Chapter Nine
“Fucking typical.” Drea wasn’t often driven to yell when she was alone, but hey, Cujo was the exception to every rule.
Balanced on the top of a three-step stool, she carefully stretched and wove tiny lights along the evergreen shrubbery to create a beautiful, natural wall along one side of the patio. Lord knew how much energy it was going to take to power up the thousand lights she’d threaded so far.
Dozens of vibrant pink and orange dahlias she’d collected from the flower market on her way to Mo’s needed water.
If Cujo didn’t get here soon with the cylinder vases, she’d have to ask Mo for some buckets.
Packets of sparklers with the little tags she made reading “You set my world on fire” needed to be placed in slim glass jars on each table.
Matches! She’d forgotten to get matches.
Long cheerful garlands of bright paper lanterns hung from the roof of a white canopy. Bright orange silk draped a two-tiered table stacked with boxes of candy. They were still missing the glass jars that would be filled with sweets. Another thing waiting on Cujo.
“Everything okay, Drea?” The shock of being addressed on a first-name basis by a Miami legend never got old. Before King James had landed in Miami, there’d been Monster Mo.
“Should be done in a couple more hours. What do you think?”
“It looks crazy good,” he said, looking around. “Can I get you a soda?”
“That would be great.” Mo disappeared inside.
Drea pulled out her phone. Eleven thirty. No sign of Cujo. No call. No text. Fucking A.
Sharp barbs of exhaustion scratched her eyes.
Being logical, she knew she shouldn’t rub them.
She stepped off the stool, thankful to be on solid ground.
She rummaged around in her bag. Eye drops were her new favorite friend.
Her shift at the hotel had ended at four and she had finally crawled into bed by five.
At eight, she got up to see to her mom. By nine she was on her way to Mo’s, too hopped up to be asleep, too darn tired to be awake.
She’d hoped to be done by lunch, but with Cujo a no-show, she’d be lucky to squeeze in an hour-long power nap and quick shower before getting back for six to make sure everything was taken care of. God bless José for letting her take today off.
She grabbed the closest chair, her body groaning with thanks and closed her eyes, just for a moment.
“Here’s your soda, and Cujo is—”
Drea shivered and shook herself awake.
“Sorry, D. You’re exhausted. Go take a nap on one of the loungers. It’ll all still be here when you wake up.”
Drea took the cola. “Thanks, Mo. But I’m good. Sooner I’m done, sooner I can flop in my own bed for a while.”
She took a long drink. The burst of bubbles refreshed her mouth.
“Cujo was just pulling in as I brought this out.”
Finally. Drea got up, set the can on the table, and hurried along a small walkway around the side of the house. Cujo had the tailgate down and was pulling boxes out of bed of the truck.
Damn if he didn’t look cute in black jeans and boots. And the way his navy T-shirt was tight in the right places. Even though she wanted to drown him in Mo’s pool, she could still admire him.
His hair was wet and his board was in the back. The lazy ass had been paddleboarding while she had been working her ass off. She stalked up to the truck and grabbed a box without saying a word.
“What, no hello?”
“We’ve been waiting for these to set the bar up,” she said, and headed back along the gravel path.
His footsteps crunched closely behind her.
“Look, sorry I’m late, but what’s got you so uptight?”
Drea turned on a dime, forcing Cujo to pull up short, missing her by inches. Which was a good thing seeing there were nearly fifty glasses between them.
“Uptight? You’re well over an hour late. And for what? So you could go out and paddleboard. Just bring the glasses in.” She turned back toward the garden.
“You think I was out paddleboarding?” His condescending laugh made her teeth hurt. “You would think that’s what I was doing, right? Because I’m an ass.”
“You said it, not me,” she threw back over her shoulder
“I don’t fucking believe this.” Cujo shouted.
He caught up with her as they reached the bar, his box hitting the counter with a loud rattle.
“Watch the glassware. We don’t have time to go back for more.”
“Drea, drop the attitude. I can’t deal with it right now.” His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, silencing the ringer.
“Well, I could have done without doing the work of two people this morning, but there you go. Can we just get on with this?”
His eyes were a mess of emotion.
“Fine. What next, boss?”
* * *
“Unload the truck, bring the vases for the flowers so I can get them in water before they wilt.”
Cujo listened as Drea rattled off what needed doing, and cursed silently. The drive over had been a perfect shit-storm of road maintenance and idiot drivers. His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket again and he pulled it out.
