Part 2

Delaney Cole was a self proclaimed fuck up, in the nicest possible way. Case in point, she couldn’t even dial a phone number right, then she was rude to the nice guy who’d answered. The really nice guy with the gorgeous voice and great sense of humor. Case in point again, she had almost flirted with him when she’d been trying to call someone else. She tapped the coaster that had the name Peter and the phone number she’d managed to misdial on the kitchen table as she chewed her lip and thought about what to do. She should call the right number, make a date with Peter who had been so nice at the diner but so… boring and so very not her type.

But that was the point, she reminded herself. Her type wouldn’t have been at the diner ordering a well done steak and a loaded baked potato in his pressed jeans and casual button down. Her type would most likely have been at a bar drinking their dinner, or at home ordering in pizza between sessions of art/writing/painting/music/games. Or her favourite, waiting for her to bring something home.

Delaney had phenomenally bad taste in men, always dating the artist who was going to make it one day, or the writer who was going to write the next great novel, or the gamer who was sure they were going to revolutionize the industry. Which was why when Peter had flirted shyly, she had responded, giving him all the encouragement she could so he would make a move. And that was new to Delaney too, actually waiting for the man to make the first move. She had never been shy about acting on a mutual attraction but tonight she’d sat back and let Peter take his time.

Her patience had paid off when he’d thanked her for being so nice and nervously handed her the coaster and said he hoped she’d call.

“How did it go Del? Is he super nice?”

Delaney sighed and dropped the coaster on the table. “I fucked it up,” she said with a grin at her best friend since college and current roommate Brett. “Called the wrong number.”

“What?” Brett laughed and shook her head then pointed at the fridge. “Sounds like we need wine for this?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Delaney agreed and went to stand up to fetch glasses.

“Stay there.” Brett waved her off. “You’ve been on your feet all night.” She collected a bottle from the fridge and glasses from the cupboard then joined Delaney at the table.

“You have too,” Delaney pointed out as Brett poured the wine.

“That’s different.” Brett dismissed with a wriggle of her fingers.

Delaney took a sip of wine before you answered. “True. I didn’t have to wear stilts all night.”

“Hey I love my stilts,” Brett protested with a laugh as she extended one leg to admire her shoe. “And before you ask, yes you may lend them.”

“Hmmm.” Delaney pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she admired the strappy black sandals with its beaded four inch heel. “I’d be really fucking tall in those. Maybe … was Peter that tall?” She sipped her wine and tried to remember but the man was so bland with his foppish blonde hair and all American blue eyes.

“Describe him to me. You’re an artist, this should be easy,” she teased as Delaney groaned and took a big gulp of wine.

“Okay,” she sighed and closed her eyes, built the image of the diner, pictured herself behind the counter and Peter walking up to her. His fingers, kind of short and stubby, gripping that coaster tight, his smile nervous but nice, eyes like faded blue jeans, looking straight into hers. “My height, blonde hair, blue eyes, no accent but he reminded me of Hugh Grant in Notting Hill. Oh!” She blinked her eyes opened and smiled. “I knew he reminded me of someone.”

“So sort of bumbling but charming?” Brett said. “Sounds okay.”

“Yeah, he was… nice,” Delaney shrugged. “I should call him. Right?” she held up her phone.

“Well, maybe not right now Del, it’s after midnight.

“It is?” she frowned and flipped the phone around to check the time. “Oh fuck,” she groaned.

“You have such a potty mouth,” Brett chided as she bent at the waist to unbuckle the ankle straps and slip her shoes off. She might love the way they looked and feel sexy as hell when she wore them but they were hell on her feet. “But what’s the problem now? The wrong number?”

Delaney nodded. “I didn’t realise how late it was.”

“Did they yell at you?” Brett frowned at the idea of anyone yelling at her friend, ready to go to bat to defend her.

“No nothing like that. I just feel bad that I disturbed him so late.”

“Him?” Brett arched a brow in question at the tone of Delaney’s voice.

“Yes him,” Delaney repeated. “He was very understanding and actually defended Peter.”


