Drive Me Wild Page 13

  “Sure. Just don’t tell my mother I helped you leave town. She’ll disown me.”

  Laughing, I drew an X on my chest with a fingertip. “Cross my heart.”

  “Oh, there’s Griff.”

  I looked out onto the field—and my heart danced a little. Even though he wore a ball cap, I could tell it was him from the way he filled out his Bulldogs team shirt, and it gave me a little thrill to think I know that body.

  “There’s McIntyre from the garage over in the outfield. And that’s Beckett Weaver and Enzo Moretti,” Cheyenne said, pointing out two other players. “They’re two of Griff’s closest friends.”

  I nodded. “I’ve met Enzo, but not Beckett.”

  “He’s pretty busy this time of year. He runs a cattle ranch just north of town. Oh, and there’s Cole.” Cheyenne seemed to go a little breathless. “He’s Griffin’s best friend. And he’s a police officer. He grew up next door, and recently he moved back home with his little girl, Mariah.”

  I looked at Cheyenne, and even though she wore sunglasses, I could practically see the hearts floating from her eyes as she watched Cole Mitchell warm up his pitching arm. “I met him the other night too. So are you and Cole a thing?”

  “What? Cole and me a thing? No. No.” She forced a laugh. “He’s never looked at me that way.” Then a great big sigh.

  “But you wish he would?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Is it that obvious?”

  I laughed. “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s also hopeless. I’ve had a crush on him since 1997 when he rescued all my Beanie Babies from the tree branches where Griffin had thrown them.”

  “Wow. That’s a long time to crush on someone.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m going on thirty and I still can’t meet a guy to take his place in my heart.”

  “And he’s never known how you feel?”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving Cole. “He had a really serious girlfriend all through high school. Then he married her.”

  “I heard he lost her when Mariah was born.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “That was so awful. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”

  Griffin happened to look over at the bleachers then, and automatically I lifted a hand and waved. He didn’t wave back, but he nodded, and I swore I saw him smile. The butterflies in my belly fluttered like mad.

  “Did Griffin ever have a serious girlfriend?”

  “Not in high school. I mean, he dated around, but he was never serious about anyone back then. His one serious relationship was later. Her name was Kayla.”

  “How long were they together?”

  “Gosh, maybe like five years? He was still in the Marines back then, so he was gone a lot, but I gotta admit, he was pretty devoted to her. I thought they’d get married.”

  Jealousy stabbed me in the gut. After waiting what I hoped was a suitable interval, I asked, “Whatever happened with them?”

  Cheyenne shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she fell in love with someone else while he was deployed the last time. They broke up shortly after he came home.”

  “Wow. That sucks.” And it definitely could explain Griffin’s attitude toward relationships. He’d gotten burned.

  “Yeah. Griffin was a mess for a while. But he never talks about it, and you can’t ever tell him I said anything. He’d kill me.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “Did Griffin ever know about your feelings for Cole?”

  “Hell no. He would have told Cole for sure, and then he would have made fun of me for the rest of my life.” She turned to me and grabbed my arm. “So you can’t tell him that either.”

  “I won’t. But Cole is widowed now, right? And he lives right next door to you. Maybe you two could—”

  “No.” Again, Cheyenne shook her head. “He looks at me and sees that pudgy six-year-old kid with scabby knees and a runny nose, crying over her Beanie Babies. I’ve always been more like a kid sister to him. That will never change.”

  “You never know,” I told her. “I understand feeling like things are stuck a certain way, but you can surprise yourself. You can make a change. It’s scary, but you can do it.”

  Just then, Cole looked up and saw us. Gave us a wave.

  We waved back, and she sighed. “Maybe. But I won’t hold my breath.”

  Griffin jogged over toward his team’s bench and I watched, trying not to drool as I leaned forward to get a better look.

  Next to me, Cheyenne laughed. “Speaking of crushes . . .”

  “What?”

  “Yours is just as obvious.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. But so is his, so you’re fine.”

  “You think he has a crush on me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I go to every one of these old man baseball games, Blair, and I’ve never seen Griffin look up here once. He’s done it like twenty times already, flexing his muscles, puffing out his chest, sucking in his gut.” She imitated him in an exaggerated fashion.

  “He does not have a gut!”

  “Maybe not, but I could see it when you were at the house yesterday too. He looks at you a certain way. He likes you. Look at all the time he’s spending with you.”

  “Yeah, but he’s sort of stuck with me.”

  She shook her head. “If Griffin doesn’t want to do something, he doesn’t do it. Trust me. He’s got a thing for you.”

  My tongue felt all tied up after that, but her observation made me undeniably happy.

  As the game got started, I started to feel like maybe Cheyenne was right—maybe the dress had brought me good luck. After all, it was purely by chance that I’d wound up stranded in this town and not another. If I had ended up somewhere else, I probably would have turned around and gone home already. Made a date with the crusty old tycoon. Hung up my oven mitts for good.

  Maybe there was such a thing as fate.

  Eleven

  Griffin

  After the game, which we won—thanks to a double from me and a homer from Beckett that allowed both of us to score—a bunch of us went over to the Bulldog for some food and drinks. In addition to Blair, Cheyenne, and me, it was Cole, Moretti, Beckett, McIntyre, and Emily.

