Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
dexter
My last brain cell hangs on by a frail, paper-thin thread.
Why else would I’ve been half a second away from laying Florence out on the bench of my truck?
Images of me peeling those tight leggings down and her writhing on top of me flashed through my brain, over and over, like the shutter of a camera.
The feel of her lithe body pressed against mine had hidden memories resurfacing.
Memories that shouldn’t exist.
Through the lust-filled reverie, my voice of reason made itself known, stopping me from following through with the deprived thoughts in my mind. How did my plan to cheer her up turn into that?
We made it to the site in one piece. She stalled two more times, mumbling angrily and sitting far too close to the wheel. If I wasn’t concentrating on keeping us on the road, I could’ve watched her all day.
Trouble. So much fucking trouble.
If that wasn’t bad enough, I’d woken with a high-pitched ringing in my ears, blocking out almost all low frequency noises.
The aural fullness was frustrating more than anything.
The only way to describe it is as if my head has been dunked under water.
Both eased off by the time I met Florence outside her cabin, though.
Her impromptu driving lesson was well timed, as I usually avoid driving when my symptoms persist.
The cabin we’re visiting is for a couple moving from the city to enjoy their retirement.
Florence has attended a few site visits now.
Today, I’ve tasked her with taking photos during my final walkthrough, which I do at the end of every project to ensure we’re in line with building code and health and safety regulations, as well as checking the quality of work.
I’d expected this part of the job to bore her, but as usual, she’s full of surprises.
Donning her hard hat and high visibility vest, she points out any uneven surfaces or damaged finishes, photographing them and leaving herself detailed voice notes.
She hit the ground running with the administrative tasks, and here, she thrives.
Not once has she appeared bored while listening to me explain the technical side of the operations.
We’re on track to complete today with no major defects or issues. The team is made up of varying degrees of experience, and I trust them all to uphold the standards set at Moore Lumber.
Florence wandered off to check up on emails while I caught up with Megan, my rough carpenter who oversees the structural elements.
“You’re sure six weeks is enough time for you to get everything assembled?” I ask, scanning the plans for the summer camp.
A brow arches in challenge. Megan’s spectacular at what she does and is also pretty scary. “Have I ever fallen behind before?”
My head shakes with laughter. “Remind me never to question you again.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, and then her eyes flare at something over my shoulder. “Florence is nice. She’s Patrick’s sister?”
“Yeah,” I reply, attention moving back to the tablet in my hand, but the stupid thing has locked again. Florence balked when I requested the passcode be 1-2-3-4, but I can’t remember the new one we agreed on.
“And she’s single?”
Tablet forgotten, my gaze pings to Megan, reply immediate. “Yes. Why?”
Smirking, she tongues her cheek. “Curious is all.”
“Right…”
“And because Nico is one hundred percent putting the moves on her right now.”
The fuck he is.
Spinning, I search for my joiner. Well, my soon to be ex-joiner.
“Don’t we have a no fraternization policy?” I grumble while scanning the worksite.
Megan cackles. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
I find them standing too close, hunched over a table, as he points to something. I’m halfway across the yard in a flash, eyes locked on Florence. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it engrosses her.
She wears the same infatuated expression from when she ticked the first item off her list. Green mists my vision. That smile is for me. It’s only a few feet away that I recognize this sensation as jealousy, and my footsteps falter.
Nico is twenty-six, much closer in age to Florence. He’s also reliable, talented, and looks after his mom, who was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. A real catch.
Just not good enough for her.
And neither are you.
At the sound of my approach, they glance up.
“Hey, man,” Nico greets, straightening to adjust his hat. “I was showing Florence the original designs for the cabin.”
“Haven’t you got something else to be doing?” I snap.
He blinks in surprise. “Oh, yeah. Got it.” He turns to Flo. “It was good seeing you again. If you’re ever—”
“She’s not. Florence, a word?” I squeeze my large frame between them and plant my hands on the table, back to Nico.