“I just assumed that he had given me a fake number and was ready to go on a rant about how horrible men are but Kelly made me realise I’d dialed it wrong,” Delaney said sheepishly.

Brett lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “A fair assumption. Did you talk long to your wrong number?”

“Kelly. And no, of course not. I mean why would I? I don’t know who he is or even what he looks like or anything,” Delaney said in a rush then paused to sip her wine. “Just because he was funny and had a great voice, he talked me down and then I thanked him and got off the phone.”

“Del…” Brett sighed and shook her head with a grin. “Had a great voice? Remember that DJ you had a huge crush on in college? And then we tracked him down and he was-”

“Yeah, yeah!” Delaney cut her off with a laugh.

“And Peter sounds nice,” Brett added cautiously, very aware that Delaney didn’t tend to date nice men. She was more the bad boy type but after her last bad boy had left her homeless and broke she had resolved to turn over a new leaf. Hence the job as a waitress and her determination to date responsibly.

“He seems nice too,” Delaney agreed. “And I will call him, tomorrow!” she said decisively. “There’s just one question I need to ask; does nice always have to equate to boring? Why can’t a meet a nice exciting guy, one who has a great job during the week but on weekends plays in a garage bands or paints murals for fun?”

“Ah the perfect man.” Brett grinned then finished her wine and stood up to take her glass to the sink.

“No. The perfect man would sing as well.” Delaney said archly and stood up too. “And he’d give amazing footrubs,” she added as she limped over to the sink.

Brett plucked the glass from her fingers and rinsed them both then put them in the dishwasher. “Well until the perfect man comes along we have each other,” she consoled.

“For footrubs?” Delaney said hopefully as they turned and headed towards the bedrooms.

“Eww! No!” Brett laughed. “But I have something better anyway,” she said as they got to what used to be the guest room but was now Delaney’s room.

“I highly doubt that,” Delaney scoffed and walked in to collapse on the bed.

Brett bit her lip to stop from grinning and leaned against the open door. “You know how you wanted to go to that festival on the weekend?”

“Don’t remind me,” Delaney groaned. “I was going to go see all my boyfriends.” She pointed to the wall where much to Brett’s amusement she had a poster of her favourite band pinned up. “But I have to work. Le sigh!” she sighed dramatically.

“What if I told you that I knew of an extra show that’s happening Sunday night when you just happen to be off work?”

Delaney jerked upright and slapped a hand over her mouth as she gasped and Brett heard a muffled, “No fucking way!”

“And what if I knew someone who knew someone and scored two tickets?”

Delaney leaped to her feet onto the bed with a squeal before Brett finished talking. “Do not mess with me Purdie!” she said with a huge grin as she pointed at Brett.

“Does this look like I’m messing with you?” Brett fanned out the two tickets she had pulled from inside her bra then pointed them at the floor. “Get off the bed you lunatic,” she laughed as Delaney stared at her but dropped back down to her butt.

“That’s been sold out forever,” she said with reverence. “How did you…”

“My sister knows someone who knows someone,” Brett explained vaguely. “So what do you say Del? Want to go?”

“Do I want to go?” Delaney repeated. “Brett I would dress in costume, as a fucking clown, and you know how much I hate clowns, but I would do it, if it meant going to that show,” she said solemnly.

“That wont be necessary,” Brett assured then covered her mouth as she yawned. “I’m going to hit the shower then I plan to sleep for ten straight.”

“Ditto to that,” Delaney agreed then leaped of the bed and grabbed Brett in a tight hug. “You’re so good to me, thank you.” She let go and did a little quick step by Brett and into the hall. “But you’re also too slow, first shower for me!”

She closed the bathroom door on Brett’s mock surprised face then looked at herself in the mirror. She was tired, dark shadows under her eyes, her skin pale, her hair limp even in the ponytail she had it tied up in. “Nothing a solid ten straight wont fix,” she said to herself then stripped down and stepped into the shower with a smile. She might be a fuck up but she was a fuck up with great friends. And in a few nights she and the very best of those friends would be seeing her all time favourite band Sign of Life live in concert! She couldn’t wait!

Read the prelude here
Read Part 1 here