before?”

Nolan laughed and leaned back into his chair, knocking back the rest of his wine. He licked the remainder of it from his lips before speaking.

“I'm not gay Delilah,” he tilted his head and smiled at her.

“So what's the problem?” she laughed.

“I just don't want to be 'that' guy. You opened up to me, and you cried. I don't want to use you,” he cocked his head back, but didn't break the eye contact.

“So what do you want from me?” she cried.

She sounded offended and hurt.

He stood up, causing the legs of the white plastic chair to bend and scrape against the balcony floor. Silently, he walked over to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, resting his forearms on the low metal railing as he peered over at the murky pool.

“Nothing,” he said casually, “I don't want anything from you.”

Delilah didn't understand.

“I just thought -”

“If I gave you that impression, I'm sorry,” he didn't turn to face her, “there's something else I didn't tell you.”

“What?”

“I was married for 6 years,” he said quietly, “I got divorced two years ago.”

That didn't bother Delilah. She didn't care about a man's relationship past. She suddenly thought to André and realized that she had another secret of her own, much worse than a divorce. A boyfriend.

“I'm sorry I tried to kiss you,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples.

Maybe it was just the wine?

“I'm sorry I let you,” he turned around and winked at her.

His cheeky and amused self returned.

She glanced to the bottle and they still had a glass each left to drink, but the mood for wine had passed.

“I think I'll go to bed,” she said, faking a yawn.

“I'll say goodnight then,” he smiled, clapping his hands together.

She stood up and Nolan walked over to her. They stood, staring at each other awkwardly for a second as they figured out the best way to say goodnight. A hug seemed too intimate, a kiss on the cheek seemed to risky and a handshake seemed too formal. Delilah decided to fill her hands up with the bottle and the two glasses so she could duck past Nolan without needing to do or say anything. He headed towards the door as she set them on the dresser next to her hundreds of dollars' worth of makeup.

She was expecting another silent exit, but he paused at the door and dropped his head.

“Have you got anything planned tomorrow?” he asked casually.

Delilah knew she didn't. She was practically free until the rehearsal.

“I don't think so,” she was already starting to unclip her extensions.

“You really should see more of Spain before you leave,” he said, almost to himself, “I'll be in touch.”

Before Delilah could protest, he ducked out of the room. The soft click of his door let her know she was safe to collapse onto her bed and grip her hair in her fists. She never wanted to be in another situation with Nolan where she would find herself trying to kiss him. She was more embarrassed than anything. She couldn't remember the last time a man had pushed her away.

As the fruity wine rushed to her head, she kicked off her heels and closed her eyes.

Nolan Rigby was just a normal guy.

A normal guy, who didn't want anything from her.

As Delilah tried to curl her hair, she longed for air conditioning. Every time she managed to wrap her hair around the barrel of the curler, her fingers would slip and it would fall limply to her shoulders. Whenever she did successfully curl her hair, it would drop and turn straight in a matter of minutes.

“Why do you have thousands of dollars' worth of dresses in your shower, De?” Marcus called from the bathroom.

“Oh,” she mumbled, burning the end of her finger on the barrel as she tried again to curl the same piece she'd been curling for ten minutes, “I put them there.”

“Well, I know that,” he mumbled as he walked out of the bathroom, clutching the designer dresses, “but why?”

She hadn't told Marcus about Nolan's night visit and she didn't intend to. Delilah didn't know what it was, so she didn't want Marcus jumping to any conclusions. As far as she was concerned, they were just two adults drinking wine and sharing stories. Even if she didn't believe that, that was her story and she was sticking to it.

“And why are all of your shoes under the bed?” Marcus bent down and lifted up the sheet to see more discarded fashion items.

“I had a cleanup,” she tried to sound casual.

Dropping her barrel curler onto the counter, she decided to take a break from her hair to concentrate on her makeup. As she tried to steadily apply eyeliner, she longed for a makeup artists help. It had been so long since she'd had to do her own face, she wasn't sure she knew how anymore. Her mother would tell her that all girls know, but Delilah's fingers were more used to playing a guitar, not applying black stuff to her eyes.

“You, clean?” Marcus mocked, “Are you feeling okay? You didn't eat anything from that buffet did you?”

Marcus tapped her playfully on her shoulder, knocking her at the crucial moment, sending her cat-eye flick into something a lot more adventurous. Huffing, she gazed at her reflection. With one eye bare and the other with wonky eye liner, she looked a sight.

“Can I just have some peace and quiet for five minutes, so I can get ready?” she shot Marcus a look in the mirror that silenced him.

He'd stumbled back to the hotel in the early hours with the guy from the bar. Apparently he met Julia in the lobby, who tried to stop them from entering, but Marcus spun a story about the young Spanish bartender being someone for Delilah White, and if she refused him entry, she'd feel the pop star's wrath. Delilah didn't mind him using her name, because she didn't particularly like the owner. He'd insisted on pouring over every detail of their interaction, which acted as a distraction to Delilah.

