Drive Me Wild Page 7

  Blair, still seated at the desk, looked up and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” I glanced around the lobby. It looked different somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sniffed—it smelled like lemons. “Is . . . is there something new in here?”

  She laughed as she stood up and came around the desk into the waiting area. “Not new. I just rearranged the furniture a little. I also tossed the raggedy magazines, watered your plant, dusted everything, and gave the windows a good cleaning.”

  “You did all that today?”

  “Yes.” Looking proud of herself, she clasped her arms behind her back.

  “And worked the desk too?”

  “Well, I wasn’t really that busy at the desk,” she admitted, her eyes dropping to the floor.

  I frowned. “Oh.”

  “But the customers I did interact with, I learned something from! I started asking people how long they’d been coming here, what brings them back, what they’re looking for in a repair shop. It was fascinating, really. And it gave me some more ideas for your rebranding.”

  “My what?”

  “Your rebranding.” She cocked her head. “Although I’m not sure you have a brand now, so maybe we should just call this your first branding.”

  “This sounds . . . a bit more painful than what I agreed to,” I said, scratching my head as I pictured Beckett branding his cattle. “I don’t really want to be branded.”

  Blair shook her head. “You have no choice. Swifty Auto is branded and believe me—they’ve got an entire team of people working on it.”

  My frown deepened into a scowl.

  “You shouldn’t make that face so often. It’s going to give you wrinkles.” She winked at me. “And you’re kinda cute when you smile.”

  “Cute?”

  “Something wrong with cute?”

  “Cute is for babies and kittens, not mechanics,” I said cantankerously, feeling hot beneath my clothes. “And speaking of kittens, I have to go pick mine up.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You have a kitten?”

  “Temporarily. My bleeding-heart sister volunteers at the animal shelter, and she conned me into fostering a kitten until she can find it a permanent home.”

  Blair put her hands on her cheeks. “I’m going to melt. It’s so sweet.”

  “No melting, please. I’m not sweet, I’m just doing it because my sister made me feel guilty. She moved in with our mom after she had eye surgery and both hips replaced. I wouldn’t have survived.”

  “I still think it’s sweet.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” I grumbled. “Like I said, it’s temporary.”

  “It counts.” Her eyes held mine, and my body temperature ratcheted up even higher.

  I cleared my throat. “So listen. You’re welcome to stay here, or wait at my apartment, while I run over to the shelter. I wasn’t sure if you’d made arrangements for tonight yet.”

  “I made a couple calls but haven’t had much luck. The bed and breakfasts in town are booked solid through Labor Day, the motel just out of town is full until next Tuesday, and Airbnb has no listings in Bellamy Creek. The closest is Holland, but seeing as my job is here and I have no transportation . . .” Her face fell, and she studied her shoes again. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to come to you for help again, but maybe you know someone with a room for rent?”

  “I don’t, not off the top of my head, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find someone. Look, why don’t you just hang out at my place while I go get the cat, and then we can grab dinner and I’ll make a few calls.”

  Her face lit up. “Really?”

  “Really. This is a small town, but there must be something.” I grimaced. “If it comes down to it, I can ask my mother. She knows everything and everyone.”

  She clapped her hands and rose up on her toes. “Perfect!”

  Just then the bell over the entrance rang, and we both turned to see a delivery guy walk in carrying a giant basket full of fruit, snacks, and what looked like a bottle of champagne. “Oh, good you’re still open,” he said with obvious relief. “This order came in last minute and I thought I’d be too late.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s a wedding gift.” He glanced at the name on the card. “For Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey.”

  I swore under my breath.

  Blair winked at me. “Oh, honey, how nice! Our first wedding present! Who’s it from?”

  The delivery guy, whose polo shirt had a Bellamy Creek Gifts Galore logo stitched on it, set the basket on the counter and handed me the card.

  I opened it and rolled my eyes. “Mrs. Applebee, of course.”

  Blair giggled. “Isn’t she sweet?”

  “Mrs. Applebee, the English teacher?” the delivery guy asked.

  “Yeah.” I looked at him. “You have her too?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t everybody?”

  I had to laugh. “Probably. Well, thanks for the delivery.”

  “You’re welcome.” He headed for the door and pushed it open. “And congratulations. I’ve been married twenty-two years. Best thing I ever did.”

  Blair and I looked at each other, and I shook my head. “I need a fucking beer,” I told her, “but first I have to go get a kitten.”

  “Let me come with you,” she pleaded, grabbing her bag from the desk. “You can introduce me to my new sister-in-law.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Why? Are you getting cold feet already?” she teased as she walked by me, giving me a sassy little look that made me want to throw her up against the wall and show her exactly how hot I was—all over.

  I watched her push open the glass door and hold it for me, but I stayed where I was for the moment, studying her on the sidewalk. I liked the way the sunset turned her hair a coppery color.

  “So what exactly did you do in your former life?” I asked. “After the French, but before the change in your circumstances?”

  “I was in charge of brand management for my father’s media company.”

  “Were you good at it?”

