It's About Time (Blossom Peak #4)(13)

Kevin flashes me a lopsided smile. “Success comes in many different forms, Elliot.”

“Yeah, I think everyone could use that reminder sometimes. And what about you? How much longer are you going to do this?”

He blows out a breath as he removes his glasses from his face. “I’ve got a few more years left in me. Not quite ready to hang it up.” The corner of his lips quirks. “Besides, nights like these keep me going.”

I nod in agreement. “Then let’s get to it.”

The first woman I meet with is having issues with her landlord. I give her a few tips on how to “threaten” him without having to take legal action. She’s extremely grateful.

The next man I meet with is in a war with his neighbor over a tree. A few printed papers with codes about land ownership put a smile on his face as he walks out of the center.

And the night continues on in that fashion until I finally look at the clock and notice that it’s after eight.

“So good to have you back, Elliot.” Kevin slaps me on the back as we walk out to our cars.

“I’ve gotta say, I needed that.” Inhaling the crisp night air, a smile washes over my face, the first genuine one I’ve felt in a long time. “Keep me posted on your run for District Attorney, will you?” Kevin has had the goal of that position for a long time, and I’m proud that he’s finally going after it.

“Of course.”

Once I’m on my way back to Blossom Peak, I realize I never ate dinner, so I pull through a drive-thru and scarf down my food on the way home.

But as I walk up to my front door a few hours later, I find a bag from The Happy Belly Deli. Glancing at the receipt stapled to the bag, I realize that this food was delivered over three hours ago.

Fucking Dilynne.

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.

Fuc k. 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.