When he’s gone, Florence’s cheerfulness deflates. “That was rude.”
It was, but I’m struggling to work out what the appropriate reaction was. I exhale through my nose. After three lungs full of air, calm settles over me. “You ready to finish up the tour?”
She has every right to eye me warily. “There’s more?”
No. “Yeah. The loft. You haven’t seen the loft.”
If the ringing in my ears wasn’t lingering, alarm bells would be screaming at me to stop.
Popping a hip, she grabs her discarded hard hat, smile returning. “Lead the way.”
I ignore the stares from my team as we walk through the cabin.
It’s one floor, but the narrow roof is spacious enough for a sleeping loft, similar to the A-frame.
Florence goes up the ladder first, something I quickly regret as the globes of her pert ass come level with my face.
Each cheek bounces with every rung, the perfect fucking handful.
I’m a sadist, no other way about it.
We reach the top—her oblivious and me with a half-hard cock.
She does that thing, spinning around, arms wide as she takes it all in. Her happiness is a tonic to the soul, warm and revitalizing, one I drink up greedily. Balancing on her toes, she peers through the skylight.
Silver specks dance in the sunbeams, our movements disturbing the dust. The late afternoon sunshine paints everything in streaks of luminous amber. It bounces off her white-blonde hair, making her appear brighter, if that’s even possible.
“What will they use this space for?” she asks, dragging me from my hypnotic state.
I shrug, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Most store crap, but I’ve seen a few people turn them into small theaters or cover the entire floor in cushions.”
Her eyes widen. “I’ll take ten.”
She moves to the other end of the loft, allowing me the opportunity to readjust myself.
A squeal, so loud it cuts through the buzzing in my ears, has me on high alert.
I spin around and find her swatting at the air, spluttering and blowing raspberries amidst her panic. “I’m under attack!”
“What? What is happening?” My boots thud against the floor.
“Help!”
“I’m trying.” I find the culprit: cobwebs wrap around her head, some in her eyelashes. “Keep still a sec.”
She goes rigid, face scrunched in disgust. “Is it on me? Is the spider on me?”
Chuckling, I swipe at the webs, careful of her septum piercing. “Nope, but you destroyed its home. Hope you’re proud.”
She smacks me in the chest. “Dick.”
I smirk, tugging her away from the Orb-weaver hanging overhead. The less she knows, the better. “You still want one if it comes with critters?”
“Of course.” She grins. “Buy only if you’re building it. Who knew my friend was so talented?”
Friend.
It’s exactly how I need her to perceive us, yet hearing her say it knocks the wind out of me.
I can’t act on these urges. She’s too young and full of life to be dragged down by whatever future lies on my horizon. Yes, she’s Pat’s sister, but for every day we spend together, that fact holds less and less weight. Whatever I’m feeling is simply the aftermath of our night together.
It’ll pass.
My body demands sleep, but it’s impossible to relax when the aural fullness fights to overthrow the dizziness, leaving me incapacitated.
The vertigo attack wasn’t out of nowhere; the high-pitched ringing yesterday was an omen.
Darkness is my friend, and the blackout curtains in my bedroom stave off any unnecessary discomfort while I ride this out.
Is it morning or night?
It’s a weekday, I know that much, meaning people are relying on me, but I’m no help to anyone in this state. I just need to call someone to tell them I’m out for the day, maybe two.
Vertigo attacks don’t occur often, but what they lack quantity, they make up for in quality. With them comes nausea.
Bathroom.
Phone.
Bed.
Three things.
I will my body and mind to cooperate. After, I’ll succumb to whatever they have planned for me.
On legs like two pieces of overcooked noodles, I hobble my way toward my en suite.
I almost trip over my work boots and stub my toe on the end of the bed, but eventually, the wood changes to cool tile under my feet.
Cracking an eye open, I spot my target, but one step has the world tilting.
Fuck, no. No.
Three seconds is all I’m given to find purchase on something. Anything.
Then, the floor comes zooming toward me, and everything goes black.