Chapter Three #3
In one of those heavenly moments, the sun broke free of the clouds just as the gates started to slide open to reveal a huge home.
Cujo’s fingers brushed her chin as he closed her mouth; she batted his hand away.
The building was made of gray concrete and sheets of glass which all seemed to be suspended at different angles, as though someone had thrown the walls up in the air, just to see where they’d land.
It was hard to imagine what shape the rooms must be.
“This is why we walked instead of bringing the car up. You miss the impact if you drive.”
“This is amazing, Cujo, but I don’t get it.”
“This, dear Drea, is a compromise.”
“Holy crap! Is that Moses Jones?” she cried.
Cujo laughed as the longtime power forward for the Miami Heat opened the door. She watched Cujo and Mo do some weird boy fist-bump-hug-backslap thing she could never figure out.
“Mo, this is Drea. Drea, this is—”
“Oh my God.” Drea squealed, embarrassed that her voice cracked. “Three-time defensive player of the year, six-time All Star, and seventh in all-time career rebounds.”
Mo laughed as he shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Drea. Come on in.”
He led them through the open-concept entry and living room to the rear of the house.
Cujo took her hand. They stepped out onto a black limestone patio that extended the full length of the house.
A clear glass roof covered an outdoor kitchen area bigger than her entire main floor at home, and the bar area alone, complete with beer taps, could comfortably sit eight people.
“Go ahead, take a look around. Gimme a minute to wrap something up and I’ll be right out with some drinks.” Mo disappeared inside.
Beyond the patio, the lot was flanked by majestic palm trees, the kind people hired cranes to plant. They swayed gently in the fall breeze. Cujo pressed his hand softly on her lower back, the heat of his fingers searing her, then guided her down the steps to the lawn.
Large swaths of bright pink bougainvillea draped over low walls behind the palms. Lush green plantings and a path lit with square solar lights led to the water.
The red and white sun-loungers looked so comfortable, and the bright sparkles skimming the surface of the pool made Drea want to dive in.
But the view. She took a deep breath of clear sea air and smiled.
The Atlantic Ocean, in all its majesty, welcomed her.
The grass changed from the manicured dark green lawn to the sparser tufts that blended into the sand, and just a few meters away was the water.
“I can’t believe I’m here. At Mighty Mo’s house.”
Never in her wildest dreams had Drea considered being a guest in one of these houses. Golden Beach was for the uber wealthy. She turned to look at Cujo, shocked his eyes were the exact same color as the water.
“It’s the most beautiful place I have ever been,” she whispered.
* * *
He needed to step back because he was two seconds away from scooping all that hair up in his fist and kissing her. Gone was the look of terror that had brushed her features when he’d picked her up from the café, replaced with a breathtaking smile.
When she stopped being mad at the world and him, when she let herself be vulnerable for a moment, he found it hard to stand by his decision to stay away.
There was something addictive about her.
While apart, he’d found himself thinking about her.
Thinking about how good it might be. But relationships were something he needed to avoid, and as tempting as she was, he couldn’t change his mind.
She smacked his arm. A tactile fuck you to his thoughts.
“Race you to the beach,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ran to open the gate. Just before she reached the sand, she kicked her flip-flops off.
He laughed, deliberately trailing her to the beach so he could admire her mighty-fine ass. It was pert, and spoke to thousands of squats. “Want to arrange a party here?”
Her eyes flashed, a huge grin on her face. “Are you kidding me? Really?”
“Went to school with Mo’s youngest brother. Used to live down the street from us as kids. He’d be invited to the party anyway, but said we can host it here if we want.”
Drea threw herself into his arms, laughing, and he caught her easily, swinging her round by her middle.
“It’s perfect.” Drea kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.” Her face changed suddenly, the overt exuberance gone, replaced with a look of shock.
“Sorry,” she said as she wiggled against him. No way was she getting away from him that easily. Obviously embarrassed by her lack of inhibition she was withdrawing, and Cujo didn’t like it.
He lowered her to the sand but didn’t remove his arms from round her waist. It was impossible to ignore the feeling of her breasts pushed up against him, or the fact that his left hand was currently stroking the part of her lower back that curved into her perfect ass.
And damn, his dick was creeping into hard-on territory.
“Don’t be sorry. I love it that you love it. And that you’re excited. And that you just ran across the sand like a four-year-old on a sugar-high.”
