"Let's go to Tiny's Tavern."

“It’s a bit early to drink, don’t you think?”

Flora grins but fights it off with a playful eye roll. “I’m not looking to drink. But I am curious about your living situation before our paths crossed.”

“As long as your opinion of me doesn’t degrade,” you play.

“That’s impossible,” she teases. “But who knows?”

Once inside Tiny’s Tavern, you see Miranda, who at first perks when she sees you. However, she deflates and works into a synthetic smile when she spots Flora. She starts with a formal greeting and proceeds to act like she hasn’t met you.

After a bit of conversation, Miranda then pretends she recognizes you. “You were that contractor here last year, weren’t you?!”

You don’t know what she means to do, but you play along anyway. “Yes,” you act, surprised she knows who you are.

“Returning with a girl, I see. I suppose that isn’t surprising, considering the reputation you left on half of the girls that live here,” she teases and then regards Flora. “You’re aware of his background, yes?”

“Acutely,” Flora responds somewhat tightly.

Miranda winks, her smile not so synthetic anymore but naughty. “I’ll get you a room,” she says. “I’m sure you’d love to relive some of your past experiences.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” you try to tell her, but Miranda plucks a key ring from the door and tells you. “Room 32, second floor.”

“That’s not—“

“I’ll keep it off the record, too, just so no nosy visitors can track you two, mkay?” Miranda’s red love puckers as she kisses you goodbye.

Seeing a chance to explain to you only a drink, Flora interrupts you next with a shy tug and a low voice. “Come on, can’t we just order some room service or something? I love hotel rooms anyway.”

Now defeated on both fronts, you opt not to argue and to go to the room where the key’s tag indicates. “Fine,” you tell her. “I’m fine with that as long as you are.”

“And I am,” Flora promises.

You didn’t realize Miranda gave you the room where you had initially stayed in. No rush of memories came flying back to you, but there was an odd aftertaste in the back of your throat. You sit at the back and exhale. Flora takes a spot next to you and probes a question.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I stayed here for a few months before being recruited by Scarlet.”

Flora scoffs. “Pitiful room. Only slightly better than the undergoing shelter.”

“It had its pluses,” you counter.

“Mm? Like Delilah, I’m sure.”

You laugh. “She helped.”

It got quiet, and you could tell Flora wished she hadn’t brought up the name. Regarding friends, do you think you would have rather had Delilah? She was easier to talk to, and you felt like your relationship was on a more stable platform. Flora loved you, of course, but the tension in which it was made it uncomfortable at times.

“Delilah wouldn’t have handled any of this as well as you have,” you try to defuse her emotions.

“No,” she says and then growls slightly. “Shut up. It’s a girl thing. It isn’t about anything that makes any sense. It was stupid for me to bring it up.”

You start to feel dizzy, but luckily she doesn’t leave the task for you to complete. Instead, she continues with a disgusted groan. “How many times did you fuck her on this bed?”

You let out one loud laugh and then swallow. “Once,” you patted the bed’s center. “Doubt that was the last time this bed saw any action, though,” you bounce steadily, making the springs protest. They seemed louder than what you remember.

Flora’s cheeks are now tinted pink. “Who else would ever do that here?”

“Anyone,” you say. “You get a little desperate once you go long enough without release or company.”

“Which one were you?”

You raspberry, unsure if this is a trap, so you tread lightly and tease the edges. “Relatively speaking, my standards usually kept my right hand as the ugliest company to touch my cock.”

Flora glances down, but more towards your hand than your manhood. Her brows knit, and then she smirks. “Wow— so you have relatively low standards then?”

“How about you try contracting for seven years and show me how good your hands look?” You take her right hand and exam her to play. Her fingernails are paintless and smooth, pale pink and soft to the touch. She yanks her hand away and giggles, telling you you’re stupid. Hearing her laugh warms your heart, so you put on a fool’s smile while staring.

She catches your staring and welcomes it. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with that girl, Warren. And I wish we met under better circumstances.”

“Don’t get all serious,” you get off the bed, but she follows you.

“I have to be serious,” she counters weakly. “Otherwise you’re just a tool to forget, not a person to get better with.”

She becomes sheepish as your bodies press against each other. “Forget room service. How about we take a short vacation since we’re here?”