“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.
Lips clashed together.He felt her sigh as she finally opened for him and their tongues tangled.She tasted of sugar-sweet soda, her body soft and warm against his.He needed to kiss her more than anything else in that moment.She was the only thing that could bring him comfort.The only solid thing he could hold on to.
