Jessica Sorensen - Delilah - The Making of Red

He kicks the cup out of the way and steps closer to me, restraining a grin as he pats me on the back. “Are you okay?”

I nod, biting back a gag. “Super.” I cough, pressing my hand to my chest as I stand back up. “I’m sorry. I thought it was water.”

“Do you want me to get you a water so you can wash it down?” he asks, watching me, his eyes always locked on me, unlike a lot of people who usually look through me when they talk to me, like I barely exist. At least that’s what it feels like.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good now. I promise.”

He nods and then scoots a few liquor bottles out of the way so he can hop on the counter, where he sits and lets his legs dangle over the edge. “So, other than dancing down the driveway and staying up all night and getting freaky with your laundry, what else do you like to do?” He flashes me a grin, and I nearly melt into a puddle right there on the kitchen floor for the crowd to tramp through.

“That’s about it, really,” I admit, scooting closer to him as people pack their way into the already crowded kitchen. “I’m actually pretty boring.”

“I doubt that.” His eyes fill with want. “In fact, aren’t redheads supposed to be wild and fun?”

I self-consciously touch my hair, wishing that were true, wishing I could say yes, wishing I could be that for him. “I think that’s blondes.”

He shakes his hand, his gaze devouring me. “No way. It’s definitely redheads.” He considers something. “Blondes are known for being airheads.”

I snort a laugh. “Well, my mom’s a blonde, and she’s no spacier than I am.”

He considers something for a moment. “Your mom’s a beautiful woman,” he says, and it feels like a knife has entered my chest. He leans forward and touches the side of my head with his fingers. “You look just like her except for the hair.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little confused. “Wait, that was a compliment, right?”

He laughs as he hops off the counter. “It was, but since that wasn’t completely clear, here’s another one for you.” He inches toward me, and I have to tip my head up to meet his eyes. Even though there are people around us, it feels like we’re the only ones in the room.

We stand there for an eternity. He’s eyeing my lips, and I’m struggling to breathe. Then I stop breathing altogether as he reaches forward and grazes his thumb across my bottom lip. “You have the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen.”

I want to say thank you, but I’m speechless, and the feeling only amplifies when he leans in like he’s going to kiss me. But that can’t be right, because gorgeous guys never want to kiss me.

But he does. It’s just a slight brush of our lips, but it’s enough for fireworks to shoot off inside my body. Enough for me to crumble into his arms. I lose myself in that kiss, and when he pulls away he takes a piece of me with him, one I’ll never get back.

With his attention focused solely on me, he licks his lips with his tongue like he’s savoring the aftertaste of me, then he takes my hand.

“You promised you’d dance for me.” Then he leads me to the living room as the song switches to a slow one, but with a deafening bass that vibrates the windows. Everyone starts dancing, and it makes it hard for him to get us to the center of the living room, but eventually we make it.

Then he watches me, expecting me to dance just for him. And I want to give it to him, be the swan and mesmerize him, especially with how he’s looking at me. But there are so many people around and not enough room and I’m a little nervous.

“You want me to dance for you here?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

He nods. “I do.”

I glance around at the crowd. “I’m not sure if I can do that here.”

Something flickers in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before, and it makes me hug myself tighter. “You’re not going to dance for me?” he asks.

“I want to,” I say quickly. “But there’s not enough room.” I inch toward him. “A rain check, though.”

For a brief instant I think he’s going to reject me, but then he smiles again. “You owe me a dance still.” Then he grabs hold of my waist and pulls me to him. I hook my arms around his neck, feeling myself smile. Then we move to the beat, our eyes fixed on each other, our bodies aligned perfectly. Even though there are a lot of people grinding to the music and moving around us, no one seems to touch us. It’s like we’re protected by this bubble, and I feel powerful, no longer invisible but standing in the spotlight. He makes me feel that way just by looking at me, like I’m not just Delilah, but someone else. Someone who deserves to be standing center stage.

That’s how we remain until the next song, moving to the rhythm, our bubble around us, eyes glued to each other, the crowd vanishing the closer we get.

Dylan leans in and his breath touches my cheek as he asks, “So on a scale of one to ten, how lame is this party?”

I slant back to look him in the eyes, but keep my hands on his shoulders, making sure I don’t put too much room between us. “It’s not lame at all. In fact, it’s pretty fun.”

He wavers, like he doesn’t agree. “It’s not the best one I’ve put together. In fact, in Alpine, I was known for my parties.”

“You lived in Alpine before this?” I ask and he nods. “What did you do there besides throw parties?”

He studies me closely. “I’m not sure I can trust you with that answer yet.”

“Why? Is it like a secret or something?” I ask.

He wavers again. “Or something.”

I’m not sure how to respond. “Well, what do you do now, or is that a secret, too?”

He looks annoyed by my persistent questioning, but it swiftly vanishes as he says, “I’ll tell you what. The next time we hang out together, on a real date, I’ll tell you some of my secrets, Delilah Peirce.”

At the time, I felt so happy about what he said, as if he cared enough about me to tell me his secrets, as if I had some sort of power over him. But if I had looked closer, hadn’t been so blinded by the need to be seen, I would have seen that he had the control.

But I didn’t see it like that and just kept dancing with him in a daze, engrossed by everything he did or said, like his looks and words were made of gold—maybe even worth more, because he made me feel like I was worth more.

Then Nikki showed up wearing her black leather dress that reminded me a lot of the black-feathered costume Odile wore in Swan Lake.

“Mind if I cut in?” she asks, tightening her arms at her side to create more cleavage.

Dylan snubs her. “No thanks, Nikki. I’m already dancing with Delilah.”

I smile sweetly at her and I nearly feel the burn of her death glare as she starts to back away. “Well, maybe later, then. After little Miss Sweet-and-Innocent goes to bed,” she says without looking at me, putting me in my place like a true she-devil.

Still, he ignores her and keeps his hands on my hips, swaying us to the music, and she finally walks away. We continue to dance and talk about lighter things, like our favorite food, color, band, car. We do this for hours, and every time he smiles or laughs at something I say, I feel my stomach somersault and feel myself never wanting the night to end.

But it does, and by the time I have to go home, I feel like I’m floating. Dylan walks me to my door. He brushes his lips across mine. And then he stays there until I’m safely inside and lock the door.

It’s a perfect night. Everything is so perfect and I dance my way back to my room, feeling as though I just got a leading part. But then I look out the window just before I go to bed and see Dylan standing in the driveway talking to the she-devil herself, laughing as she touches his arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s just talking and friendly touching, but as I lay in bed, hurting and on the verge of crying, I realize that tonight meant everything to me.