Page 79 of Christmas in Coconut Creek

“You said you weren’t upset about that,” I reminded him.

“I’m not at all, I just…” He paused, looking over at me and glancing at my legs stretched out across the cab. “I feel like I can say this to you, so I’m going to.”

“Say it.” I tethered myself in preparation.

“If I fuck you once, O, I’m fucking you ten more times.”

“Oh.” I stared blankly out of the windshield. “Thanks for your honesty.”

“Too much?” He reached over and grabbed my thigh, resting his heavy hand there like it was the most natural thing in the world and not blazing me from the inside out. “I figure we’re past the point of beating around the bush.”

“I think that’s…exactly what we’re doing.” I laughed.

His eyebrow arched and then flattened, the innuendo catching up like watching a car crash in real time. “You’re a sick, twisted person and I don’t know if it’s because you’re worse than me, or if it’s because it’s like looking in a mirror.”

Frankie hooked a left and turned into a garden center parking lot. The displays outside housed several colorful hanging and potted plants. We would absolutely find something in there for his mom, and I needed out of the car like I needed air to breath. Between the mega box of condoms, his hand on my leg, and the way I could smell every note in the soap that he used like it was directly under my nose, I couldn’t think straight.

“So your parents used to garden together?”

The blunt tips of his fingers tightened behind my knee. “They always had a big flower garden, nice landscaping, perfectly trimmed hedges, but she hasn’t done it in years.”

“This’ll make her so happy.” I said. “You can help her plant.”

“I hope so.” He sighed. “I’m still clueless about Addy.”

I tapped my finger on my chin. “What is she like?”

“Pain in my ass.”

“I’m sure she thinks you hang the moon,” I volleyed. “Whatdoesshe like?”

He lifted his hat and swiped his fingers through his hair. “Art.”

“That’s a start.” I inclined my head toward him.

“She paints. Everything. I mean, when we were kids she was painting our bedroom walls like her own personal mural, and it wasn’t even as bad as you’re imagining. Eclectic as shit, sure, but it was like Pablo Picasso level of abstract.”

“Family trait?”

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body,” he admitted. “I was always too busy to have hobbies. I was jealous of Addy in that way. She would tell me that she wished she could see half the shit I’ve seen, but if she knew what that meant I know she’d take it back.”

I studied his profile, the hard, straight line of his nose, his naturally full bottom lip. “You don’t talk about the service that much.”

“Government secrets,” he rebuffed.

“I’m excellent at keeping secrets.”

“Delta was both the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he replied thoughtfully.

“How’s that contradiction?”

“I was free for once, which is ironic because I was technically considered property of the United States.” He smiled to himself. “Like I said, I wasn’t a creative kid. I played football in high school because I was big and it was something to do, but I never did it because I wanted to be in the NFL or anything.”

“You could be making millions.”

“That would soften the blow of permanent brain damage.”

“Sometimes you have to make sacrifices,” I said.

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