Chapter Five #2
“We’re going to take a walk. Come with us.”
Drea tilted her head to one side.
“Please?” Cujo pleaded.
“I’ll share my new sandwich with you,” Amaya offered. Cujo hugged her tighter.
“Was it strawberry?” Drea asked.
“Yes, it was,” Zephyr said, clapping her hands.
“In that case…” Drea looked at him.
It wasn’t really the right place to study her. The girls wriggled in his arms, and the four of them blocked the boardwalk. But he took the moment anyway. Drea was the kind of beautiful you wanted to paint but could never capture. He felt the way she looked at him all the way down to his sneakers.
“Can we get a Popsicle, Uncle Jo-Jo?”
Cujo tore his gaze away from Drea. “Of course. Let’s go.”
A quick stop at an ice-cream truck and the girls were happy to meander ahead of them.
“What part of the conversation did you hear last night?” Cujo watched Drea lick around the edge of her ice cream as he found himself incredibly jealous of the sugar cone.
“It doesn’t matter, Cujo. I get it. You don’t particularly like me, but—”
“Not true, Shortcake.” He threaded his fingers through his messy hair.
“You see this? You didn’t like it shaved.
So I grew it.” There went his manhood. Fucking pussy.
Being bald was a reminder of what he’d lived through.
Proof he’d survived. But a few words from Drea and he was all about growing it again.
“Really?” Her hazel eyes brimmed with curiosity.
“Yeah, really. First night we met at the pool hall. Told me I looked like a bully,” he said and rolled his eyes in disgust at himself. “You told me you didn’t like it. That bothered me. So you’re wrong—I like you. Want to know what I was saying to Connor before you showed up?”
She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Discussing what a contradiction you are. How I admire you, but think you may well be the death of me.”
Drea laughed. “Wow. Don’t overdo the compliments, Cujo.” She tried to block a yawn with her hand.
“Keeping you awake?”
“Exhausted is my perpetual state. I’m used to it.”
Amaya and Zephyr plopped their butts down on the sand just off the boardwalk. He led Drea to a nearby bench.
“I’m not a relationship kind of guy, Shortcake.” He leaned forward, watching the waves for a moment before checking if the girls were okay. “I wish I was,” he said, “but I made a decision a long time ago that I wasn’t ever going to settle down.”
“How’d we go from planning an engagement party together to settling down? That’s quite the presumptuous leap on your part.”
He traced her collarbone, the skin smooth beneath his fingertips, and then slipped his hand around her neck. Fuck. Her lips were parted in surprise, and he was sorely tempted to press his lips to them.
“Maybe. But it goes like this. We’d date. We’d laugh. We’d fight. We’d have fucking off-the-charts make-up sex.”
Drea shivered as he intended. Short, shallow breaths made her chest heave, causing his cock to harden.
“What makes you think it would be off the charts?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He leaned toward her, his lips a fraction from her ear. It took every ounce of self-control not to taste her skin. “When it feels this good without even touching, how could it not be?”
“And that’s not a good thing I take it?” she asked breathlessly.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not.” Cujo moved his hand from her wrist and laced his fingers with hers. “Can I ask what the deal is with your mom?”
“I’d rather talk about why us is a bad thing,” Drea said with a despondent smile. “She has serious lung problems. She doesn’t have too long.”
“Sorry to hear that, Shortcake.”
“Long-term smoker.”
“Do you have any family here to help?” Cujo couldn’t imagine not having his family around him, blood or otherwise.
“Just my mom’s step-sister, Aunt Celine. She helps occasionally. We get by.” Her tone was flat, but those doleful eyes told him there was way more to it.
“Do you resent looking after her because she’s sick?” He thought back to his own situation and wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Drea leaned back on the bench, withdrawing her hand from his, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“My mom has always been”—Drea paused, and he could hear the cogs whirring as she came up with the right words—“spiteful. Controlling, maybe. And bitter … life’s been rough on her. It makes it tough to work so hard at making her comfortable when she is so … ungrateful.”
They sat in silence watching Zephyr and Amaya, who were now collecting shells.
“When do you need to get home?”
Drea faced him again. “I don’t. Aunt Celine is staying with mom for the afternoon. Could do with some sleep though.”
The girls wandered over and placed their shells in a line on his thighs. “Well, if you don’t have any plans, why don’t you come home with us?”
“Yeah, come to Uncle Jo-Jo’s. He promised we’s gonna make pizzas.” Amaya bounced on the boardwalk in her bare feet.
“Well, promises are a very big deal. I don’t like people who can’t keep their promise, do you?”
“Nooooo.” The girls squealed in agreement.
“Come on, Drea,” Cujo encouraged. “It’s just pizza. Come with me or we’ll be forced to take drastic measures.”
The girls raced toward the truck.
“You can’t kidnap me. I’m not scared of you, you know!” Drea teased.
“Yeah, well, you scare the shit out of me.”
* * *
Drea washed the glasses and tried hard to avoid thinking about Cujo showering just down the hall.
Bath time for the girls had descended into a maelstrom of squeals and bubbles, leaving Cujo soaked through to the skin.
It had been hard to not stare as the white T-shirt became more and more transparent revealing the nipple piercing she’d caught sight of at the beach.
The girls were sleeping soundly. Each wall of the spare room contained a spectacular mural of each season, hand painted by Cujo.
Modern art paintings in clashing colors adorned the white walls of the living room, and Drea wondered if they were Cujo’s own work also. She rinsed the last of the plates and cleaned up the sink.
She felt much better, thanks to the nap she’d inadvertently taken on Cujo’s oversized sofa. He said nothing, simply covered her with a blanket and taken the girls outside to play in the garden.
