Chapter Two #2
“I finish work shortly,” she said sharply, although her eyes sparkled with humor.
“Can we go back to the getting-off part?” he asked with a wink. He made a mental bet he could do it in five.
“I have customers, Cujo,” she added sweetly, leaning across the counter, giving him a close up of her incredible chest. “But,” her voice dropped down to a whisper, “if you ever get the chance to get me off, you should plan for hours.”
* * *
Guacamole had to be the best food ever invented.
It was right up there with key lime pie.
Drea grabbed another chip and dipped it into the brown earthenware dish of heaven.
She popped it into her mouth and let out a sigh.
Mexican food had been Cujo’s idea, but she was totally down with that plan.
The restaurant had been her choice. Cheap and cheerful, but authentic.
With money so tight, she hadn’t eaten out in forever, but the day’s tips had been decent and sticking with the appetizer would keep it under six dollars.
“Thanks for waiting while I closed up,” she said, more grateful than he would ever know. She was determined to carry on as normal, but working late in the café now scared the crap out of her. He’d waited for her, nursed his coffee, and walked her over to the restaurant.
“No worries. Could hear you cursing up a storm in there. Didn’t know nice girls like you could talk like that.”
“Funny. Laundry pickup is tomorrow morning and the morons I call coworkers don’t know how to empty their pockets.
I’ve told them if I have to do it for them, then I’m keeping all their shit.
This week I scored four hair ties, three pens—all of which were mine, so someone is stealing them—a pack of gum, and a USB flash drive, which means Joanie is probably freaking out over a lost assignment.
” Drea paused to put another chip in her mouth.
“Quite the bounty,” Cujo said, helping himself to another chip, too.
She watched him eat the enchiladas. He’d missed the cutlery etiquette lessons, obviously, as he used his fork like a shovel.
“So I’ve been thinking,” he said with a mouthful of refried beans. “I like the huge celebration idea. Like if we could combine the best of Mardi Gras, Cinco de Mayo, and the Fourth of July.”
Drea wanted to hate the idea. She really did. She’d looked at it from every angle, and decided Cujo was right. An incredible night packed with fun was what Trent and Harper deserved. “How would that work?” she asked, waiting to understand his vision before she jumped in too soon.
“What if we could incorporate the best part of all the holidays? The food could be Cajun, Mexican, or both, served tapas style. Fireworks of course. Beads for chicks who want to take their tops off.”
She paused mid-bite and raised an eyebrow.
“Just kidding. Was checking if you were listening.” He grinned.
His vision took shape in her mind. “We could do a margarita station. No. Tequila. And a pinata,” she added.
“So you can accidentally hit me with a baseball bat?” He laughed.
“No, but great idea.”
“So what do you think?” His eyes were wide and bright, his smile crinkling them in the corners.
“I like it,” she replied, buoyed by his excitement.
“But?”
“No but. I like it. It has a lot of potential.”
“What happened to the woman who wanted us all to dress up like turkeys?”
“I thought about what you said. I’m a big enough girl to admit I might have gotten carried away.”
“Did you just admit I was right?” Cujo clutched his heart and slumped in his seat.
Drea kicked him under the table, smirking when Cujo let out a yelp.
She pulled out her notepad and started to jot down their ideas.
It wasn’t what she had in mind, at all. But there was definitely a way to make it cool and fun.
They could have fabulous hors d’oeuvres, mini elote, and individual servings of churros.
Could they manage to pull off a crawfish broil?
Oh, and boudin balls. Lots of candles and big tin pails of bright flowers. And vibrant lanterns.
“You want another drink?” Cujo offered as their waiter came over. The glass of water she’d been nursing all night kept her share of the bill as low as possible.
“I’m done, thanks.”
Cujo asked for the bill.
It arrived, complete with their server’s phone number on a little silver tray holding two pineapple and chili lollipops. Cujo grabbed it. “I got this, Drea. I ate ninety percent of the food.”
“No.” She placed her credit card on the tray. “This wasn’t a date,” she said, even though it hurt a little to say it. “We should pay for our own.”
Cujo snatched her card and looked at it. “Andrea, huh?”
“I hate it. Only my mom calls me Andrea when she’s mad.” She picked up Cujo’s. “Brody? I like it. Why Cujo?”
