Dilynne #2
“Spinning your bra around your finger in front of Tori and my dad? Yeah, that doesn’t need to happen again. I’d like to avoid giving the impression that our relationship is just about sex.”
The request takes me by surprise. I don’t see why it matters what anyone thinks of our fake arrangement, but I got the reaction I wanted out of Tori, so I’ll let it go. “Fine. No more bra spinning.”
“Rule number two, we only show each other appropriate affection in front of other people, and only when necessary and agreed upon.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Define appropriate affection.”
“Is this your first time in a relationship, Dilynne?”
“Fuck you, Elliot,” I fire back while flipping him the bird. “First of all, you know that’s not true. And second? My idea of affection toward you would be backhanding your balls, so forgive me for wanting you to be more specific.”
His jaw clenches as he composes himself before he replies. “No kissing with tongue, touching in private places, or backhanding unless we are in front of other people. Is that clearer?”
“So you want me to slap you in the nuts in front of people?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I feel like I’m talking to a toddler.”
“Well, you’re treating me like one!”
He lowers his hand and leans forward, so close that I can practically count his eyelashes. And hell, Elliot has some nice lashes. Ugh. Why do men always get the lashes most women would pay good money for?
“I’m trying to make this easier for us so that we aren’t just flying by the seat of our pants, Dilynne.”
“What’s wrong with that? Sometimes the best moments are the ones you don’t plan every detail of.”
“Are you honestly telling me that you would go into restoring a car without a plan?”
“Well, no…”
“Exactly. This fake engagement is a project like that to me. I—I need to know what to expect.”
My brows furrow. “Since when?”
“What do you mean?”
Assessing his face, I’m caught off guard by how anxious he seems. “This doesn’t seem like something that would have bothered you so much before…”
“Well, that was before, okay?” he barks out, standing from the couch and tossing the legal pad to the cushion before he begins to pace. “I just…I need…”
I leap from the couch and walk over to him, reaching for his hand. “Elliot…” But he avoids my gaze, his jaw clenched tight. Reaching up, I grip his chin as he closes his eyes, almost as if he’s in pain. “Elliot?”
“Please just give me some fucking rules, Dilynne.”
“Okay,” I say quickly, loosening my grip on his jaw, looking up to find his eyes still closed. “Okay, you can have your rules. I’ll stop arguing with you, all right?”
We stay like that for so long, I begin to wonder if Elliot has fallen asleep standing up.
But when he inhales again, I release him and he heads back to the couch, grabbing his legal pad.
My heart is racing, and part of me wants to ask him if he’s okay, but he picks back up right where he left off.
“Rule number three,” he says, like he didn’t just have a miniature panic attack. “No sleepovers in the same bed.”
“Okay…” As I recount his growing list, I’m realizing that Elliot is being oddly specific about the details. But then again, he is a lawyer, so I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that much. “Do you plan on us having sleepovers?”
“I—I don’t know, but it wouldn’t make sense that we’re engaged and not staying the night at each other’s houses at some point. Tori and my dad would definitely pick up on that.”
“Fine.”
He nods at me this time. “Okay, I think that’s all I had. Would you like to add anything?”
I consider his request for a minute. If I knew he was going to take this task so seriously, I probably would have given this meeting more thought. Pacing the floor, I turn back to find Elliot looking far more relaxed than he did a few minutes ago.
“Rule four: respect my time in the shop.”
A pinch in his brow develops. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I have a little over five weeks until Motorlux, and I still have a ton of shit to do on the Porsche. So, if I tell you that I’m working late, or I don’t pick up or answer your text right away, I’m probably working on Betty.”
His brows lift at that detail. “Betty?”
Smirking, I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes. The Porsche has a name, and I don’t need your opinion on it.”
He leans back against the couch and mimics me, arms folding across his torso. “Do you name all of your cars?”
“Yup. Just like all men name their dicks.”
He fights a smile. “I haven’t.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I’m serious.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Isn’t talking about your dick right now against the rules?”
“You brought it up.”
“And you’re arguing with me about it.”
He bites his bottom lip and then says, “What did you name the Camaro?”
I glance out his front window at my day-to-day car, the one I restored just after high school with Nick, my foster dad, and have been driving ever since. “Raven.”
Elliot nods. “Since she’s black? That’s not too original.”
“I’m sorry, but again, I didn’t ask for your opinion.
And not that it matters, but it’s not just because of her paint job.
” Pausing, I think of the most rational way to explain this.
“Ravens symbolize wisdom and transformation. The Camaro was the first car I restored, and she taught me so much. I feel like after that…” When my eyes meet Elliot’s, he’s staring at me so intently that it catches me off guard. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Rule number five,” I start, avoiding his confusion and moving back to the point of my being here tonight. “When we are around other people at Motorlux, or anywhere else, I need you to be supportive of me.”
His brows draw together more. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Wow. That’s specific. Thanks for clearing that up.”
“You don’t have to understand my rules, just like I don’t have to understand yours, Elliot. Now, can you do that? Can you back me up and show some, I don’t know…” Searching for the right word, I land on, “Admiration for what I’ve done?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, staring at me for a few moments before he stands and walks over to me, so slowly that I can see every line in his forearms flex as he walks.
His jaw is dusted in dark stubble, which he doesn’t usually sport.
He’s clean shaven in the mornings for his job, but right now?
He doesn’t look like Elliot Thorne, the lawyer.
He looks dangerous, intense, and nothing like the smug pain in the ass I’m used to.
And his lips—how come I never noticed how soft they look?
Jesus, Dilynne. Get a grip.
“Admiration, huh?” he asks when there’s only a few inches of space separating us.
“Yes, a man that doesn’t tear me down, but is proud to be with me. A man that isn’t threatened by my knowledge, my expertise, my…”
He presses a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “I have a hard time thinking any man wouldn’t be threatened by you. Hell, Dilynne…you’re an expert at your craft in a male-dominated field. No matter what you do, babe…men are gonna take notice.”
Did he just call me, babe?
Our eyes meet as Elliot’s finger still rests on my lips. “Is that the only thing that you need from me?”
His finger falls and I struggle to take in a breath before replying, “Yes.”
His nod is short and sweet. “Then I can do that.”
“Good. Uh…great. Thank you.”