  “I was, not that anyone ever listened to me. The board was full of pompous men who looked at me like I was a cake decoration. They never took me seriously.”

  “Even your parents?”

  “Especially not them. It was a placeholder job, as they saw it. They were just waiting for me to get tired of working for a living and find a rich husband, fill my days with charity work and lunching with the ladies.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I ever thought that would be my life.”

  “You don’t miss the money?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Oh no, I definitely miss the money. But I don’t miss what came with it—all the bullshit rules. I want to make my own rules.”

  Switching off the lights, I followed her out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind us. “I need a quick shower and change of clothes. Want to come up with me?”

  “Sure.”

  I was following her up the stairs to my apartment, looking at her ass and wondering if she had sexual rules and how long it would take me to break them, when I realized she was still talking.

  Shit, had she just asked me a question?

  At the top of the stairs, she turned around and faced me. “So? Are you going to?”

  I stood close. Ridiculously close. So close I could smell her—vanilla and lemon—and she could probably smell me—sweat and motor oil.

  “Am I going to what?” I asked, looking at her lips.

  She licked them. “Listen to me.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I am.” But at that moment, I was pretty sure I was going to do something else to her too.

  Suddenly she stepped back. “Good,” she said, her cheeks flushed pink. “On second thought, I think I’ll wait outside. I’m a little warm, and there’s a nice breeze.”

  “Okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Nodding, she turned and descended the stairs so slowly, I wondered if she was dizzy. I watched her
hand sliding along the wooden rail, thinking dirty thoughts.

  On the landing, she pushed the door open and disappeared from view, but I still couldn’t breathe right.

  What would she have done if I’d put my mouth on hers like I’d wanted to just now? Would she have kissed me back? Would she have welcomed my hands on her skin? Or would she have kneed me in the balls and told me to keep my filthy fingers to myself?

  She wasn’t like any other girl I’d ever met, which was both the problem and the allure. I didn’t know how to read her.

  But damn, I wanted her something fierce.

  I took an ice cold shower, hoping it would help.

  It didn’t.

  Six

  Blair

  I pushed the door open at the bottom of the stairs, thankful for the soft breeze that cooled my skin. Griffin had a way of making me feel hot and bothered just by standing next to me.

  Was I imagining the flicker of interest in his eyes? The chemistry between us? The way it sometimes felt like he was fighting the urge to put his hands or his mouth on me? I sighed, dropping onto a wrought-iron bench on the sidewalk and slipping my sunglasses on. It had to be in my head.

  If he wanted to kiss me, he would have done it a minute ago. Our lips had only been inches apart. But he hadn’t, and I’d felt stupid standing there waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

  To distract myself, I looked at my phone and saw I had new messages from my mother demanding to know where on earth I’d run off to and when I was coming home, peppered with words like childish, tantrum, absurd, and unsafe. Too angry to write her back yet, I stuck my phone in my purse again and took some deep breaths.

  Griffin came out a minute later. “Hey. Ready to go?”

  “Yes.” I got up and followed him around the back of the garage to the alley, where a white pickup truck was parked. He opened the passenger door for me, closing it once I’d hopped in.

  While he walked around to the driver’s side, I looked around the front and back seats. The truck was as nice as his apartment inside—the beige leather interior was perfectly clean, the dash was free of dust, and no trash littered the floor mats. It even smelled good.

  So did the driver himself. I caught a whiff of cologne as Griffin slid behind the wheel, and I kind of wanted to bury my face in his neck. He looked so cute all cleaned up, with his damp hair, dark jeans, and fitted black T-shirt.

  But he was frowning again as he checked his phone. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “My sister,” he said. “She said she couldn’t wait any longer at the shelter and she had to bring the kitten home. Which was against the rules, so she’s making me feel even shittier about it.”

  “So can’t you pick it up from her house?”

  “I can, but we’ll have to deal with my mother.”

  “Is she that bad?”

  “She’s just . . . intense.”

  “I can handle it.”

  He gave me a disbelieving side-eye.

  “Listen, my major was French, but I should have a PhD in grace under pressure. I can handle anybody.”

  He laughed a little. “You probably can. And I guess we can use the opportunity to ask her if she knows anyone renting a room in town.”

  “That would be great.” I reached over and laid my hand on his forearm. It was warm beneath my palm. “Thank you.”

  His eyes dropped to my fingers against his skin and stayed there so long I grew self-conscious and took my hand back. Maybe he didn’t like to be touched?

  He started the truck without another word.

  On the ten-minute drive to his mom’s house, he remained silent except when I asked him a question, but even then, his answers were short.

  “Is that the lake over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this where you went to elementary school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why does it smell so good here?” I stuck my head out the open passenger window and inhaled.

  “Lavender farm.”

  “I didn’t know lavender grew in Michigan.”

  “It does.”

  “Why are you so tense?”

  “I’m not.”

  I stared at his handsome profile and sighed heavily.

  The set of his jaw grew stubborn. “My mother thinks she knows better than I do how to run my life. It gets to me.”

  “I understand. Believe me.”

  He glanced at me. “Yeah, maybe you do.”

