Page 34 of The Parent Trap

I close my eyes, remembering this, now. All I’d remembered, originally, was being here, in the dark clearing of The Spot, playing spin the bottle. I’d gotten to kiss OliviaandCallie that night. I’d remembered laughing. Having fun. I’d forgottenwhywe were laughing, apparently.

“Shit,” I whisper.

“Now you remember?” She’s quiet another moment. “You whispered something to Dane, and he started laughing. And he looked at me, right at me, and was like, ‘Matt tells me you have a crush on me. That’s cute and all, McKenna, but I’m not into bestiality.’” I can hear the hurt in her voice. “Not into bestiality. That’s what he said to me. And you all laughed. Like, you all laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. Ha ha ha, Delia McKenna is a hippo. Delia McKenna is so ugly, so fat he wouldn’t even kiss me playing spin the bottle.”

“Delia, I—” I stop, because what the hell can I say? That’s who I was.

She wasn’t ugly, or fat. I was just a bastard.

“Want me to walk you back?” It’s all I can think of.

She picks up her shotgun—I see her movements as shadows moving in the darkness, and then she switches on her flashlight. “I’m good.”

“Sure? We had a bit of scotch, and as you said, these woods—”

“I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

I hold up one hand palm out. “Suit yourself.” I fumble my phone out of my back pocket, juggling the bottle and the speaker, manage to turn on my own flashlight. “See ya.”

I make it a few steps. “Thai?”

I stop, turn; she’s in the same spot, still, watching me walk away. “Yeah?”

“Don’t drive yet.”

I nod, even though I know she can’t see the gesture. “Yeah, no, I won’t. Thanks.”

The spear of her flashlight beam bobs away, into the forest, and I’m alone. I walk back to my truck, trying to figure out how I feel about that whole situation.

Delia clearly thinks the worst of me, and I can’t say I blame her.

When I get to my truck, I start it and put it in gear…and then back into park. Shut it off. Lean my seat back all the way and close my eyes.

Instead of sleep, I see Delia.

That green plaid skirt wrapped tight around thick, generous, juicy hips. The white button-down tailored to her trim waist, bulging around her breasts, gapped at the buttons showing teasing hints of white lace and silk of her bra.

I see again the unhelpfully graphic and detailed image I had earlier, when I thought about her lips—Delia on her knees, her thick long wavy hair loose around her shoulders. Sparkling lips parted, ready to take my cock.

I groan, open my eyes and push the image away, savagely.

WillNEVERhappen.

She sees me as…some kind of subhuman monster, some kind of soulless, black-hearted deviant.

A civil conversation mostly devoid of brutal digs at my intelligence and character is likely as good as it’s going to get.

And the worst part of it is, I earned it. She doesn’t know who I amnow, just who I was then.

I push that line of thought away. But my mind stubbornly goes back to her.

I don’t evenwantanything with Delia anyway. Physical, mental, let alone emotional.

I don’t want to see her naked.

Well…okay fine, maybe I do. I mean, shit—she’s suddenly a gorgeous woman with an incredible body. So yeah, sure, I can admit my lustful curiosity.

But I’m also entirely cognizant that Delia McKenna would bathe in acid before she allowed that. I doubt she’s even aware of me as a male.