“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 wasbefore, 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?”