“That’s a story for another day.” He took his card back, his fingers brushing against hers.
She refused to acknowledge the shiver that ran down her spine. This was not the kind of guy she was looking for, so why did he keep stirring her up like this?
The server brought over the credit card machine and ran Cujo’s through first, taking her time as she handed it back to him. She took Drea’s next and ran it through the machine.
“I’m sorry, Andrea,” the server said, giving her a look that said she wasn’t sorry in the slightest, “your card was declined.”
Drea felt sick to her stomach. She’d put her mom’s prescription on there, but hadn’t realized how close to the credit limit she was.
“Would you mind trying it again?” She could feel the heat creeping up her neck and cheeks.
She stared at the table, mortified Cujo was there to witness her humiliation.
“I’m sorry. It is still saying declined. Do you have cash or an alternate credit card you could try?”
Drea opened her wallet. Damn. She’d left her tips in her locker. As she flicked through the sections filled with receipts and copies of prescriptions, a hand came to rest over hers.
“Drea.” She couldn’t look up. She didn’t need his pity or help. “Drea, look at me.”
She raised her eyes. If he could just wait twenty minutes, she could resolve this.
“It’s just cheap Mexican between friends. I got this.” He handed his card to the server and waited for her to enter the amount.
She grabbed her things and stood quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ll go back to the café—I left my tips there. Wait outside, I’ll pay you back,” she said and dashed for the door.
* * *
Cujo paid the bill and ignored their server’s blatant attempts to get his phone number while stalling the payment process.
Drea had looked so incredibly crushed. He’d never gotten the impression she had money worries.
He tried her phone, but got her voice mail. “Hey, you’ve reached Drea. Please leave a message, and if you’re nice and I like you, I’ll call you back.”
Cujo hung up. As a general rule, he didn’t do voice mail. He hated it. Felt awkward. He started to jog in the direction of the café. Perhaps he’d catch her before she even got there. Seriously, they were talking about ten bucks, max. Not a big deal.
He pushed the unlocked door to José’s open. “Hey, Shortcake. Where’d you go?” No answer.
The lights in the café were off, but the lights in the back were on. Perhaps in her hurry to get back to him, she’d forgotten to lock the door? Seemed like the ditzy kind of thing she might do, although he’d fire her ass for it if it were his shop.
Drea walked out of the back followed by a dude who looked like a clichéd extra from an eighties rock video.
Long frizzy hair that was either a really bad perm or the guy was hugely unlucky in the hair stakes.
His worn leather jacket had seen better days, and beaten-up cowboy boots completed the ensemble.
Definitely not Drea’s type he guessed, yet he had his arm tightly around Drea’s shoulders.
“What’s going on? You okay?” Cujo studied Drea, who seemed frozen. Her hands hung rigid by her sides.
“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “Thanks for dinner … ummm, I’ll pay you back tomorrow. You should … go.”
She looked anything but fine. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Everything about the guy was setting off alarm bells.
“Listen, man. You want to tell me what’s going on?” Drea flinched slightly as the jerk tightened his arm around her. That was the only signal he needed. There was no way she wanted to be where she was right now.
“Well, see, Andrea and I have been friends for a good long while, haven’t we, Andrea?”
Drea’s panic-filled eyes suddenly looked at Cujo. No fucking way she wasn’t terrified. He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, an automatic shift into a fighter’s stance. The air was electrified Drea was motionless. The he remembered she hated being called Andrea.
“Andrea, come here.” This didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel right, at all.
Drea shook her head furiously. “Please, Cujo. Believe me. You need to go. I’m fine.”
“Her daddy asked me to check up on her, isn’t that right, Andrea?”
“Please, go.” Drea echoed, her voice much lower than usual.
Cujo took one last look around for something to help. The only thing he had were his fists, which, thanks to Frankie, his MMA trainer, were more than ready for what he was about to do.
He took a small step toward the door, a fake to put the guy off guard. Regardless of what his gut was telling him, Drea begged him to leave. But he always listened to his gut. He ran toward the guy, was nearly there when the asshole flashed a gun and pointed it at Drea’s head.
What the fuck?
“See, that was a really bad move,” the guy said.
Cujo stopped dead in his tracks.