Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
florence
There are plenty of reasons to wish time travel was real.
To stop a heinous crime from being committed or intervening in the conception of an evil dictator.
I’d sell my left boob to rewind the clocks.
Not too far, just to the early hours of New Year’s Day before I slipped out from under the heavy tattooed arm slung over my hip.
It was immature and rude. The memories of our night together were the only thing keeping me warm as I waited for my cab outside.
Dex devoured every inch of me, as I did him.
His body. Good god. A magnificent canvas of artwork painted on what can only be described as masculine beauty.
He’s not ripped, with chiseled abs or defined muscles.
No, hours of manual labor have created a masterpiece.
The epitome of Dad bod. He’s big everywhere, with a wide chest and shoulders, slightly rounded stomach, and thighs thick as tree trunks.
Everything about him was rough. The way he kissed.
The way he fucked. The way he handled me.
When the cab pulled up outside my mom’s house, dawn was on the horizon, and I was hot and bothered all over again. I fought the urge to collapse face first onto my bed, swallowed my pride, and texted him.
Florence: Thanks for the ride last night.
Delete.
Florence: Is it weird we’ve seen each other’s private parts now?
Florence: On a scale of 1-10, how awkward is this going to be?
Florence: Knock-knock. Who’s there? A yam. A yam who? A yam so sorry I ran out of your cabin half-naked and stole your shirt.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Eventually, I settled on one.
Florence: Didn’t want to wake you this morning. Thanks for the pizza and somewhere to crash :)
When I woke hours later, my stomach plummeted through the floor when there was a text from him. It took me ten minutes to work myself up to opening it.
Dex: It’s all good. See you around.
And see him around, I would; there are few places to hide in town, and Dex is practically family. Oh god, no. Not like that. But he’s at most family functions and hangs around with my brothers.
What I hadn’t planned on was seeing him so soon.
Booth deserves a punch to his solar plexus for dragging everyone to Shirley’s.
The bar, as expected two days into the new year, is a ghost town.
My dumb brother is so grossly obsessed with Alessandra, he begged us all to hang out, claiming it’s a tradition at the restaurant.
It’s not.
Maybe Dex won’t show. He has lots of projects coming up. Or maybe he’s gone to see his parents.
The door hinges creak as it swings shut behind me, trapping the cold air out.
Shirley’s has been around for as long as Our Place, and the worn leather seats and weathered bar could do with a facelift.
My boots stick to the floor, and a grumpy pair of eyes, brows slashing downward, whip my way.
Lenny, the owner, is a major grouch and hates most people, but he especially hates tourists.
Glancing around the room, my brothers and friends are nowhere to be seen, so I head over to the surly owner standing behind the bar.
“Evenin’, Governor.” I tip an invisible hat.
Lenny’s scowl deepens. “For such a little thing, ya sure are loud. Also, y’aint old enough to be here.”
I slap a hand to my chest and grin. “Lenny, I’ve been drinking here since before I was twenty-one, but thanks for the ego-boost. Can I get a vodka cranberry, please?”
He squints then turns toward the row of liquor bottles.
What people don’t know is, despite his appalling hospitality, Lenny has a soft spot for me. He just won’t admit it.
“Am I the first to arrive?” I ask over the sound of ice hitting glass.
“Nah, the big fella’s here.”
I pale. There’s no need to ask who he’s referring to.
“Little Sadler,” a gruff voice says, the same one that narrated my sordid dreams and left me aching in my bedsheets last night.
A slow breath blows past my lips as I center myself before slowly turning.
“Oh, hi, Dex,” I chirp.
He blinks at me as if in a daze. “Are you alone?”
“Yep.” I rock on the heels of my boots. “Looks like it’s me and you.”
He winces, which shouldn’t hurt. At least I’m not the only one in this weird fog floating around us, but I don’t do well with awkwardness. How are we supposed to navigate this? We’ve known each other forever, and Dex’s friendship with Patrick means the world to him.
Well, if you hadn’t run out of his bed…
My mouth opens, ready to reassure him it’ll stay between us, when our friends arrive. Relief floods his face; he can’t get away quick enough. A sinking feeling of doubt sours in my stomach.
No. Stop being a baby, Flo. You got drunk, fucked, and that’s that. Move on.
Plastering on a big smile, I snatch my drink off the bar, thank Lenny, and join the group.
