04. questions & not answers

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SLIVKO

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SLIVKO

Oh God. The guys must've seen me checking her out when she came on deck.

Mills keeps nudging me and I'm getting so embarrassed I could punch him in the face.

And they keep calling her Anastasia, for God's sake, the poor thing.

Come on man, say something.

She glances at me in desperation, seeing as I'm the only one who hasn't made an Anastasia joke.

"Hey, guys," I say. "Her name's Delilah. Right?"

Her deer-in-the-headlights gaze thanks me and she nods.

"See? Cut it out."

"Calm your tits, Reggie boy," Cole teases. "We were kidding."

I cringe in embarrassment at Cole's awkward statement. One of these days man.. I'll show him he outta stop calling me that.

Mills smirks, deviously. "Sorry Ana.. Delilah."

"We are, truly," Reles adds.

Assholes.

"It's fine," Delilah says, her embarrassed expression slowly fading into forgiveness.

"You don't have to call me Delilah, if you don't want to. I- I mean, Mason calls me Del. Sometimes Lilah.. it doesn't really matter, it's just sometimes "Duh-lie-luh" seems a little hard to say," she rants.

Delilah pulls a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear that had strayed from her ponytail in the Pacific wind. She has a few light freckles sprinkled beneath her dark blue eyes.

She's really pretty.

"Have a seat, kiddo," Cole tells her, gesturing to an empty chair that used to belong to Chapman. "We don't bite."

Hesitantly, Delilah sits down... aaaand Cole opens his big fat mouth again: "Slivko might."

Mills snorts, and again I want to punch him in his stupid face.

"So, Delilah, you a photographer in training?" Reles asks.

"Actually.." She shifts around in the chair, and pulls a small notepad and pen out of the back pocket of her olive cargo shorts. "I'm a writer. Fiction, mostly."

"A writer, huh? Kinda artsy," Mills points out, suggestively nudging my shoulder again. Dammit. I said "Anastasia" was "artsy" earlier. Whatever that even means.

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