Filfthy (3 page)

I laugh. “You’re making something out of nothing.”

“She’s a beautiful woman. You’re a handsome man.” Ethel shrugs. “We’ve been around long enough to know when a boy is sweet on a girl. It’s elementary really. When a young man is callous to a young lady, it’s really because he likes her. And often times the reverse is true.”

“That’s a cute little theory, but believe me, not the case here.” I give them a tiny salute and continue on my way.

Not the case. At all.

Plus, Rue would have my balls if I so much as thought about going near her niece. She said so herself while brandishing a pair of garden shears as we were chit-chatting over the fence a couple weeks ago. And if there’s anything I’ve learned about Rue since I moved here, it’s that her threats are never empty.

I can fuck with the HOA all I want, but going near her great niece
probably
wouldn’t be in my best interest.

Then again, when have I ever met a rule that couldn’t be bent in my favor . . . just a little?

D
elilah

“
W
hat time is
Taylor coming again?” I ask Aunt Rue Friday morning. The woman’s on her fourth cup of coffee already, dusting off china in the cabinet with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex tucked beneath her left arm. “I did the windows yesterday, remember?”

“Oh, sugar, the Windex is for the mirrored backing behind the china.” Her lips are slicked in ruby red, and she scratches her forehead just beneath the white golf visor that rarely leaves her head. It’s almost a part of her now.

“I don’t think she’s going to inspect every square inch of your house, Aunt Rue. It’s not like dusty shelves are going to knock a couple grand off your asking price. We have plenty of time for deep cleaning. I’ll dedicate my entire weekend to it.”

“
He
.”

“Pardon?”

“Taylor’s a
he
.”

“Oh. Okay. Anyway,
he’s
not going to inspect your china cabinet. Trust me. What time will he be here?”

She pulls back the sleeve of her pastel peach tracksuit and glances at her watch. “Any damn minute, that’s when.”

Slipping my arm around her bony shoulders, I rest my palms on her hands to keep her still for a moment. She’s lived in this house in Laguna Palms for over twenty years. This house is her life. But it’s too much for her these days, and she’s opting to downsize to a modest-sized, ground-level luxury condo as to not risk breaking a hip on one of her slick wooden staircases. I shudder at the thought of having to forcibly relocate Rue to an assisted-living facility.

“Everything’s going to work out,” I say. “And you’re going to love that condo in Palm Springs. This house has served you well, but now it’s time to move on.”

“You’ll still visit me every summer, right?”

“Always.”

I pull away just in time to hear the doorbell ring.

“I’ll get it,” I call out, running my palms along my sides and brushing my hair from my shoulders. Yanking on the front door, I step back, preparing to usher in Aunt Rue’s real estate agent.

But instead, I’m looking at a vision of tawny, taut muscles, dark tattoos, and a deliciously wicked half-smirk that could only belong to Zane de la Cruz.

Quickly stepping outside, I pull the door closed behind me and whisper, “What are you doing here?”

His smirk fades as our eyes lock, and he presents a bouquet of daffodils from behind his back.

“Flowers?” I slip a hand on my hip. “Are you crazy?”

“Just wanted to apologize for the other day at the pool.” He extends the bouquet my way, and I take the pretties. “I think yellow means sorry or some shit like that.”

I resist the urge to inform him that yellow
roses
mean I’m sorry. Daffodils symbolize new beginnings. I can thank my mother, Bliss, for that knowledge. That woman knows the proper flower for any occasion.

“Thank you.” I glance over his shoulder, watching the driveway for the Realtor.

“Anyway, I know we got off on the wrong foot.” His hand hooks the back of his neck as our eyes meet, and his mouth widens in a way that makes my heart skip a beat without permission. “I’m not always an ass. Only when I want to be.”

“Delilah?” Aunt Rue’s muffled voice filters through the front door. “Who’s out there?”

“You have to go,” I say before turning back to the door to answer her. “Just a minute, Rue.”

Aunt Rue has made it perfectly clear on numerous occasions that she does not care for the “
filthy football player next door
,” claiming he has a filthy mind and a filthy mouth.