  We pushed two tables together and sat on the patio, which prompted a boisterous retelling of Blair’s now-infamous crash-and-faint episode for anyone who missed it, including the way I’d caught her.

  “Oh man, I’ve never seen Griffin move that fast in my life,” Moretti joked. “Why don’t you run the bases like that? We might score a few more runs.”

  “Fuck off,” I said, throwing a wadded-up napkin at him. “We won, didn’t we?”

  “That we did.” Moretti held up his beer, and everyone followed suit. “To winning!”

  “To defending the championship title!” added Cole.

  “To the bride and groom!” shouted my sister, causing half the table to burst out laughing.

  I gave Cheyenne the stink-eye as I tipped up my beer.

  We put in orders for wings and pizza, ordered another round of drinks, and rehashed the team’s 5-4 win. “Cole, how’s your arm?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. “You pitched a fucking great game.”

  “Thanks.” Across the table from me, he rubbed his shoulder. “It’s not too bad.”

  Next to him, my sister put her hand on his bicep. “Want some ice or anything? I can ask for some.”

  I almost snorted. I knew what my sister wanted to do to Cole, and it wasn’t ice his shoulder. She’d been drooling over him since we were kids, and if I wasn’t such a fucking nice guy, I’d have been making fun of her for it for years.

  “No, thanks,” Cole said. “I’m okay.”

  We sat around, drinking and eating and talking, telling old stories about our youth for Blair’s sake, bragging about home runs hit or no-hitters pitched during our glory days, pumping our fists and patting ourselves on the back for still being in such good shape. There was the usual amount
of trash-talking about the Mavs and how severely we were going to beat them at the championship game.

  Next to me, Blair laughed often and asked a bunch of questions—about baseball, our high school days, the town, our families. Sometimes she put her hand on my leg, and I liked it. At one point, I realized I had my arm around the back of her chair, and she was sort of leaning into me. Cheyenne noticed for sure, and I could just imagine her reporting back to our mother, so I quickly removed it.

  “So Blair,” Emily said from her place next to my sister. “How long are you in town?”

  “Well, I can’t go anywhere until Griffin gets the parts for my car, but I’ll probably stay through Labor Day. I’m helping Griffin with an anniversary event at the garage.”

  “I heard about that. Sounds like a great idea. And you’re staying . . .” Emily prompted, likely knowing full well where she was staying.

  “Right now I’m staying with Griffin, but that’s temporary.”

  “My mother offered to host her,” said Cheyenne with a giggle. “Just as soon as she cleans out the spare bedroom, which should only take her about—ohhh, six weeks at the most. She’s determined to keep them in the same place as long as possible. I think she’s hoping for a grandchild out of this somehow.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said firmly, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. “You ready to go, Blair? I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” she said, rising to her feet. “I want to make scones again, and some lemon lavender shortbread as well.”

  “Mmmm, that sounds delicious,” Cheyenne said. “I’ll have to bring Mom again so I can sneak a taste.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I ordered my sister, tossing enough cash on the table to cover Blair and me. “You took forever to come back and get her today, and she drove me nuts.”

  “Actually, she was really helpful at the desk,” said Blair. “Please thank her again for me, Cheyenne. And thank you for picking me up tonight.”

  “Anytime,” my sister said with a smile. “I never miss old man baseball. It’s the highlight of my week.”

  I flipped her off and took Blair by the shoulders, steering her down the sidewalk toward my truck. But I took my hands off her as quickly as possible. I didn’t want anyone watching us leave to comment.

  On the ride home, Blair told me about someone my sister knew who owned a coffee shop near Cloverleigh Farms.

  “That’s great,” I said as I parked the truck. “Maybe she’s hiring.”

  “I hope so. That would be perfect. Hey, what’s that?” she asked, pointing to a vintage truck parked behind the garage. I kept it beneath a weatherproof cover all year round.

  “It’s a 1955 Chevy pickup my dad and I rehabbed. I wish I had garage space for it.”

  We got out of the truck and wandered over to the old pickup.

  “Nineteen-fifty-five,” she mused, trying to peek under the heavy cover. “That’s the year the business opened, right?”

  “Right. Why?”

  “Because I think you should park it out front during the anniversary event and let it advertise your business. Who doesn’t love a fun antique car? And you know what you should do? Paint your new logo on the side!”

  “I have a new logo?”

  “Don’t worry. You’re gonna love it.” She patted my shoulder. “What color is the truck? I can’t see in the dark.”

  “Red.”

  “Is it in good shape?”

  “Of course it is. I did the work.”

  She grinned at me, her face lighting up the dark. “Didn’t mean to doubt you. Can I have a ride in it?”

  “Right now? It’s a little late.” And I had a different kind of joy ride in mind for tonight.

  Her shoulders drooped. “I guess you’re right. How about tomorrow after work?”

  It was cute how excited she was about it. “Sure.”

  “Yay!” She clapped her hands, and we started walking around to the front of the building. “It’s a date! Or not. Because you would never date an employee. That’s not okay.”