This is fine. Absolutely fine.
It’s not fine.
Strangely, the bizarre turn of events has nothing to do with Dex and more with Booth punching someone.
Long story short: Kyle, one of the restaurant’s ex-employees, came here to confront Aly after she fired him.
Naturally, she had it handled, but it didn’t go down well with my brother.
It happened pretty quickly, and after the situation was deescalated, we called it a night.
A blessing in disguise, honestly, because on more than one occasion, my attention drifted to Dex, no matter how hard I tried to ignore him.
“My nipples could cut glass.” Shivers wrack my body as we stand outside the bar.
Graham recoils. “Please stop talking.”
“Everyone has nipples.” Quinn giggles, tucking herself into his side. They’re so stinking cute. Quinn owns the local bakery in town, and she’s the best thing to have ever happened to my reserved, gentle brother.
“I know that, honey, but I’d rather not think about my sister’s.” Graham’s cheeks redden.
“Do I have time to pee?” I hop up and down.
We’re waiting on the rest of the group. Graham and Patrick are giving everyone a ride home. Dex disappeared after dragging Kyle out by the scruff of his neck.
Graham nods. “Yeah, be quick.”
Darting inside, I head toward the restroom, only to face-plant into a wide, solid chest.
My heart pounds. “Oh. I thought you left.”
Dex’s expression is unreadable. Two large hands steady me, our fronts flush. As if realizing, he strides back, putting a healthy amount of distance between us.
He scratches his jaw. “Was just on my way out. Graham giving you a ride?”
“Yeah. He’s outside.” Even in the darkened corridor, his discomfort is obvious, and I’m desperate to eradicate it. “Listen, I know the other night was…”
His eyebrow arches, and I choose my words carefully.
“Fun.” Also hot. “I’m self-aware enough to admit I panicked a little. I think the best thing for us to do is forget it ever happened.” I thrust a hand toward him. “Deal?”
“Forget?” he mumbles, eyeing my open palm suspiciously.
“Yeah. The whiskey helped dilute our…evening, and you don’t have to worry about me telling my brother or falling head over heels in love with you.” Despite me being halfway there. “It was a distraction, remember?”
This gets a reaction. His jaw ticks, teeth clenching.
“This doesn’t have to be awkw—”
“If you left because I hurt you or I said something you didn’t like, I want to know.” His voice is deep and sober.
My jaw drops. This is why he’s acting weird.
He stares up at the ceiling. “Whether it’s once or one hundred times, the last thing I want the woman I slept with is to think I don’t respect her.” His gray eyes find mine, immobilizing me. “It might’ve been a distraction, but it’s important to me you felt safe and enjoyed yourself.”
I suck in a breath, a mixture of shock and guilt burning my nose. “That’s not why I left. It was perfect. You were perfect.” I’m not sure if the hug is for me or him. Either way, my arms wrap around his middle, ear pressed to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He stops breathing, eerily still, hands hovering above my shoulders. After five seconds and a hit of his cologne, I go to peel myself away. A tender grip on my wrist halts me.
His discomfort is gone, and in its place is a familiar burning gaze, the same one that had my bones softening and core clenching.
“What did I say about apologizing?” he gruffs.
Through the layers of my sweater dress and coat, his touch sears my skin.
“You’re awfully bossy.”
Images of him telling me what to do the other night resurface. Memories already proving difficult to forget.
On your knees. Take me deeper. Fuck, like that, Florence.
Dex was clear. We agreed. One time. There’s a teeny-tiny morsel in my chest I won’t allow to take root or grow.
If I feed it, I’ll convince myself the look he’s giving me means something more, that it’s not just me with a herd of horses charging behind their ribcage.
That I’m not the only one leaning in. Closer. Closer.
Our lips are inches apart.
He swallows, the tendons in his neck rippling. “Florence, this—it can’t—”
“Flo! Hurry, or we’re leaving without you.” Booth’s shout is the snap of an elastic band, severing the spell.
We break apart, looking anywhere but at the other. Dex stomps away, muttering to himself, and I run into the restroom.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror is unrecognizable. For better or worse is to be debated.
One night with Dex gave me a sense of control, but the after-effects are short-lived. The seed in my chest feeds off temptation, and the weeks and months that follow prove one time was too much for my pathetic little heart to handle.