Page 80 of Our Long Days
Florence winces. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No,” I reassure her. “It’s a good idea, and the bell won’t be at ear level.”
Butt Head lives up to his name and rams into me, knockingme on my ass. He then nuzzles Florence’s arm as if nothing happened and trots away to join his brother.
“Traitor,” I grumble.
“I think I’m their favorite,” she snickers. “So, I was wondering if we could do something tomorrow?”
Her secretive tone entices me. I lean in, whispering, “I’ll do anything with you.”
“Put your dick away, lumberjack.” She shoves me in the chest. “I want to get a tattoo.”
My brows jump. “Is that so?”
Determined as anything, she’s flying through the list, and I’d be lying if the idea of her getting inked didn’t turn me on.
The weekend after our rendezvous in the bathroom, we went paddle boarding. Florence, nimble and slim, nailed it, looking gorgeous as the sunset reflected off her glistening skin. I, on the other hand, am still coughing up salt water.
One evening, we ordered pizza, built a bonfire, and ate s’mores on Piper Beach. We ended the night with Florence on her knees in the sand dunes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sucked my cock.
Next up,Get a tattoo.
“Yep. Ink me up, baby.” She flops on her back, basking in the sun, eyes closed. I scoop up her legs, laying them across my lap. She smiles. “I’m thinking of getting ‘Dex was here’ on my left butt cheek.”
“Like fuck you are,” I growl then pounce on her. She wriggles and squeals. I pin her wrists above her head. “Barry is a friend. It would be a shame to kill him for looking at my girl’s ass.”
“Your girl, huh?”
I bend, stealing a kiss. “Yes. My girl.”
She hooks her legs around my waist, drawing me closer. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’ll call Barry. I’m sure he can squeeze you in after-hours.”
Vulnerability sweeps over her face. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
I level her with a look. “Florence, nothing is better than spending time with you. There’s a selfish part of me that hopes you fail your driving test because I love driving you around. I’m praying it rains again. I want to sleep out under the stars every night.” Releasing her wrists, I cup her face. “I know your brain is trying to tell you otherwise, but there’s no place I’d rather be than here. You got that, Trouble?”
She mirrors me, cradling my stubbled jaw. “It’s funny. All my life, I’ve struggled to fit in, and all it took was half the summer with you to find somewhere I finally belong.”
My heart roars to life, powered by a jet engine, fueled by her very existence. It’s impossible to calm the possessiveness racing through me. Covered in grass stains, our tangled limbs warmed under the later afternoon sun, I hope this summer never ends.
Expression twistedbetween discomfort and excitement, Florence watches me from her position on the leather chair. The buzz of the tattoo gun and country radio station sound in the background as Barry bends over Florence’s outstretched arm.
She flounced into the studio, oozing with confidence, her design a secret. The second Barry started prepping her skin, she paled.
“It’s like getting the hairs on your arm pulled,” I told her. Apparently, that didn’t help. “Florence, your nose is pierced.”
“That’s ten seconds,” she threw back. “Men have low painthresholds, always bitching about man-flu and your balls being sore. It’s crazy you have so many.”
Barry and I shared a look.
After the first few strokes of the needle, she relaxed, only wincing occasionally if it hit a sensitive spot on her forearm. At this angle, I can’t see what’s going on. From the sentimental smile Florence wore as she passed the hand-drawn sketch to Barry, it’s meaningful.
“Don’t tell Dex I told you this.” Barry pauses, speaking loud enough for me to hear. “But I had the pleasure of giving him his first piece. It was half the size of yours, and he passed out before I finished. Had to come back a week later to get it shaded.”
Florence giggles, shoulders jiggling as she tries to keep still. “Aww, my big, bad lumberjack. Are those really transfers?”
