Chapter 5 #2
It’s not her fault, though. I hadn’t told anyone about my trip down to Charlotte tonight so my father would be kept in the dark.
Once I’ve changed out of my clothes and showered, I hop into bed and send Dilynne a text.
Me: Hey. Thanks for the food. Unfortunately, I wasn’t home to enjoy it so I’m afraid it’s gone to waste.
Surprisingly, her reply is instant.
Dilynne: Damn it, Thorne. You owe me twenty-five bucks.
Me: $25? The receipt said it was only eighteen.
Dilynne: Yeah, well, I’m charging interest.
Me: That doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t borrow money from you.
Dilynne: *shrugging girl emoji* Whatever. I’m beat. I was just about to put my phone down when you texted me.
Me: Long day?
Dilynne: Yeah. I stayed late at the shop working on the Porsche. Finally had to force myself to leave so I wouldn’t be a zombie tomorrow.
Me: I’m gonna be tired tomorrow too but tonight was worth it.
Dilynne: *smirking emoji* Did someone get lucky tonight?
I chuckle.
Me: Not even a little. Just a work thing in Charlotte.
Dilynne sends me a picture of her with an unimpressed look on her face while she’s lying in her bed. She has on no makeup and her hair frames her face.
Fuck. She looks…beautiful—despite the sarcastic look on her face.
What the hell, Elliot? We don’t think that way about Dilynne, remember?
But before I can chastise myself further, my dick perks up the longer I stare at the picture—her full lips, her dark eyes, and then I glance lower in the photo and find a hint of her cleavage peeking out of the top of her tank top.
Jesus Christ.
Am I really so sex-deprived that Dilynne Clark is making me hard?
Then she sends me another text.
Dilynne: Well, either way, good for you for getting out of the house. That’s a step in the right direction.
The corner of my mouth lifts, and within a few seconds, I realize I’m now smiling at my phone while my dick is still half hard.
Fuck. I need to end this conversation now while I still have some sanity left.
Me: Yeah, thanks. Gotta go. Talk to you later.
Dilynne: Goodnight, Thorne.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and then drag my hands down my face. “What the hell is happening?”
Staring off into space, I question why my body is reacting to Dilynne for the second time now, but I’m coming up empty-handed.
Then my eyes land on my phone again. Picking it up, I go back to our text thread and study the picture of her once more, feeling my cock grow harder the longer I stare at her tits.
My hand moves down to my cock, rubbing along my shaft through my shorts and what happens next is something I’ll take with me to the grave—I fist my cock and make myself come while staring at a picture of my nemesis.
And I thought being left by my fiancée was the biggest problem I’d have to face in my life.
***
Nine Months After the Wedding
I stare at my phone, hoping the internet will help me figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Sadly, there is nothing on the screen that can explain why my dick isn’t fucking working.
I had my first date last night since Tori left me, and the woman sitting opposite me at the table was gorgeous—long, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a rack that any grown man would appreciate.
Was I ready to go out with another woman? Not entirely. But it felt necessary, especially since my little problem has only been getting worse.
The sad part is, my dick didn’t appreciate anything that my date was offering, even when she kissed me outside her door and palmed me through my slacks before asking me if I wanted to come inside.
Nope. Nothing. Not even a fucking twitch.
Groaning, I toss my phone onto my desk and pinch the bridge of my nose. “No. It wasn’t real. It didn’t fucking happen,” I mutter to myself, but even I know I’m lying.
The other night during yoga at Hart Winery, my dick proved that he is in fact, not broken. But part of me thinks that he still might be because the woman that made me hard again is the last woman on the face of the planet that should have—Dilynne Clark.
The only other time I’ve faced this dilemma was back in high school, but I chalked that up as a fluke because back then, I could get a boner from a light breeze.
The frightening thing is, Dilynne might have been responsible for a few of those boners back in the day too, but the hell if I ever told anyone that.
It was a harmless crush, something I never planned on doing anything about anyway, and then Dilynne started hating my guts, so it made it easier to shove aside.
But now? After being left by my fiancée and trying to convince Dilynne to stop fucking checking on me since Tori left? There’s got to be something wrong with the way my body has been reacting to her.
We still fucking fight. Hell, at yoga we went back and forth after Rhonan realized that she and Laney were trying to set up his neighbor that he has the hots for with some other guy.
She makes my fucking blood boil on the daily, and yet, she still hasn’t stopped extending her friendship to me, even though I’ve told her repeatedly not to.
Stubborn and confusing fucking woman.
Picking up my phone again, I debate researching erectile dysfunction, but luckily for me, my paralegal, Colby, interrupts me before I stoop that low.
“Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a delivery for you,” she says, walking into my office with a bag from Bites & Bliss Bakery. She sets the bag on my desk and then takes a step back. “Smells good.”
Inwardly, I curse Dilynne’s name again, as if I haven’t already been doing that for the past nine months. “Thanks, Colby.”
“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I wait for her to leave before opening the bag and pulling out the box.
Popping the lid, it takes me a second to absorb the cookies in front of me, and when I do, I shake my head as silent laughter fills my chest. Several cookies shaped like piles of shit line the bottom of the box, with writing on them: If you’re going to act like a turd, go lie in the yard.
Fucking Dilynne.
Only she could insult me and I take it as this is her way of showing that she cares.
What I still can’t figure out is why.
***
One Week Later
“Anything?” Rhonan’s voice is hopeful as he glances over at me.
Sighing, I drag a hand down my face in defeat. “Nothing.”
“Not even a twitch?”
“Nope.”
“Fuck.”
“Our next contestant is ready! Can we give her some encouragement, folks?” The crowd cheers in response to the DJ’s announcement.
Rhonan and I turn back to the mechanical bull—and freeze.
“Is that…”
“Fuck my life,” I grumble as my worst nightmare comes to life right before my eyes.
This was supposed to be a night out to prove to myself that I am not attracted to Dilynne Clark. In fact, I needed some other woman during the bull riding contest to validate that the way my dick perks up when she’s around is a fluke, just like I’m praying that it is.
We’ve been here for almost an hour at this point and…nothing. Hundreds of gorgeous women are prancing about in skimpy tops, cutoff shorts, and cowboy boots—the fantasy of a lot of red-blooded males.
Sadly, the only thing I’ve felt below the belt is the urge to fucking pee because I’m already on my third beer. Thank God Rhonan is driving because now I’m definitely going to need something stronger.
“Let’s do this, bitches!” Dilynne, a.k.a. Henley’s younger sister and my nemesis, screams over the chaos just as the mechanical bull lurches to life. “Yee-fucking-haw!”
“What are the chances?” Rhonan asks, oblivious to my internal turmoil.
“Yup. It’s official. Someone upstairs fucking hates me,” I mutter, but I can’t move from my seat because my eyes are locked on Dilynne as she rolls her hips with the bull.
I can feel Rhonan glance over at me, but my jaw remains locked tight and my eyes narrowed, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why I’m still sitting here.
Dilynne tosses her head back, shouting over the music.
Rhonan takes out his phone and snaps a picture of her, probably for blackmail someday.
Only a few seconds later, Dilynne gets whipped off the bull in a quick jolt.
The crowd rings out with cheers and applause, but I stand and adjust my junk before slamming down the rest of my beer and walking toward the bar.
“Let’s hear it for Dilynne, everyone!” the DJ shouts, cutting through my thoughts.
Only, nothing seems to be working to drown out the reality that I’m attracted to my best friend’s little sister, and I don’t know what to fucking do about it.