Page 131 of Our Long Days
I lock eyes with an emerald pair.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Florence beams up at me.
Chuckling, I bend and kiss her glossy lips. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu. How about you?”
She winks. “Nope. It was wayyyyy past midnight by the time you got into my pants.”
Three deep voices protest.
“Fuck my life.”
“I feel sick.”
“Is it too late to punch him?”
We turn to find her brothers wearing a mix of repulsion and annoyance. Florence pays them no mind and draws my attention back to her.
I go to speak when a high-pitched noise comes from the speakers. My hand flies to my right ear, clamping over the hearing aid. The DJ winces and continues setting up.
A hand covers mine. “Are you sure you want to wear them tonight?”
I fiddle with the wire and shrug. “Got to get used to wearing two eventually.”
After my appointment in August, I took some time to weigh the options Doctor Accetta recommended. The idea of surgery was too invasive, and over the fall, I opted for steroid injections. More recently, I was fitted for a second hearing aid. It’s taking some getting used to, but the tinnitus is less noticeable, and so far, I’ve had no vertigo attacks.
Florence also had some changes to adjust to. In September, she started taking ADHD medication. There were some initial side effects, but she powered through. There’s no denying she’s more settled in herself and catastrophizes less. It didn’t seem to come as a surprise to her when the doctor recommended anxiety medication as well.
What made it easier—for the two of us—was not doing it alone.
I know for certain I wouldn’t have taken the next step without Florence.
“If the music gets too loud, we can go home.” She quirks her eyebrows. “We haven’t used that new toy?—”
“Trouble…” I nod at her brothers.
“Oops.” She giggles, not an ounce of apology on her face. “I’m gonna help Jo change Madeline’s diaper. Be right back.”
She smacks a sloppy kiss to my cheek—definitely to torture her siblings—and holds her arms out to Jo for the sleeping baby.
I watch her walk toward the restroom, smiling and rocking Madeline. We’ve spoken about children. We had to, considering how vocal I am about certain kinks. We both saw them in our future. Florence wants to finish classes first and get comfortable with her meds, and once she’s ready, we’ll see what happens.
“Plenty of time for practice, lumberjack,” she teased following the conversation.
Then, I bent her over the bed of my truck, flipped up her pretty pink dress, and fucked her.
We’ve practiced a lot.
Someone slaps me on the back, jolting me out of my daze.
Patrick hands me a glass of whiskey, looking at me expectantly. True to his word, he’s given us his blessing, plus a couple of disgruntled comments.
“Another year gone. We’ll be forty before we know it.” He sips his beer.
“Shit, don’t remind me,” I grumble.
“Are you crying over your gray hairs again?” Booth hooks an arm around his brother’s neck, grinding his knuckles into his head.
“Fuck off, you delinquent.” Patrick shoves him away.