  “But it’s okay to sleep with one?” I teased.

  “Only the one who tells the good bedtime stories.”

  “That’s right. You promised me another story tonight.” I unlocked the door and let her walk up the steps ahead of me. And goddamn, if I lived to be a hundred, I’d always remember the way I liked watching Blair walk up a flight of stairs from below, the way it made me want to grab her from behind, wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her hair.

  In fact, the moment we reached the top of the steps, I did exactly that.

  She laughed, taken by surprise, covering my arms with hers. “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just really fucking glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  “Sorry I’m sweaty.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  I inhaled, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair but also my own post-game stench. “One of us smells terrible. Is it you?”

  She laughed again. “I don’t think so.”

  “Give me ten minutes to clean up.” I let her go and headed for the bedroom.

  “Okay. I’ll feed Bisou and meet you in the bedroom for story time. I’ve got a really good one for you tonight.”

  When I came out of the bathroom, she was waiting for me.

  Wearing the ball gown. And the elbow-length gloves. And the tiara.

  I was naked.

  She stood near the foot of the bed. The lights were off, but she’d managed to find a few candles, which filled the room with low, flickering light. Her eyes traveled over my skin, lingering on my cock, which was already growing hard.

  “Once upon a time, there was a princess trapped in a tower,” she said in a dreamlike, feminine voice. “Night after night, this unsullied maiden waited for her very own gentleman prince to come find her.”

  “A gentleman prince, huh?” I moved closer to her.

  She nodded. “She was certain her hero would be a prince—a tall, devastatingly handsome man with blue eyes and bulging biceps who rode up on a great white stallion.”

  “A white stallion. Not a pickup truck?”

  “He would climb the tower, fall to his knees, and ask for her hand. Then he would carry her down, and they would ride off into the sunset toward his castle on the hill.”

  “I see.”

  “Where they would, of course, live happily ever after.”

  “Of course.” I peeled off one of her long gloves, tossed it aside. My cock was fully erect. “But you know that’s not who I am.”

  “What?” Feigning shock, she put a hand over her heart. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”

  “I didn’t ride up on a stallion. I don’t have any castle on a hill.” I peeled off the second glove and pulled it through my fist. “And I’m no gentleman prince.”

  “Oh dear,” she pretended to fret, backing up until she hit the brick wall. “I’m quite afraid I’ve been found by the villain in my story. Sir, have you come to rescue me or . . . or sully me?”

  “Both. Now turn around.”

  She presented me with her back, and I thought of the evening two nights ago I’d unzipped her dress and run out of the room with a hard-on.

  Tonight would go down differently.

  Using one of her long satin gloves, I began to bind her wrists, which she obligingly held together for me.

  “Struggle,” I whispered in her ear.

  Trapped between me and the wall, she tried to wrench her arms free, but I was taller, stronger, and much more determined.

  “Good girl.” I pressed up against her back, caging her in with my palms on the brick. The scent of her perfume filled my head. “Now I’m taking over this story, and the princess is going to do everything I say, or I’m leaving her in the tower forever.”

  “No,” she said forcefully. “You’re cruel and vicious. I won’t let you have me.”

  Even though I knew she was faking it, it was still hot as fuck. �
��You don’t have a choice, princess. Now turn around and get on your knees.”

  She gasped. Then a whisper. “You’re good at this.”

  “Do it,” I demanded, then backed up a little, giving her room.

  She spun around and dropped to her knees, the dress forming a cloud around her. Her eyes peeked up at me. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Several things,” I told her, taking my cock in my hand and beginning to stroke it. “I’m going to fuck your mouth with my cock. I’m going to fuck your pussy with my tongue. And then I’m going to fuck you in that pretty dress you’re wearing.”

  Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  I decided right then and there I wasn’t holding back tonight. I’d say what I wanted, do what I wanted, take what I wanted—and I wouldn’t worry about how dirty it was. After all, she’d invited me to play this game.

  But maybe I should give her a way out, just in case.

  “If you want me to stop, what will you say?” I asked her, my hand continuing to move up and down my shaft.

  “Mercy,” she whispered.

  I noticed the way she couldn’t take her eyes off what I was doing. “Do you like watching me?”

  “Yes. But it makes me want things I shouldn’t.”

  “Like what?”

  She licked her lips. “I want to taste you.”

  I smirked. “You’re making this too easy on the bad guy, princess.”

  “I can’t help it.” She met my eyes. “I want you. I can’t pretend I don’t.”

  “You want this?” I pressed the tip of my cock against her cheek, brushed it beneath her chin, traced her open lips.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then open your mouth and take it.”

  She obeyed the command, and I eased between her lips, just past the crown. Her tongue swept over me in lush circles, sending jolts of electric lust throughout my body. I groaned when she began to suck and pushed in a little deeper. Her mouth was hot and wet and tight—I put my hands on her head and fought the urge to ram my cock to the back of her throat, trying to keep my rhythm slow and controlled.

  But that only lasted so long. Her mouth felt too good, and her scent was so sweet, and her noises were so fucking hot—soft little moans and breathless little squeaks and heavy panting when she struggled for air. And she was so damn beautiful on her knees for me.