Page 56 of It's About Time
I nod and turn back to the car. “Thank you, Steven.”
“Vinnie is going to regret he ever did you wrong when you show up to Motorlux with the Porsche, Dil. Trust me.”
I let his words wash over me, take in a deep breath, and get back to work while mentally preparing myself for whatever rules Grumpzilla is going to throw at me tonight.
***
My plan was to go home and shower before I went over to Elliot’s, but naturally, I lost track of time. I told myself I would only do a few things with the Porsche. Instead, I doublechecked all the parts I have on hand to rebuild the fuel system and what I’m still waiting on—even though Steven told me all that earlier, but you can never be too thorough—and then my phone pinged with a message from my fake fiancé.
Elliot:I told you not to be late.
Well, now I’m standing on his front porch thirty-five minutes past when I was supposed to be here, and I still smell like the garage.
Whatever. Grumpzilla gets whatever version of me he gets. It’s not like I’m out to impress him or anything. The man already has his ring on myfinger, metaphorically, of course. But I didn’t really eat dinner, so my favorite candy will have to suffice. As I wait for him to open the door, I tear off the corner of the package I had stashed in my car and pop a few pieces in my mouth.
“Nice of you to show up,” Elliot says as he opens his front door, moving out of the way so I can pass through.
“Loosen your tie, Thorne.” Walking past him as I pop another Sour Patch peach in my mouth, I take off my shoes and place them right next to Elliot’s by the front door. His eyes move up and down my body as he watches me, and I try to ignore the way it makes me feel. “Sorry. I was just getting a few things in order for the Porsche.”
“I told you not to be late, but you still made time to stop for a snack.”
I spin around to face him, putting the bag of candy in my pocket and planting my hands on my hips. “Look. I get that you are all…anal retentive about time and shit. But if you recall, the whole point of you being my fake fiancé is for this car show, got it? So that means that the car is going to come first. Okay?” His green eyes are dark and narrowed as he stares at me, but then he reaches up and brushes his thumb along my cheek, taking me by surprise. “What the…”
“Take it easy. You had some grease on your cheek,” he says before giving me his back and heading toward his kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Are you thirsty?”
Confused, I follow him cautiously as I take in the open space. “Uh, yeah. Water is fine, thanks.” As I look around, I realize I can’t remember the last time I saw Elliot’s house this clean. It’s been months since I had to make sure he was showering and eating, and during those impromptu visits, this place looked like a dumpster fire.
With his house this clean, I can actually appreciate his style and décor without any of the touches Tori added to his place all those monthsago. The walls are a soft gray and all of the furniture is black. The only thing hanging on the walls is a massive television, and the only color in the room is a plant resting in a corner by the front window. Bookshelves flank each side of the TV—probably filled with law books—and the wood accents on his coffee table and couch break up all the black that complements his heart.
The poised lawyer has officially returned and translated that obsessive organizational need back to his home.
I try not to let that fact make me feel too proud since I kind of feel like my intrusion had something to do with it.
He slides a glass of water across the counter toward me, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Thank you.”
“Let’s sit on the couch,” he says, leading me into the living room. He picks up a yellow legal pad and black pen from his coffee table before taking a seat on the couch.
“Do you want me to grab the garden hose real quick?” I tease.
Glaring at me, he shakes his head as I take a seat on the opposite side of the couch from him. “That won’t be necessary.”
My eyes dip down to the yellow pad on his knee. “You made a list?”
He eyes me curiously. “Well, I figured we should have something in writing. You know, in case you forget something, like you did with our meeting.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Elliot. It was thirty minutes.”
“Thirty-five,” he corrects me.
I can’t help but laugh. “Wow. Okay, maybe I’m beginning to think that you kept score of how many orgasms you gave Tori throughout your relationship and that’s why she left you for her boss.”
Elliot glares at me but says nothing. For a second, I wonder if my comment went too far, but then he speaks. “Trust me, there was no possible way Tori could have kept count. She wasneverunsatisfied, I can confidently say that. Now, if you’d like, I can give you a play by play of all of the ways I made her come, or we can do what we planned to do and come up with some rules for the next six weeks. The choice is yours.”
My head is saying I need to shut up and just get this stupid list over with so I can get back to the shop—but my vagina is wondering if the cockiness is just an act, or if Elliot Thorne really does feel that confident about his skills.
You shouldn’t be wondering that at all, Dilynne. Now focus.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, clearing my throat before taking a sip of my water. “So, what rules shall we institute to keep your blood pressure in check?”
