Page 45 of Our Long Days
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.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
dexter
My last braincell 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 frequencynoises. 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.
