Delilah

Last night

Up until now, I thought Nic and I were playing the same game. Close, but not close enough to make it hurt. Or so I told myself. But when I forced him out tonight, I could see it—he was angry with me. He warned me he hated games, but here he was, playing anyway. Only difference was, he wasn't playing to pass the time. He was playing to win. And to him, I was the prize.

It should've been simple. He liked me, I liked him. Our chemistry was undeniable, and every time he touched me, I felt it—a swarm of butterflies. But I knew what came next. I'd been down this road before, and I couldn't face another public collapse. Another fallout that would inevitably land squarely on my shoulders. Not after I'd spent the last year rebuilding everything—my career, my confidence, my life—after Chase.

Games were my way of having Nic without letting him have me. I know how selfish and unfair that sounds, because it was. It was unfair to him, but it protected me. Someone had to, right? I'd been watching my own back for so long, I didn't know how to let anyone else do it. Not even Nic.

But when we walked into that bar, and I saw the second I left his side, he got up and disappeared, I realized something. If I won this game, the cost would be Nic. And that thought—the possibility of losing him—made it hard to breathe. I should've gone to him then, pulled him aside, said something, anything to show him I was more in this than he thought.

But I didn't.

Instead, I watched as another girl approached him. Watched as she flirted, her hand brushing the collar of his shirt, laughing at his jokes like she'd known him forever. My stomach dropped. Then he caught me staring.

And he waved.

My face flushed as I quickly turned away.

If I wanted him, I needed to say it. I needed to stop playing games.

So, I threw back a shot, squared my shoulders, and interrupted their conversation.

"Nicholas, aren't you going to introduce us?" I snapped, my gaze darting between him and the girl. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn't help it.

"This is Tara," he said, his tone polite but guarded. Then, gesturing toward me, he added, "And this is Delilah."

Tara's bright smile widened. "So nice to meet you! I absolutely love you on OBX. I think it's so cool that you and Chase can still work together without any of the off-screen drama affecting your characters."

Her words felt like a deliberate jab, though I couldn't tell if it was intentional or if I was just annoyed by her presence. Either way, I bristled.

I forced a smile. "Yeah, we're professionals. Chase and I value our characters' relationship on screen, and we've worked hard to rebuild a friendship off screen."

Nic's breath hitched next to me, but I ignored it.

"Well, that's good to hear," Tara said sweetly, clearly oblivious—or maybe not. "I mean, with you two still working together, who knows? Maybe you'll get back together!"

I kept smiling, though inside, I wanted to scream. "Yeah, maybe." My voice was tight, and before I could say anything else I'd regret, I added, "If you'll both excuse me, I need to order a drink... or seven." The last part I muttered under my breath.

"No worries! So nice to meet you, Delilah!" Tara waved me off, practically thrilled to see me leave as she leaned closer to Nic.

I turned away, refusing to look back at them. I couldn't. I wouldn't. My chest felt tight, the weight of my own unspoken feelings threatening to crush me. Nic had made it clear what he wanted, but I couldn't give it to him. I was breaking my own heart by not giving him mine.

From behind me, I heard Tara's chirpy voice. "Nic, do you want to go to this karaoke bar? My friends are heading there in ten."

I froze, gripping my drink as the air around me seemed to still.

"Yeah, I'll meet you there," he said, his voice steady and certain.

I didn't need to turn around to picture the scene—Tara's excitement, her giddy steps as she went to share the news with her friends. She was probably already planning the soft launch of their relationship on Instagram.

I took a deep breath and downed my shot, trying to drown out the nausea rising in my stomach.

A hand on my shoulder startled me.

"Gonna head out soon," Nic said softly. "You okay getting home?"

Was this a test? Was I supposed to ask him to stay? He had to know I wasn't the type to beg.

"Yeah, I'm good. Have fun with... Dara," I said, smirking into my drink.

"It's Tara," he corrected with a pointed look.

"I know." My smirk widened, but it felt hollow.

"What's wrong, Ly?" he asked, his smile soft but challenging. He thought he was winning. He couldn't be. Could he?

"You don't even like going out, Nic," I replied, deflecting. "And now you're staying out later than me?"

He chuckled bitterly. "Well, karaoke sounds fun, Ly. It's a lot more fun than sitting here watching Will—and every other guy in the bar—flirt with you." His voice dropped, low and rough with frustration. "You love games so much. I'm sure you're really enjoying this reaction I'm giving you."

I opened my mouth to retort, but he didn't stop.

"Delilah, you're driving me crazy. I don't know how to win with you. And you're right—you're winning, because my feelings are fucking there. I can't get rid of them. But if I can't have you, I can't keep being around you."

His voice cracked, and his words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"I'm sorry, Ly. I just—"

Before he could finish, I grabbed his face and crashed my lips into his.

In front of the entire bar.

Including Tara, who had come back in because she'd forgotten her jacket.

"Delilah..." Nic whispered against my lips, his voice a mix of relief and disbelief.

"You win. Now take me home."

It was one sentence, but it said everything Nic had been waiting months to hear. And he didn't hesitate—not for a second. His arms tightened around me as if afraid I'd take it back, but I knew I wouldn't.

I had no idea how this would work, what tomorrow morning would bring, or what it meant for us. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All I knew was that I had never wanted someone more.

And when we got back to the house, Nic made sure I knew he felt the same, tossing me onto his bed with a grin that made my heart race. That night, there were no more games—just us, finally letting go of everything holding us back.

And fuck if that didn't show with every touch.

"Delilah..." Nic whispered, his breath catching as I ripped his shirt off. "Are you sure you're not going to—"

I didn't let him finish. Grabbing his face, I kissed him hard, silencing any doubt as I guided his hand to the clasp of my bra.

"Unhook it," I whispered against his lips, my voice low and commanding. "Be a good boy and do what I say."

His eyes darkened with desire as he nodded, effortlessly unclasping it with one hand in seconds.

"I'll be anything you want, Delilah," he murmured, his lips trailing from my mouth to my neck, then lower, igniting a fire with every kiss.

"Fuck... keep doing what you're doing, baby," I moaned, my nails digging into his back as I arched against him.

In that moment, I realized something undeniable. I was completely, utterly fucked—figuratively and literally—and it was gloriously, maddeningly, perfect.

"I just... want to know, Lilah," Nic said, his voice thick with need as I straddled him. His hands gripped my hips, holding me close. "I just want to know... Do I have you? Are you mine?"

His words swirled in my mind, making my heart race as my fingers tangled in his hair. He did have me. I was his. Every part of me screamed to tell him. But the words refused to come out—not yet.

Instead, I leaned down and kissed him, letting my actions speak where my voice couldn't.

"What does this tell you?" I whispered against his lips, my breath hot and unsteady as I slid my tights off and let them fall to the floor.

Nic's hands trembled as he fumbled with his boxers, tossing them aside to join the growing pile of clothes. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and full of need, answering my question without a single word.

My hands traced the lines of his abs as our bodies moved together in a rhythm I could only describe as cataclysmic perfection. The ebb and flow of my hips against his felt like something beyond comparison, beyond explanation. For a fleeting moment, I was overwhelmed by the realization that this wasn't just a crush—it might be something far deeper. Love.

And that terrified me.

What would that mean for us? For me? Love had always come with consequences I wasn't sure I was ready to face. But as I lay there later that night, listening to the steady rise and fall of Nic's chest, I knew one thing for sure: I couldn't imagine falling asleep to any other sound.

Terrified was the only way to describe what I felt.

Completely and utterly screwed was another.

I lost the game.

But Nic—he'd been playing for keeps all along. And now, it seemed, he was dangerously close to getting exactly what he wanted.