With a glass of water in her hand, she returned to the sofa. It wasn’t long before she heard a door shut and footsteps shuffle down the hall.
“I got the quotes back from the florists,” she said as he returned to the living room. “Did you want to see them?”
Cujo sat down next to her on the couch. “Shh,” he whispered, “we are not talking about the engagement party.” He squeezed her hand gently, every nerve ending in her body acutely aware of his proximity.
What was it about a guy in great-fitting jeans and bare feet?
Drea sunk further into the blue sofa, the plush fabric and soft padding encasing her in comfort. She turned back to the TV and tried to focus on the closet an attractive home-renovation guy was making.
Minutes later, a commercial break advertised a local bakery, which reminded her. “Did I tell you I found someone to make the cakes? She’s a friend of—”
“Shh,” he said as he faced her.
“But I just wanted to—”
“Shh.” He laughed quietly and threw a cushion at her that she batted away. “Don’t wake the minions.”
“Cujo, stop. I’m serious.” His hands gripped her waist, and before she had chance to breathe, he flipped her onto her back. Fingers tickled her sides, and Drea giggled.
“So am I,” he said.
She wiggled against him, tried to push him off but he pinned her down. A strange sense of security washed over her. He physically dwarfed her, but she knew she was safe.
“We are not talking about the party.” He playfully covered her mouth with his hand, making her laugh harder.
“And the baker is a friend…” she mumbled, trying hard to ignore the way Cujo’s hard body pressed up against hers. The way his arm brushed against her, the warmth of his fingers on her lips, and the feel of his chest pressing against her nipples was wholly unnerving yet incredibly satisfying.
But it was the intensity in his gaze that caused her to stop giggling. He removed his hand. “… of José’s and she’s agreed to make eight dozen for…” she whispered.
For a moment, Drea thought he was going to let her continue, but the fierce look in his eyes told her otherwise.
He was giving her time, a moment to grasp her thoughts and pull away if she so desired, and then it was over.
His lips pressed against hers. Drea closed her eyes and finally stopped talking.
Stopped moving. And possibly stopped breathing.
His lips were soft and tender, taking all the fight from within her. Any attempt at pretending disinterest was impossible.
He pulled away from her so quickly Drea was left breathless. He let go of her hand, stood, and started to pace.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Drea.” He stopped, placing both of his hands on top of his head before rubbing his hands over his face. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
What Drea wanted to say in response was that she understood. That it was no big deal. So it was as much a surprise to her when she simply said, “Why not?”
His expression was solemn, grave even. It couldn’t have been the kiss, because even by her limited experience, it was one hell of a kiss. A precursor to the epic kind of sex he’d talked about on the beach. It must be her.
“Never mind,” she said grabbing her sweater off the back of the sofa. “I’ll get my bag.”
She marched toward the door, grabbing her purse off the small side table as she passed by. The door was tough to open, and Drea yanked several times as she turned the knob, but it wouldn’t move. Great job, girl—way to make a dramatic exit.
Cujo placed his hand over the top of hers. “Don’t, Drea.”
His body was warm behind hers. Her position of vulnerability was unfamiliar and scary. Neither of them moved. He hugged her from behind. “You have no idea what you do to me. It’s fucked up,” he whispered.
He freed her. “You should go before I convince myself staying out of a relationship is a bad idea.” He walked to the sliding doors, then stepped onto the back patio.
“But why is it a bad idea?”
“Because I don’t do this. I have fun. A lot. And as much as I want to, I can’t do fun with you, Drea. Because you deserve better than that. And it would create one hell of a mess for our best friends if it ended badly.”
Despite the pain inflating her chest, she could see the truth in his words. In a sad way, she appreciated the honesty. The strength went out of her legs as she exited the house through the front door, slumping on the steps.
Regardless of rubbing each other the wrong way, something kept drawing them together.
Today had been a wonderful surprise. Seeing him with Zephyr and Amaya, how patient he was with kids, well, it was beautiful.
He’d make an amazing dad, unlike hers. But then it sounded like his father was an incredible man to raise three boys on his own.
If only her own mother had risen to the challenge.
Drea couldn’t remember a day when she had laughed so much, the pain in her side a testament to how much fun they’d had together. And his arms. Good Lord above, those arms. How strong they had felt around her. How solid and safe.
The timing was all wrong. She needed to head to work at the hotel in another couple of hours. She didn’t have time to deal with this, no matter how much she was secretly beginning to wish she could.
Cujo wasn’t looking for a relationship. Why was she? Why was she even considering it? Had her thoughts been so focused on getting away from Miami, from her mom, from her responsibilities for so long, that she’d lost track of exactly what she wanted.
And then there was the flash drive. And the woman.
Her phone beeped in her hand.
I need to know you got home safe. Text me when you do.
Drea was beginning to realize that despite his cavalier attitude, he was a caring guy.
Ok. Still on your porch.
I know. I’m watching through the window.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing there, texting. I might be an idiot, but I’m not an ass. You okay??
“Dammit,” she said aloud. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my boyfriend, she said to herself. Drea laughed despite herself. She needed some space from Cujo and her feelings.
I’m fine, she answered.
Promise?
She couldn’t, and he knew it. She never made a promise she couldn’t keep.
Years of being let down by those around her.
Her teachers promising her the time she spent looking after her mom would not affect her grades, promising they’d help her stay on top of schoolwork.
Her mom promising she’d quit smoking. Her dad promising he’d stick around.
Goodnight, Cujo.
No, I’m not fine, she thought as she let herself into her car, but she promised herself she would be.