Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(3)

“There’s always an else with you, Cheyenne.” I shifted into reverse and backed out of my parking spot behind the building. “And you never say nice things to me. You must need something.”

“So suspicious,” she scolded. “Frankly, I’m offended.”

“Uh huh.”

“I was only hoping to see you.”

“Right.”

“And show you something.”

“Something like an animal you want me to rescue?”

“No, Mr. Know It All, it’s not an animal I want you to rescue.” She paused. “It’s just a kitten.”

I groaned.

“A tiny little orphan kitten.”

“Stop it. I’m not fostering any more animals. They poop on everything. They chew shit.”

“Please, Griff? You’re the one who brought in the stray pregnant cat.”

“Because I didn’t want a pet and she kept hanging around my door.” Of course, that was because I’d been feeding her, but I’d felt sorry for the thing.

“Well, the babies are ready to be adopted, and it’s breaking my heart to see them there every day. I’d take one but you know how allergic Mom is. And of course, I gave up my lease so I could move in with her after her surgeries.”

“I am well aware of your sacrifice, Cheyenne.” My sister loved to bring this up in order to guilt me into doing things. And it always worked—there was no way I could have survived moving back home. I loved my mother, but she drove me nuts. “How long would I have to keep it?”

“Not long, I promise. Just until I can find it a permanent home, which I’m sure I’ll be able to do as soon as school starts up in a month.” Cheyenne was a kindergarten teacher at our old elementary school.

“Fine,” I said grudgingly, heading toward the ball field. “But I can’t pick it up right now. I’m on my way to practice.”

“I would not dream of interfering with old man baseball,” she said, laughing. “Just come to the shelter tomorrow. I’ll get the paperwork ready.”

“You know, you shouldn’t make fun of me after I just agreed to do you a favor. I could still change my mind.”

She laughed again. “No, you couldn’t. I know you, Griffin Dempsey. Granite on the outside, gooey on the inside. You’re like a soft-serve ice cream cone covered with Magic Shell chocolate. You’re like a Cadbury egg. You’re like a—”

I hung up on her. Little shit.





After practice, most of the team met up at The Bulldog Pub for a few beers, some pizza, and a lot of trash talk about the Mavericks. I sat at an outdoor table on the sidewalk with Cole Mitchell, our star pitcher, and Moretti, our second baseman and fastest runner.

“We’re gonna crush those assholes,” said Cole. “They’re not gonna know what hit ’em.” Then he winced as he adjusted the bag of ice on his shoulder.

Cole was a cop, widowed way too young, now a single dad with a little girl he adored. We’d grown up next door to each other and had been best friends from the day we met. His family had moved in when we were six, and he was the closest thing I had to a brother. He was also the best human being I’d ever known, straightforward and honest, even if he was slightly in denial about our team’s ability to crush the Mavs.

Not that he was the only one.

“Fuck yeah,” agreed Moretti, lifting his beer bottle. He worked for Moretti & Sons, his family’s construction business, and we’d been buddies since his family had moved to Bellamy Creek when we were in middle school. “We’re gonna decimate ’em. And I’m gonna steal home just like I did the last time.” He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “Hope my groin injury is better by then.”

I laughed and took a long pull on my beer. “Don’t fall apart on me now, assholes. We looked decent tonight. Solid hitting. Good pitching. The Mavs are tough, but I like our chances—if you don’t turn into a bunch of old ladies in the next two weeks.”

“Where’s Beckett tonight, anyway?” said Cole, reaching for another slice of pizza. “He think he’s too good for practice or what?”

Beckett Weaver was the only guy in our childhood foursome who’d left Bellamy Creek for college and hadn’t come back—not right away, anyway. It didn’t surprise any of us, since he’d always been the book-smartest in our group—straight A’s, Valedictorian, scholarship to an Ivy League school. He’d gotten two degrees, moved to Manhattan to work in finance, and fucking hated every second of it. He’d grown up on a farm and decided he missed it too much, so three years ago, he’d left the Big Apple behind and moved back home to help run his family’s cattle ranch.

It was awesome for the team, since Beckett had always been the biggest hitter of any of us. I was a close second, and a damn good first baseman, but against the Mavericks, we’d need all the muscle we could get.

“Nah, he just had something he had to get done tonight,” I said.

“Move his cows, probably.” Cole laughed and shook his head. “That guy spends more time moving his cows around his land than doing anything else. I don’t know how he stands it.”

“Beats being stuck behind a desk all day,” I said. “I don’t know how he did that as long as he did.”