  A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of a charming two-story Arts and Crafts-style home with a deep front porch and well-tended lawn. The house was painted a cornflower blue and all the trim was white. “Did you grow up here?” I asked as Griffin parked along the curb.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s so pretty!” I got out of the truck and looked around at the neighborhood. The houses were close together, and they had small front yards but big front porches, and groups of kids were out playing all along the block. Girls with sidewalk chalk and jump ropes, boys riding bikes, a game of basketball happening in someone’s driveway. It looked homey and safe, like everyone in the neighborhood was sort of like family. So different from the gated community full of McMansions where I’d grown up, with all the houses set far apart on a golf course.

  “It wasn’t pretty where you grew up?” he asked.

  “It was, but in a different way. I didn’t have friends right in my neighborhood. I never played hopscotch on the driveway or rode bikes to the ice cream store or had a lemonade stand with friends. I had no siblings either. I had to be the voices of all my Barbies—maybe that’s why I talk so much.”

  Griffin laughed as I followed him up the brick walk. He waved to a group of young girls running through the sprinkler on the front lawn next door, and one of them waved back. “Hi, Uncle Griffin!”

  “Hi, Mariah,” he called back. “Your dad home?”

  She shook her head, her hair throwing water droplets. “He’s at work. Grandma is here.”

  Griffin nodded. “That’s Cole’s daughter,” he said to me. “My goddaughter.”

  “Adorable.” I smiled at her. “How old is she?”

  “Eight. They moved in with his mom after Cole’s wife died.”

  I gasped. “How did she die?”

  “Giving birth to Mariah, actually.”

  My heart ached for the handsome police officer I’d met last night, and for his cute young daughter. “God, that’s awful. He never remarried?”

  Griffin shook his head. “Nope.”

  We climbed the steps onto the front porch, and I noticed the pretty hanging baskets of flowers and white rocking chairs and the welcome mat that read Fáilte. Before we could even knock on the wooden screen door, someone pulled it open.

  “Well, hi there, big brother.” A pretty woman with a long, caramel-colored braid over one shoulder and wide brown eyes grinned at us. She had the same dimple in her chin that Griffin did. “Glad you could make it.” She winked at me. “And this must be your bride.”

  “Don’t start,” he warned her. “Blair, this is my sister, Cheyenne.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “You too.” She stood back, holding the door. “I was hoping to set eyes on the girl who made Griffin break his number one rule. Come on in. Mom’s in the den if you want to say hello.”

  “Is it optional?” Griffin muttered.

  Cheyenne laughed. “Probably not.”

  Griffin looked at me. “One last warning. My mother can be overbearing. And dramatic. And she plays dumb even though she’s not.”

  “It’s her favorite game,” confirmed Cheyenne.

  I laughed, still wondering what the number one rule was that Griffin had broken for me. “I’ll remember that.”

  Cheyenne led the way through the living room and dining room toward a small den that looked like it had been added on to the back of the house at some point. A woman with a messy cap of silvery hair was resting on the sofa watching telev
ision, but she immediately got up when she saw us. Her face, gently lined with age, lit up with excitement. Right away, I saw where Griffin’s blue eyes had come from.

  “Well, hello,” she said with enthusiasm, ignoring Griffin to take both my hands in hers. “What a lovely, lovely surprise!”

  “Mom, this is Blair,” he said.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Blair. I’m Darlene Dempsey.”

  I smiled. “Nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Dempsey.”

  “Please, call me Darlene.” She squeezed my hands. “Aren’t you adorable! Look how adorable she is, Griffin. Isn’t she adorable?”

  “Where’s the cat, Cheyenne?” Griffin asked.

  Darlene glared at her son. “I asked you a question.”

  Griffin rolled his eyes. “She’s adorable,” he grumped.

  “Can I get you something, Blair? Tea? A snack? Some cookies? I made chicken salad for dinner. Do you like chicken salad?”

  “We’re not staying, Mom.” Griffin’s tone was firm.

  His mother shot him a dirty look. “You have somewhere so much better to be?”

  “We’re just picking up the kitten.”

  “You have to eat dinner, don’t you?”

  “We’re going out.”

  Darlene sniffed. “Well, I think you can spare a few minutes for your mother. You haven’t been to see me in days.”

  “I was here Monday to mow the lawn, Mom. It’s only Wednesday.”

  “That’s what I said. Days.” She looked at me again and smiled sweetly. “Come sit for just a moment. I don’t have company too often, and it does get lonely. I thought I’d have grandchildren to spoil by now, but . . .” Her expression turned mournful. “Alas. I remain bereft.”

  Behind me, Cheyenne sighed heavily. “Griff, why don’t you come sign the paperwork? Then we can get your new best friend all loaded up.”

  “That’s fine,” Darlene said, taking a seat on the sofa again and patting the cushion beside her. “Blair and I will just take a moment to get better acquainted.”

  I glanced at Griffin, who looked reluctant to leave me alone with his mother. Sorry, he mouthed, but he followed Cheyenne out of the den, and I lowered myself onto the sofa, knees pressed together, hands clasped around them.