Only as much as she talks about him, I’m beginning to have my doubts. I’d almost say she’s borderline obsessed with him, and having officially seen that disgustingly handsome mug of his and noted his penchant for doing things his own way, I can fully appreciate where she’s coming from.

The gentle hum of tires on pavement steals my attention toward the driveway, where a black Bentley comes to a soft stop and a man with sandy blond hair dressed in a gray suit grabs a briefcase from his backseat. The car door shuts with a high-quality click before he heads for the sidewalk.

“You have to go,” I tell Zane again. Glancing toward Taylor, I acknowledge him with a wave and friendly smile.

Zane hops down from the front steps, cutting through Rue’s manicured lawn to get back to his place. She’d kill him. She’d literally kill him if she saw.

“Hi, I’m Delilah. Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand when Taylor reaches the front stoop. “I’m Rue’s great niece, and I’ll be assisting with the selling and moving and all that that entails.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Delilah,” he says, holding my hand in both of his. His smile is warm, his blue gaze intense. “I’m Taylor Forbes.”

He smells like money.

Literal money. Clean and sharp like copper and starched cotton.

Like he rolled around in a Scrooge McDuck pile of money and then showered beneath a waterfall of hundred-dollar bills.

And he looks exactly like the kind of guy who would be selling million-dollar homes. Pretty, almost. Professionally styled. Too much confidence in his stride.

I size him up the way I do everyone else; an old habit of mine. He seems like the kind of man who would never settle for perfection, and even then, I can imagine that sometimes perfection isn’t quite up to his standards.

There isn’t a speck of dust on his jacket or a strand of hair out of place. His car reflects the sun in the drive, appearing to be freshly waxed and polished.

“Come on in.” I pull my hand from his and reach for the door, feeling him close behind me.

“Aunt Rue, Taylor’s here,” I call out, resting the bouquet of daffodils on a nearby console table.

“In the living room, sugar,” she yells.

Taylor looks around the spacious entry, removing his polished shoes and following me to the next room.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Aunt Rue rises, going to Taylor and cupping his face as if he were a child. “How are you doing? I haven’t spoken to your grandmother since she up and moved to Phoenix, that old traitor. Couldn’t take the humidity here, I suppose. How’s she liking the southwest?”

“She loves it,” he says. “She’s living in Sedona now. I fly out for a visit a few times a year. Beautiful place.”

“She’s good? She’s doing well?” Rue asks.

“She is.” Taylor nods, taking a seat on the sofa across from us.

“I don’t hear from her much anymore, not since Irvin passed.” Rue clutches her chest. At seventy-five, she’s yet to have been married, but she’s reached the point in her life when widowhood is afflicting her friends left and right. “We miss her so. I wish she’d come back and visit. Tell her we miss her, will you?”

“Of course.” Taylor’s ocean-blue gaze moves to mine, and he straightens the knot of his skinny black tie. “Shall we get down to business?”

“Yes.” I clap my hands together and take the spot beside Rue, anxious to get this party started.

“Taylor, you’ve never met my great niece, have you?” Rue places her hand on my knee.

“We met outside,” I say.

“Good, because you two are going to be working
very
closely together this summer,” Rue says. I detect a smidge of excitement in her tone that implies something else entirely. She’s going to be sorely mistaken when I inform her Taylor isn’t exactly my type. Not even close. I would
never
. “Delilah will be your main point of contact. If you have a showing, you call her. She’ll get the house in order and relay the message to me. If you want to set up an open house, work with her. I only want to hear from you if there’s an offer. A
good
offer.”

“Understood.” Taylor is still honed in on me. “Delilah, I’ll need your number.”

I rattle off the ten digits, and he sends me a text to confirm.

“So what next?” Rue asks.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a look around. Make some notes. Then I’ll head back to the office and run comps. Should have a list price for you in the next day or so. After that, you’ll sign the contract, and we’ll have ourselves a live listing.” The tone of his voice escalates, and he claps two very manicured hands together, rubbing his palms.

He seems way too excited about this, but I suppose that’s a good thing. The man clearly lives and breathes real estate, and that’s exactly the kind of person who should be selling Rue’s McMansion.

“By all means.” Rue rises, waving her arm to invite him to take a look around. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. I’ve got a bonsai that needs trimming. Delilah, would you mind showing Taylor around?”