“Why are there two glasses out here?” Marcus called from the balcony.

Delilah felt a sinking in her stomach as she tried to match the other eye. For a second, she thought about not saying anything. After all, Marcus was her assistant, not her friend.

“The man from next door came around last night,” her casual tone came off as defensive.

“What?” Marcus laughed, collapsing onto the messy bed, “The journo with the cute smile?”

He did have a cute smile, she agreed with that.

“Just for a quick drink,” she shook her head dismissively, “it was for an interview.”

It was the first thing she could think of.

“An interview?” Marcus screwed his face up at her through the mirror, “We don't have any extra press scheduled for the stay.”

“It was for his stupid magazine. I said I'd say a few words,” she was getting good at lying.

“Tony won't be happy about that -”

“Tony isn't here,” she snapped.

She'd messed up the other eye, so the eyeliner was even crazier.

“Questions and wine? I wonder what André would say about that.”

“Don't you have something to do?”

Marcus stopped smirking at her through the mirror and glanced down at his exposed stomach as he lay casually on her bed. She got back to trying to match up her eyeliner, but the more she did, the thicker and crazier it got. It looked like it was going to be another sunglasses day.

She delicately applied red lipstick which complimented the rose blush over her softly tanned skin. The heat made her decide against a heavy foundation. There was nothing more unattractive than watching somebodies face melt off.

As she stared at her reflection, she decided she didn't look that bad. Her curls had dropped out to almost nothing, giving her soft beach waves and her makeup didn't look so bad if she squinted. Guys didn't notice mismatching eyeliner anyway.

“Pool?” Marcus asked as he scrolled through his cellphone.

“I can't,” she said, “I have plans.”

“What?” he sounded hurt, “with who?”

“Nolan.”

“Who?”

“The guy from next door.”

“You're going on a date with a journalist?”

Hearing him call it a date made her tummy do strange things.

“It's not a date,” the defensiveness was back.

“What is it then?”

Delilah didn't know. The way Nolan had suggested he show her more of Spain sounded so casual and non-committal. The way he said '
I'll be in touch
'
sounded like a throw-away comment. Nothing had been arranged, but she was expecting him to be in touch somehow. He didn't seem like the type of guy who would blow someone off, even if that someone had tried to make a desperate pass at them the night before.

“He's a travel journalist isn't he? He just said he'd show me some sights.”

“Since when have you wanted to see sights?”

“Since now,” she shook her head at Marcus, “it's none of your business anyway.”

Marcus crammed his cellphone back into his tight denim booty shorts before holding his hands up and jumping up from her bed. His body looked scrawny and over-tanned, just like most of the guys in LA.

He told her he was going down to the pool to sunbathe, not that he needed to. As he walked out of the room, he muttered something about noticing a cute boy who worked in the hotel he'd had his eye on.

Leaving Delilah alone in the room, she sat on the edge of her bed in the silent heat, glancing at herself in the mirror. She didn't know why she was so bothered about how she looked. There was nothing going on between her and Nolan. She didn't even know if she liked him. Maybe she wouldn't even go with him today? Sunbathing seemed like the easier option.

With the sun high in the sky, late morning turned into early afternoon and Delilah started to feel even more anxious about it. She didn't know how she'd react if she didn't hear from him all day. Considering that he might be punishing her for expecting him to want to kiss her, she headed out onto her balcony.

Glancing to the right, she could see Nolan's balcony. Several pairs of tiny white underwear hung drying on the railing next to a towel and the denim shirt he'd worn the night before. An empty bottle of red wine sat on an identical table to hers, but there was no sign of Nolan.

She could already see Marcus settling into his sun lounger, unaware that Delilah could see him. He was clearly staring over his sunglasses at the young pool attendant who seemed to fishing the trash from the murky pool in nothing more than a pair of red trunks. He looked just like Marcus' type.

Just when she was about to give up and gatecrash Marcus' flirting party, there was a soft knock on the door. Quickly, she hopped through the mess on her floor and tore open the door a little too eagerly.

There was nobody there.

She glanced up and down the hall but the entire place was empty. The faint sound of Julia shouting something in Spanish floated up from the reception, but there was no sign of Nolan. She was about to march over to his room to demand answers of why she was being ignored, but something white on her door caught her eye.

A torn scrap of paper was attached to the wood with a tiny piece of tape. A couple of words were scrawled across it in beautiful and elegant writing:

'Meet me outside in an hour. N x'.

Her heart fluttered more than she'd expected it to at the note. She held it close to her chest for a second, before realizing what she was doing was slightly weird.

The way Nolan contacted her was strange and cute, and the '
x
' gave her a weird feeling that wasn't unpleasant. Wondering what he could have planned, she headed back into her room to redo her hair and makeup.

The more she told herself it wasn't a date, the more she didn't believe it.