DELILAHHis mother’s gaze flicks from me, sitting up on her son’s bed, my hair messy, his arm still half-around me....to him, and then back again. Her lips part, but for a long, terrible second, nothing comes out.“Jason,” she finally says, her tone halfway between disbelief and a mother’s sharp intuition. “What on earth....who....”“Mom, it’s not what it looks like,” he blurts, his voice cracking in panic. He sits up so fast he nearly knocks into me. “We just....she....she needed a place to stay. That’s all.”I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. “I....I’m sorry, Mrs….” I trail off, realizing I don’t even know her last name.“Delilah,” Jason says quickly, his hand brushing my arm as if to steady me. “Mom, this is Delilah. She’s...uh...she’s a friend.”His mother doesn’t move. Her eyes stay fixed on me, assessing, guarded. Not cruel, just protective. A mother’s kind of protective. And for some reason, that look cuts deeper than any insult could.I start fumbling with the hem of m
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