Page 39 of Can’t Say No

“Delaney in love, let’s hope we get a good album out of this.”

“I’m looking forward to the breakup songs.”

“What’s his deal? Do we like this guy??”

I feel a little sick reading through them, like all these voyeurs are pressing their noses to the glass, panting for more. I get that Delaney is used to this, but it feels so incredibly foreign to me, having damn near the whole world know my business. I’m regretting that contract right about now.

But then I look at Delaney.

And she’s looking at me.

And there’s so much hope in her eyes, like maybe this really will help and she really can appease her father and she really can get her career back on track.

Like maybe she really can have it all.

So I give her hand a reassuring squeeze and say what I always say: “Anything for you, Lanie Lou.”

The choir is really freaking good. Better than the past two years that I chaperoned for. They have an energy that can’t be taught; you can tell that they all gel well together and the good vibes are infectious. And, as much as Mrs. Crane worries, they really are a sweet group of kids. They mingled with the elementary students after their performance, pouring attention over them like they remember how special it feels to have big kids talk to you.

Delaney tried so hard to be a fly on the wall, but of course, she was spotted right away. She dutifully set up shop in the corner of the auditorium and signed little headshots that I didn’t even realize she’d brought with her. It’s eerie how quickly she can slip into pop star mode.

“Find your seatmate! No man left behind!” Crane yells out as the session comes to an end. For such a tiny lady, she’s so loud. “Time to load back on the bus.”

Delaney saunters my way and elbows me in the ribs as we head towards the bus. “Hey, seatmate.”

I hip check her back and nearly knock her off balance in the process.

Swooping in to steady her, I mumble an apology, and keep an arm wrapped over her shoulder. It’s dumb, but the simple gesture makes my heart race, and my mind wanders back to that kiss. It doesn’t have to wander far. That moment has been swirling at the front of my mind all day: the feel of her lips, the comfort of her hands on me, the little contented sounds she made against my mouth. I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else.

Has she been thinking about it too? The way she leaned in, pulled me closer… it felt like she was searching for more. I make a great effort to fight back that line of thinking. We’re contractually obligated to kiss. There was nothing more to it than that.

“All that signing really worked up an appetite,” she says brightly, pulling me from my spiral. “I hope we’re eating some place cool, something real local.”

“Golden Corral. We’re eating at Golden Corral,” I deadpan.

Delaney locks eyes with me and for a moment, I can’t get a read on her expression.

Slowly, the corners of her lips turn up and the biggest, goofiest smile stretches across her face. In a low, quiet voice, she says, “Okay, here’s the deal. You can’t judge me for this…”

Intrigued, I lean in closer. “Nonjudgmental Connor is what they called me at summer camp.”

Her grin grows even wider as she continues. “I am about to eat an insane amount of food. A metric crap ton, if you will. And I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

I do nothing to prevent the hearty laugh from escaping. “Delaney James, are you a secret buffet lover?”

She nods slowly, feigning shame. “It is my deepest, darkest secret.” Quickly she adds, “Don’t get me wrong! I’m a little pissed that we’re not eating at some adorable local spot, but I am about to feast like a motherfucking queen.”

And good God, she does. Delaney is first in line at the buffet, saying something about scoping it out for the students. She stacks her plates higher than I ever thought was possible. Cheesy bread, mystery meat, weird congealed salads. Delaney gathers food with reckless abandon.

When she finally sits down across from me, it’s a gosh dang cornucopia. Am I insane for being a little turned on?

“Connor, you’re looking at me like you’re judging me,” She says as she alternates between bites of tomato soup and spaghetti with meatballs.

All I can do is shake my head. “No judgement here! I’m actually pretty impressed. Never thought I’d see you throw down like this.”

Wiping her face delicately with a paper napkin, she’s a walking contradiction. Prim, proper, and petite, sitting behind a gluttonous mountain of food.

With her mouth full of chicken wings, she says, “Can’t tell you the last time I did something like this. Every choice I make has been micromanaged for so long…” she pauses, eyes floating across her bounty, taking it all in, “My team would flip if they saw me eating like this, but my therapist would be proud. Who knew pigging out at a buffet would be a tiny act of rebellion?”