Rue scampers off, her hips swaying with each quick step. The woman clearly doesn’t know the definition of slow down, and she never has. Ever since striking it rich with some thigh-shaper invention in the eighties, all she’s done is work, work, work and go, go, go. She couldn’t stand still if she tried.

“I guess we’ll start in the foyer and make our way around . . .” I lead Taylor out of the living room, glancing through the dining room window on my way and spotting Zane shooting hoops in his driveway with a couple of other guys.

Guess he’s not the only one incapable of relaxing for a hot minute. Taylor stops beside me, following my gaze.

“Did you know Zane de la Cruz lives next door?” I ask Taylor as I point.

“I did.”

“Do you know him personally?” I ask because they’re the same age and Gainesville isn’t that huge of a city. If it’s anything like Rixton Falls, everyone knows everyone. “Are you friends?”

“I don’t know him personally, no.” Taylor waves me off and struts off like he’s too bothered to continue on with this conversation. “Everyone knows everyone here. I know
of
him. He knows
of
me. But personal friends? Hardly.”

His chuckle is stuffy and proper, like he’s entertained by the fact that I would assume they were friends.

Letting it go, I lead him down a hall that takes us to my aunt’s room and begin the tour, taking him through the guest suites and the formal dining room. I watch his reaction when I show him Aunt Rue’s gift-wrapping room, and then I take him to the built-in oversized cabinet where she keeps her collection of porcelain dolls and Baccarat crystal.

Stepping to the back patio, Taylor takes the steps and walks the length of the exterior, speaking lightly into his phone and making notes. I follow, keeping a few paces back, and when we reach the side of the house, I spot Zane and his friends once again.

He stops, resting his basketball beneath his arm, smiles, and waves.

He’s friendly, that asshole.

* * *

“
D
id Taylor leave already
?” Aunt Rue is holding the bouquet of daffodils under one arm as she rifles through the cabinets below the kitchen sink. She produces a small vase, smiling sweetly. “He’s so thoughtful to have brought flowers. He’s a good boy, that Taylor. Comes from good stock.”

Chewing the corner of my mouth, I lean my elbows against the kitchen counter and take a deep breath.

“The flowers were from Zane.” I brace myself for her response.

Shoving the pretties in the vase, her hand flies to her O-shaped mouth. “Now why on God’s green earth would he bring you flowers, Delilah? I thought you were going over there to shut him up the other night, not sweep him off his feet.”

I try not to laugh at the image of
me
sweeping
him
off his feet, and I hold my hands up in protest. “I don’t know. I didn’t . . . we didn’t . . . there’s nothing going on.”

Balling a fist and lifting it to her mouth, she turns to glance out the kitchen window; the one with the view straight into Zane’s living room.

“I’m not upset with you, sugar. It’s
him
.” She says it with a hint of disgust. “I told him to stay away from you.”

I take a hesitant step her way, resting my hand on her back. “I know you mean well, but I’m all grown up now. It doesn’t exactly work like that anymore.”

She grabs a dishrag and lashes it against the granite before polishing invisible smudges and mumbling under her breath.

“He’s filthy, Delilah. No good. He’s beneath you.” She shakes her head. “He’s only going to break your heart.” She straightens her posture, wagging the rag in my face. “And I’ll kill him if he does.”

I laugh.

“He knows it too,” she adds before returning the rag to the sink. She glances around, looking for something else to clean or polish or wash, but this place is ridiculously spotless. “It’s not funny. I mean it, Delilah. Stay away from him.”

“Oh, come on.” I paw at the air. “Don’t you think you’re being a little over the top here?”

“You don’t know the half of what I know.” Her voice softens to a whisper. “That boy is nothing but trouble. He’s . . . he’s like that Beaver kid. Justin Beaver.”

I suppress a chuckle. “You mean Justin Bieber?”

“Yes.” She wags a pointer finger. “You give a kid a bunch of money and they act crazy, thinking they can do and say what they want and they’ll never have to face the consequences.”

“With all due respect, Aunt Rue, Zane is far from a kid.” I can’t believe I’m defending him. “I’m pretty sure he’s older than me.”