Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
florence
Burrowing into my bed and forgetting yesterday ever happened sounds very appealing.
But allowing my emotions to take the wheel isn’t going to solve anything. It’s bad enough they controlled me in Dex’s office. The tiny room was bursting at the seams with how they rolled off me, filling it with untempered vexation. It was humiliating.
Today is a new day.
A cloud of dry shampoo fills the bathroom.
Flipping my head upside down, I fluff my hair, apply some sunscreen, switch out my septum piercing, then study my reflection.
There’s no hiding the dark smudges under my eyes thanks to the three hours of sleep I managed to get last night.
My roots are in need of a touch-up, but I’m trying my best not to make unnecessary purchases. Box dye kits are not a necessity.
Dex doesn’t need to be dragged into my mess; I’m here to do a job.
A job that, despite the curveball life’s thrown me, is going okay—I think.
For a man who could build a chair in his sleep, his hatred of technology is comical.
His desktop had me breaking out in hives, not a lick of organization in sight.
His calendar was abysmal, now color coordinated and linked to his phone. The documents he claimed to be “organized” are now scanned and filed into his computer. Tomorrow, I’m hoping to conquer his social media, fully prepared for him to ask what a hashtag is.
We’re on site today, visiting a smaller project. It’s fun seeing him in action. Never has anyone made a hard hat and a high-vis vest look so sexy.
In a pair of pale blue leggings and a matching athletic crop top, I take a deep breath. My lungs crave the fresh air. The few hours outdoors I get in the evening aren’t enough.
Most mornings, the goats greet me, their escape from the pen a mystery. Today, however, something else waits for me on the porch. A box.
It’s small, fitting nicely in the palm of my hand. I read the note attached.
Florence, saw this and thought of you. Dex x
The driveway is empty, the man himself nowhere to be seen.
As I lift the lid and tip the contents out of the velvet bag, my heart skips.
It’s a silver ring. Tiny flowers decorate the inner band while the outside is polished and smooth. It’s beautiful. I run my finger along the stamped edges and, to my surprise, the inner band rotates.
“It’s called a spinner ring,” a deep voice drawls. For such a large man, he’s very stealthy. “If you don’t like it, they have other designs.” Dex stands at the bottom of the stairs, expression unreadable. He’s in his usual: worn jeans, work boots, flannel.
“You bought this for me?” I ask wistfully.
He shrugs. “I came across it randomly. It’s no big deal.”
It’s the biggest. A horde of butterflies erupts in my stomach.
I haven’t worn any rings since losing them on the beach.
Their absence has left my skin tender from all the anxious fidgeting.
And he noticed. Dex struggles to forward an email, so his claim to have stumbled across a very specific ring design is hard to believe.
The gesture is thoughtful and does terrible things to the ever-growing feelings I’m trying to ignore.
Swallowing, I descend the steps until we’re toe to toe. He watches me slip the dainty band over my index finger. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
He grunts in response, ever the caveman.
“You ready to go?” I ask while admiring my new jewelry.
“Huh?” He bends at the knees, brow pinched.
“Oh, sorry.” I ensure he can see my lips. No hearing aid today. “Are you ready to go?”
He nods. “Yeah, let’s get going.”
We move toward his pickup, and I speak more clearly. “How come you’re not wearing your hearing aid?”
His steps falter, kicking up stones. “Forgot.”
“I could set a reminder. Or maybe we—”
“Florence, it’s fine,” he cuts me off, frowning at the ground.
I open my mouth, but he throws me a warning glare, preempting my apology. The guilt for prying quickly flees when he presses the keys into my hand and rounds the hood, opening the passenger’s door and climbing inside.
Hooking my arms through the open window, I duck inside. “You’re in my seat.”
“Nah. That one’s yours today. Get in.”
I blanch. “Does this have auto-pilot suddenly? Because in case you forgot, I can’t drive.”
He twists his big body, knee knocking into the dash to face me fully. All playfulness disappears when he pins me with a thoughtful look. “Yet. But you will soon enough. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” His voice is gruff when he spies my watery expression.
I press my lips together, staving off the tears. “Quit doing sweet things for me then, lumberjack.”
“Listen, if you’d rather not learn, then—”
“No!” I rush out. “It’s not that…”
He waits for me to fill in the blanks.
“Dad was going to teach me the summer after I turned fifteen, but I kept getting in my head about it. Plus, I had three brothers who chauffeured me around. By the time I felt ready to start lessons, I was sixteen.” I blow out a breath, tapping the metal. “He died a few weeks later.”
Dex nods slowly.
“After that, the idea of driving lessons felt tainted.”
“And today?”
I smile. “Today, I want to give it a try.”
His expression mirrors mine. “Get in then.”
Giddy and vibrating with the urge to kiss this sweet, sweet man, I open the door and settle behind the wheel. I grip the leather, warm from the morning sun, and position my hands. “Ten and two, right?”
He smirks. “You watch too many movies. Scoot over.”
I do as he says and stop breathing when he slides across the bench, crowding me against the door as he points at the dials and levers.
“Learning to drive stick might be more complicated, but after this, you can drive anything.”
“I already know how to handle a stick.”
He deadpans. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Nope.” I pop the p, smiling angelically.
He shakes his head, cursing under his breath. The hairs on my arms stand to attention when he leans over me. “Turn the ignition and keep it in neutral.”
A rumble vibrates under my feet, tickling my arms and legs as the engine purrs to life. A few more instructions, and then it’s over to me.
“Foot down. Now into first. Good. Now, slowly ease off the clutch until you feel it kick a little. That’s it—” We jolt forward before our heads slam back into seats as the engine cuts off.
“What did I do?” My hands hover in the air, afraid to touch anything.
His smile is reassuring. “Nothing. You stalled is all. It happens. Now, try again.”
