Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(29)

“That’s perfect.”

“There’s just one more thing,” I said as we neared the pub.

“What’s that?”

I turned to face her. “My mother says the spare room won’t be ready until tomorrow. It’s probably just one of her little games, but she asked if you’d mind staying one more night with me.”

Blair looked surprised, maybe even happy. “Of course I don’t mind. But is it okay with you?”

“It’s fine.” In my head was my mother’s voice telling me to be a gentleman, contrasting sharply with the fantasy of banging Blair on my dining table. “I’ll make sure to give you the couch this time.”

Without warning, she put a hand on my chest, rose up on her toes and kissed my cheek. “Thank you so much for everything, Griffin. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

God, she was beautiful. And sweet. Smart. Sexy. And endearingly in need of protection without acting needy. The combination was driving me crazy. “Let’s sit down. I really need a beer.”

We grabbed a table for two on the pub’s outdoor patio. “Is this where you were sitting when I drove by last night?” she asked, setting her purse by her feet.

“Not this exact table, but yes.”

She cringed. “So you saw the whole thing?”

I grinned. “We all did.”

“God.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “So embarrassing. I mean, I’ve never been a very good driver, but last night was particularly humiliating.”

“You’re not a good driver?”

“No. I mean, I don’t habitually speed or anything. Things just tend to hit me.”

“Things tend to hit you? What kind of things?”

“Oh, you know, stop signs, bike racks, the occasional parking garage wall.”

I laughed. “Blair, those things don’t move.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, maybe it’s me hitting them. But no one ever gets hurt. Except possibly that one bus driver who claimed to have a stiff neck, but I swear I was legally parked when I backed into her bus.”

I laughed again. “I didn’t think there was a worse driver than Mrs. Applebee, but you might have her beat. How do you even have a license at this point?”

She gave me a coy smile. “I used to have a very good attorney.”

The server came by and took our drink orders, leaving us with a couple menus to look over. I ignored mine—I had the thing just about memorized—but Blair opened hers up.

“So what’s good here?”

I answered her questions about the menu without even looking at it, and she teased me for knowing it so well. “I don’t really cook,” I said with a shrug. “And this place is close, quick, and reliable. Plus, they sponsor our baseball team, so I like giving them the business.”

“You’re on a baseball team?”

“Not just any baseball team.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I will have you know you’re sitting across from the first baseman of the one and only Bellamy Creek Bulldogs, the two-time champions of the Allegan County Senior Men’s Baseball League.”

“Well, my goodness.” Blair fanned her face like a swooning Southern belle. “I do declare, Mr. Dempsey, that is impressive.”

I smiled, realizing it had been a long time since I’d taken a woman to dinner—and even longer since I’d enjoyed someone’s company so much. The waitress returned with our drinks—a beer for me, vodka and soda with a lime for Blair—and took our orders.

“So are you a baseball fan?” I asked when we were alone again, imagining her in the stands cheering us on.

“Hmm. I think so.” Blair pretended to think about it, tapping that puffy bottom lip with one finger. “Baseball is the one played on a diamond, right?”

I laughed, picking up my beer. “That’s the one.”

“Then yes, definitely. I’m a fan of anything that involves diamonds.” She lifted her glass and clinked it against my bottle. “Cheers to a third championship, slugger. Now let’s talk business.”

While we waited for our food, Blair and I discussed ideas for revitalizing business at the garage, including the lobby makeover, the Labor Day event, and a social media campaign.

“I don’t have social media, though,” I told her.

“That’s part of your problem—you need it.” She took a sip of her drink. “You’ve got a website, and it’s fine, but ideally it needs a makeover as well. Do you know any website designers?”

I thought about it and tipped up my beer. “You know, Handme’s girlfriend Lola might do something like that. I can ask him.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Handme. Oh, sorry—Andy. We call him Handme at work.”

“Why?”

I explained the nickname to her and she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s mean. Poor Andy.”

“Listen, we’ve all been that guy at the garage who hands the wrenches and stacks the tires. You have to start somewhere.”

“Did you start there?”

“Hell yes, I did. My dad was not about to spare me just because I was his son. If anything, he worked me harder than he worked the other guys.”