Please. Can you at least confirm you are getting my messages?
Damn his dad for getting her a phone. It had been like that for the last hour.
Give it another five minutes and there would be another.
He hadn’t figured his mom would start to stalk him.
She’d had nothing to say to him for nearly a quarter of a decade and now it was all she wanted.
She wanted to know what he wasn’t telling her.
Well, hey, payback’s sure a fucking bitch.
“Did you get that, Cujo?” Christ, he needed a fucking vacation. Shit, he’d settle for a couple of great nights out with the boys. Some drinks, some girls, some music.
And speaking of music, the Rolling Stones would really appreciate the way they were spread across Drea’s chest. Her hair was swept up in a high ponytail. She looked young, which made him a bit of a dirty bastard for all the things he’d imagined doing with her.
“How old are you?” he asked, watching as she scoured the content of her three-ring binder he’d drawn on. It shouldn’t make him feel so good she was still using it.
Drea looked up, keeping a finger on the item she was up to. “What? I asked if you could move the candy table out of the sun.”
“Sure I can, but how old are you?”
Her brow furrowed. “Twenty-seven. Aries. Birthday twenty-fourth of March, share it with Houdini. Now can you move the table?”
“Makes sense.”
“What does?”
“You and me.”
“You’re confusing me, Cujo. Can you just move the table?”
“Thirty two. Pisces. Pisces and Aries. Shitty match. Twenty-ninth of February.”
“You’re right. It’s a shitty match, and it does make sense. Born in a leap year, you are technically only eight.”
“Funny.” He stepped toward her.
“Not really. Now can you just move the table? Please?” She tucked the binder under her arm and hurried off to the other side of the garden.
Cujo trudged back to the truck to get the vases. He’d get to the table when he was goddamn ready. He carried the next load, enough candle holders to make Liberace proud, into the back yard, and placed them on the small table next to the flowers.
He moved the table, which appeased Drea, and they worked in silence, at least with each other for the next hour until everything was close to completion. All the contractors were gone, all the displays built. Only the quiet shushing of the ocean interrupted the silence.
Drea was balancing on one foot on a step stool as she stretched another set of lights over the tops of the bushes.
They had more fucking lights than the Vegas strip.
He took a moment to appreciate her, her small frame and soft curves.
The step stool moved slightly and she wobbled.
Unable to regain control, she lost her balance and grabbed at the shrubbery, but only managed to snap off a leaf.
The look of panic on her face had him charging across the garden. He leapt over the lounge chair in his way and skirted the tables, watching as she fell.
“Oh my God, Drea, are you okay?” He dropped to his knees and brushed her hair gently out of her face.
Drea winced and touched the back of her head. “Ow,” she whimpered, screwing her eyes up.
“Stay where you are, Shortcake. Catch your breath. That was quite the fall.”
As usual, she ignored him, and sat up. Cujo put his arm behind her to support her. “I said stay down, Drea. You don’t need to get up so fast.”
“Those lights aren’t going to hang themselves.” She used his shoulder and the edge of a nearby chair to hoist herself to her feet.
“Screw the fucking lights. Please, give yourself a minute. You’re doing too much.”
Her chocolate eyes glittered as she turned to him. “Too much. What, you’ve been here five minutes and you’re all full of noble bullshit. Give me a break.”
Anger and remorse and a veritable A to Z of other emotions raged through him as he watched her gingerly bend over the upended ladder.
“Trent told me about your mom. And the other job. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? I’d help you out.”
The box of lights went flying as Drea kicked it. “Why would I tell you? You didn’t cause it and you sure as heck can’t fix it.”
“I’m doing my best, Drea. You’re not the only one with shit going on.”
Finally she turned to face him. “You’re right. I’m sorry about your mom, but you have a chance to get to know her. Mine is dying, and she doesn’t want to know me. You have a chance to make it right.” Her cheeks were red. “I don’t need—” She stopped.
“You don’t need what.” He walked toward her. “This, me, us? Let me tell you something. I want to stay away from you. But I can’t. I just can’t fucking do it, Drea.”
He grabbed her, pushed her up against the bushes, and kissed her. Hard. Furious. Like his ability to make it through the next hour depended on it.
Drea’s eyes widened, her pupils flaring in anticipation as her body tensed beneath his hands. She gripped his arms and squeezed. He growled at the painful sensation.