It takes four more tries until the truck eases forward, crunching over the gravel.
“Oh my days, I’m driving. I’m frigging driving! Are you seeing this?” I shout, unable to peel my eyes off the dirt road.
“I’m seeing it.” His voice is thick with something. I risk a glance in his direction and almost swerve. Streaks of sunshine break through his stormy gray irises, shining bright with pride. There’s no other word for it.
Dex is proud of me.
He lunges forward, dragging me from my daze as he adjusts the wheel, narrowly avoiding a ravine.
My foot slams on the break, jerking us backward again.
“Oops.”
It’s his fault, really. He shouldn’t turn up at my door, doing outrageously sweet things and looking at me so intensely, it sends shivers down my spine.
“You’re going to put me in an early grave.” He doesn’t budge, still in my space, arm draped in front of me.
“Maybe the elderly shouldn’t partake in dangerous tasks.”
“Brat.” A vacuum sucks all the air from the cab. Vivid flashbacks of our night together barrel into me. It’s not just his stern tone, but his smoldering eyes.
Large fingers curl around my waist, hoisting my hips higher while my face remains pressed into the gray comforter.
“That’s it. Stay right there,” Dex mumbles and runs his rough palm up the length of my spine.
My entire body tingles at his appreciative tone.
He sucks in a breath when I wiggle my hips, and I feel the burn of his gaze on my bare ass. I raise my head and tuck my chin over my shoulder, aiming my devious smirk his way.
His eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
I shrug. “Whatever I want.”
He barks a laugh. “Is that so?”
On his knees, he shuffles forward, and his hot length bobs between the apex of my thighs. He nudges the tip at my entrance. I’m sore from our first round, though that’s not going to stop me.
I flip onto my back, legs spread, propped up on my elbows. This new position leaves him looming over me, his presence intense and domineering.
“Should’ve known you wouldn’t behave,” he gruffs. “Such a brat.”
My stomach somersaults, core clenching.
He notices my reaction. “You like that? Being my little brat?”
Swallowing, I attempt to slow my heartbeat. “It’s new.”
He leans down, hands planted on either side of my head, his lips skating up my jaw. “Let’s work it out together.”
From his rigid posture and heavy breathing, he’s remembering too. He shakes it away much easier than me, clearly not wanting to revisit that evening. Calmly, he pops open the glove compartment. A piece of paper and pen appear in front of me.
“Check it off,” he instructs.
A list. But not any list—the one I penned with my dad.
His reasons to teach me are obvious now. I was so blinded by nerves and eagerness, I just presumed he didn’t want to drive me around everywhere.
Excitement vibrates through me. Eagerly, I strike a tick next to Start driving lessons then catapult myself into his arms. Screw his modesty and any boundaries—this is a big deal.
He tumbles back, taking me with him. His thick thigh ends up wedged between my legs, our noses inches apart. I’m aware of everywhere our bodies meet, especially where his large hands encompass my waist, fingers flexing against the strip of bare skin.
The thumping of his heart reverberates through my bones.
Yes, I should unravel myself, but my mouth moves before my body. “I’m struggling to put into words how I’m feeling.”
His throat works with a deep gulp. “Describe it for me.”
He doesn’t push me away. The opposite, actually. His grip loosens, and I sink further into his hold.
“It’s how I imagine a flower blooming for the first time. That first taste of sunshine and drop of rain. The wind kissing its leaves and the bees buzzing overhead.” I tap my chest. “That’s what’s going on in here.”
The creases around his eyes deepen, and I stop breathing when he raises a hand to my face. “You’re not a single stem, though. You’re a whole fucking meadow of wildflowers.”
I might have been a flower moments ago, but now, I’m wilting under the heat of his gaze.
“Why?” I whisper.
He tilts his head in question.
“Why are you helping me? Yes, it’s time I learned to drive, but it’s pointless checking the rest of these things off. What’s it going to accomplish?”
“Once upon a time, the idea of them made you happy. Coming home might not have been what you imagined, so reimagine it. A summer doing whatever you want.” The rough pads of his fingers brush my cheek. “Happiness is what you’ll accomplish. I’ll be the lucky bastard to witness it.”
Our faces draw closer, tempting inch by tempting inch. I catalog every fine line, gray hair in his mustache, and flecks of indigo in his irises.
This isn’t forgetting. I’m supposed to be forgetting.
I shift against him, knowing if I don’t move, I’ll do something that leads to him rejecting me. Only, I’m stuck.
“Um, Dex?”
He grunts when my knee brushes the seam of his jeans. I freeze. He’s turned on, thick and hard.
“Florence, do not move,” he grits out, eyes clamped closed.
“I’m caught on your belt buckle,” I squeak, wiggling to free myself and ultimately grinding on his leg.
“Give me a minute.” His left hand drops, fumbling between us, knuckles nudging my aching center. “Please, stop moving, or we’re going to have bigger problems to deal with.”
There’s no fighting the reaction my body has. My nipples pucker, heat floods between my legs, and my breathing resumes, faster this time.
I suck my stomach in, the cold metal of his belt buckle brushing my scorching skin. Another grunt. I hover over him, motionless, until my knees shake. Limbs heavy, I concentrate on something through the window—anything—not what’s going on inches from my soaked panties.
This is so wrong, but my pussy remembers how his fingers, mouth, and cock feel.
The snap of cotton echoes through the cab like the crash of a tree falling in a silent forest. The connection between us breaks, and just as quickly, I’m back behind the wheel, him plastered against the passenger door. The space between us is combustible.
My gaze lowers to where Dex palms himself over his jeans, hand trembling, face contorted in pain.
Then, because he’s the only rational person in this truck, he douses the flames. “Let’s get going, or we’ll be late.”