It's About Time (Blossom Peak #4)(19)

Dilynne softens her face when she turns back to the man whose dick is probably shriveled up inside of his slacks right now.

And I’m fucking giddy on the inside. My face sure as fuck doesn’t show that, though.

“I don’t have syphilis,” Dilynne starts, but he holds up a hand, stopping her.

“It’s okay. I should, uh…get back to work anyway,” he says, reaching for my glass and then asking me, “Whiskey?”

“Jack Daniels, please.”

Dilynne plants a hand on her hip as she twists to face me. “So, you’ve been out of rehab for two days and you’re already drinking?”

Fighting fire with fire, I see.

Honestly, I wouldn’t expect anything less.

“Yeah, your baby daddy broke me out after he got out of prison.”

The bartender’s brows are drawn so tightly together, I’m afraid they might stay that way.

Dilynne tongues her cheek before she responds. “Well, you’re the one who orchestrated the drug ring, so you might say it’s your fault little Jimmy was without his father for the past two years.”

“That may be, but you’re the one who destroyed your family when you slept with your new dealer.”

A throat clearing interrupts our exchange, but my pulse is thrumming. And yet again, Dilynne Clark seems to be the only woman that can make it do so.

“Your…Jack Daniels,” the bartender says, pulling my attention to him .

“Thank you.” I take a sip of my drink and then give Dilynne my back, heading as far away as I can from my raven-haired nemesis so I’m not tempted to shut her up in other ways.

Sadly, she follows me over to the table where I take a seat to watch the reception from afar.

“What the fuck was that, Elliot?”

My eyes meet hers as she stands above me. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play fucking stupid with me.”

“Oh, you mean saving you from mediocre sex?” I lift my glass back to my lips before muttering, “You’re welcome.”

“Do you know he’s mediocre from personal experience?”

I snap my eyes back to hers. “Martinis and sex? Seriously, Dilynne, I thought you’d be smoother than that.”

“Well, at least I’m putting myself out there,” she quips, and my jaw clenches. “At least I’m not wallowing and acting like every woman on the planet is the enemy because one fucked me over and—”

“That’s enough,” I say, cutting her off.

Her laugh is sharp and humorless. “What? Too honest for you? Shocker that you don’t want to hear the obvious truth, even when it’s staring you in the face. That little habit of yours is exactly why you’re in this mess to begin with.”

I stand from my chair, towering over her by a few inches even in her heels, heels that would look so fucking good sticking straight up in the air as I pound into—

“My well-being isn’t your fucking concern,” I snap. “I thought I made that perfectly clear months ago.”

But you kept showing up. You kept fighting with me to keep living, and I have—because of you.

Shaking her head, her lips curl in disgust as she studies me. “Yeah, you did. Guess I’m the idiot who keeps forgetting.” Then she walks away, and all I can do is stare at the sway of her hips and hate myself for wanting to stop her.

Because Dilynne Clark doesn’t know when to take no for an answer, and that’s exactly how she got under my skin in the first place.





Chapter 8





Dilynne



Tire and Professional Pressure


“Boss? Those new tires are here!”

I slide out from under the fender of the Ford F-150 I’m replacing the brakes on to find Steven poking his head out of the door that leads to the front reception area of my shop, Clark Customs & Auto Repair.

“Give me a second,” I tell him. “I just need to change this brake pad really quick.”

He salutes me and then retreats back to his domain. I really ought to look for someone to run the front of the shop so he can be back here with me full time, but he’s honestly so good with the customers and working alone is my preference. Still, I know he has far more automotive talents than writing invoices and taking payments—and other talents that he loves to brag about. Talents his wife, Chelsea, is more than happy to confirm whenever she gets the chance.

Onc e the brake pad is in place, I slide my rolling stool back from the truck and head toward the sink to make my hands appear somewhat presentable before I sign for the tires. Luckily, the black nail polish I always sport helps hide the grease.

By the time I finish at the sink, the delivery guy is waiting near the bay entrance while one of his guys unloads stacks of tires from the bed of the truck outside.

“Hey, Gene.”

He nods in greeting as he hands me a clipboard and pen. “Nice to see you, Dilynne.”

“Likewise. You got a long route today?”

“Nope. Just you and one other stop in Asheville today.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, tomorrow is going to be a long one, though. I have to go all the way to Garnet Valley for a special delivery.”

“Garnet Valley? They couldn’t find a supplier closer to them? I mean, you’re almost three hours away.”