Page 8 of Our Long Days
CHAPTER THREE
dexter
“Ha!Knotting! And K is on a double letter tile!” Florence hoots, arms shooting up like she just scored a touchdown.
Jaw slack, I throw a hand at the board. “What the fuck is ‘knotting’?”
The tip of her tongue traces her cupid’s bow. “Google it.”
Sixty seconds and an internet search later, my eyeballs and brain are corrupted.
“And you read that stuff?” I whisper in shock.
Fanning herself, she nods. “Omegaverse. Hoo, boy.”
There’s a moment of silence before our laughter bounces off the walls. She tips sideways, clutching her belly, and I knock over the empty bottle of whiskey, sending it rolling under the sofa. Once we collect ourselves, our glassy eyes meet.
Palms raised in defeat, I shake my head. “I give up. You win, Little Sadler.”
She grins triumphantly. “You tried. It’s a doggy dog world out there.”
I squint at her.
“What?” she asks.
“Doggydogworld?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She rolls her eyes, as ifI’mthe one who’s confused.
“It’sdog-eat-dog-world.” I bite my tongue from laughing.
She gasps. “It is not.” Unlocking her phone, she stabs at the screen then howls with laughter. “Well, if that’s not a sign to call it a night.” She tidies the board game, her movements clumsy. “I’m going to call a cab.”
“Florence,” I start and rise to my knees. “You’re not getting a cab. I have two spare bedrooms.”
Warning signs flash in my head, their lights bright red. This woman has had my mind straying multiple times tonight—Patrick’syounger sister. I’m divided between being a gentleman and respecting my best friend.
She chews her bottom lip, nails tapping on the hardwood floor. “Is this a pity invite?”
I recoil. “What?”
Florence has a tendency to throw in a curveball when you least expect it. She’s full of quirky, wonderful ideas she can’t contain. It’s refreshing, but this one is so out of left field.
“Bleugh, sorry.” She waves a hand around her head. “An inside thought escaped.”
My joints scream at me in this position. I move to sit on the sofa, and she follows, embarrassment tinging her cheeks.
“Listen.” My tone is firm but necessary. “I was quite happy calling it quits the second it hit midnight, but a game of filthy Scrabble and greasy pizza turns out to be exactly what I needed. Nothing about you being here is out of pity.”
Our knees brush, and my hand is an inch from her shoulder as it hangs over the back of the sofa. Florence stares at me, doubt still marring her features.
“Where’s this coming from?” I ask softly.
She considers this for a second, and then the gates open, her honesty crashing around us.
“I have no clue what I’m doing. Today, tomorrow, forever.The list of things I wanted to accomplish before the new year is endless, and I haven’t checked one thing off. No one will hire me thanks to my lack of experience, but I can’t get experience without a job. My mom and brothers keep pushing me to work at the restaurant, but that’s taking the easy route.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve only been home a month, and honestly, it’s as if I never left. It’s hard not to feel like a disappointment.” Her voice cracks, the sad noise making my chest ache.
Her lips purse, as if she doesn’t want to say anymore. From the tension in her shoulders, her confession was vibrating to escape.