“I don’t get to the beach very often. Hell, I don’t even get out very often.”
“Drea,” he said, unsure what to follow it with.
“So what do you think?” Mo called out from the garden, tray in hand.
Drea looked up at Cujo with a sexy smirk, pushing away gently. “C’mon, it’s not every day I get to drink iced tea in a bazillion-dollar home with a legendary basketball star, even if I do have to put up with you while I do it.”
He watched her walk back to Mo and sit across from him, taking the tall glass he offered her. What she didn’t realize was she looked like she belonged there.
Once the preliminary plans of the party had been discussed, they sat and watched the sun go down over the water. Drea had been witty and charming with Mo, and Cujo was starting to get a complex it might just be him who rubbed her the wrong way.
Afterward, he lifted her into the truck despite her objections, because he was a masochist like that, and needed one more feel of her against him.
They hit the highway back to the city. Cujo opened the window a little. The air was cool and clear, fall taking the edge off the humidity. If only it would take the edge off his growing frustration.
“Where’s your car? I want to make sure it starts before I drive off.”
“You one of those ‘momma raised me right’ boys?”
“No, my dad did. My mom decided she didn’t want to be a mom four days before my eighth birthday, so I really don’t think she’d give a shit.”
“Cujo…?” Her voice, thick with sympathy, suffocated him and he leaned forward to turn the radio on. Raging vocals and the crazy riffs of an electric guitar accompanied the pounding beats of the drum. Metal had always been his refuge, his escape.
He ignored Drea’s question, left it hanging in the air. The warmth of her fingers burned as she rubbed his thigh gently. Long sweeping strokes that felt just a touch too good. Her hand looked tiny against his leg. He reached down and squeezed it for a moment before returning his hand to the wheel.
Drea spoke quietly, but he couldn’t make out her words over the volume of the music. Feeling like an ass, he turned it down. “Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?”
“My car wouldn’t start this morning. I took the bus.”
Now he felt like an asshole. Perhaps he should take a look at it for her when he dropped her home. “What’s your address? I’ll take you home.”
Drea sighed. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, “I’m at—”
His phone rang and the screen lit up in the holder.
Heidi. British Airways. He squirmed a little when he realized Drea could see it.
She pulled her hand away from his leg, and as much as he wanted to stop her, he let it go.
The idea of putting which airline the girls worked for as part of their name had seemed like a good one at the time. Now, it left him feeling juvenile.
“Just ignore it, sorry,” he said, glancing toward her.
“You know what, don’t worry about taking me home. I have some stuff to pick up at José’s.” The temperature dropped twenty degrees in the cab.
“I’m not going to let you get the bus home, Drea, I was there last night. You want me to call Harper in Tahiti and interrupt whatever kinky sex game she’s playing with Trent right now to find out where you live?”
The phone rang again. Heidi. Motherfucker. Could a guy not catch a goddamn break?
“She seems pretty desperate. You should call her back.”
Judgment. Or was it jealousy? It was tough to tell which her voice was laced with. One bothered him a whole lot more than the other. “When I’ve dropped you off, I will. Where am I taking you?”
There was a long pause until she finally told him.
Cujo drove along the street to Drea’s home. Kids were hanging out on street corners, and that fake handshake he just saw was definitely a drug sale. Christ, she lived in this. Families were parked out on their porches, sitting on old sofas and beat-up armchairs.
They pulled up outside a tired split level. Faded mustard paint adorned the exterior. The guttering was hanging loose from the roofline. Panels were missing from the fence. An older gaunt woman sat on the porch in a wheelchair, connected to an oxygen tank. He had no idea her mom was so sick.
Drea was quiet. The disparity between this house and the home they had just visited shocked him. He didn’t want to leave Drea here when every part of him screamed to take her home with him instead. Her sigh was filled with sadness.
“Goodnight, Cujo.”
“Wait.” He jumped out of the car, took a look around.
“I’ve lived here my entire life, Cujo. I’m safer than you,” she said.
“Dónde estabas?” The harsh, raspy voice came from the porch.
Even with the worn lines of age and illness, she looked just like Drea. “I’m sorry I kept her out, ma’am. I’m Brody.”
“Sounds weird when you say that,” Drea whispered to him.
“Sounds weird to say it,” he replied.