Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(4)

“I do—he was making millions of dollars,” Moretti said, trying to catch the server’s eye to order another beer. It wouldn’t take long—his looks pretty much guaranteed him the eye of every female in the room between the ages of twelve and ninety. He’d always been the charmer of the group, able to flirt his way out of trouble with anyone—teachers, principals, coaches, girls. Even the mothers adored him. “It’s those dark eyes,” my mom said once, a little too dreamily. “They smolder.”

Sure enough, the server, a pretty twenty-something with long blond hair and a shy smile, came rushing over to ask what she could do for him. Moretti gave her the smolder and asked for another beer, and she sighed before saying she’d be right back with it, hurrying inside the pub before anyone else could order anything. Cole and I exchanged an eye roll.

“Hey, has Beckett said anything to you about his dad?” Moretti asked.

“His dad?” I squinted across the table at him. “No, why?”

“My mom said she ran into him at the grocery store the other day, and he seemed confused. Like he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there.”

“Huh. That’s not good.”

Cole moved the ice pack on his shoulder again. “Getting old sucks.”

“We’re not that old,” Moretti said. “We’re barely thirty.”

“We’re thirty-two,” I pointed out.

“Okay, we’re barely over thirty. But what’s so bad about it? We still look good.” He smiled at the server as she set down his beer.

“Could I get one more too, please?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said, before glancing at Cole. “How about for you, Officer Mitchell?”

He thought about it and shook his head. “Nah, I better get home.”

“Okay. I’ll get your check.” She gave him a smile and picked up his empty plate.

“I think she likes you, Officer Mitchell,” I said, laughing as I tipped my chair back on two legs.

Cole rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“No, Griff is right,” Moretti said with a grin. “She didn’t call me by name. Maybe you should ask her out.”

“No.” Cole was adamant.

“Why not?”

“Well, besides the fact that she barely looks older than Mariah, I don’t even remember how to ask a girl out. I haven’t had to do it since high school.”

“It hasn’t changed,” Moretti assured him.

“How many times do I have to say it—I’m good,” Cole insisted, holding up his palms. “I don’t want to date anybody. I live with my mother. I’m raising a daughter. I’ve got enough women to deal with.”

Moretti looked at me. “What about you? What’s your excuse?”

I shrugged. “I’m smarter than the rest of you assholes.”

Moretti shook his head. “Jesus. You guys really are a couple of old men. You’re gonna end up like those two crotchety dudes on the Muppets, Statler and Waldorf, sitting alone up in the bleachers, watching Bulldogs games and complaining about everything.”

Cole laughed. “And where are you gonna be?”

“Oh, my wife and kids will have driven me into an early grave by then.”

I cocked a brow. “I didn’t realize you had a wife and kids.”

“I don’t. Not yet, anyway. But it’s inevitable. In my family, you have a wife—preferably Italian, definitely Catholic—and a bunch of kids. They’re expensive, loud, and they drive you crazy, but then you get to spend the rest of your life making them feel guilty about shit.” He shrugged and picked up his beer. “That’s how it goes. It’s the Moretti circle of life.”

I laughed. “And where are you going to find this wife? You know every single Italian girl in this town, and half of them are related to you.”

“I’m not worried,” Moretti said, lifting his bottle toward the sky. “I figure as long as I have faith, she’ll show up when I least expect it.”

Right then, we heard a huge boom next to us on the street. Since sudden loud noises trigger a hyper-alert response in me—a remnant of my three deployments in Afghanistan—I jumped to my feet and assessed the situation, my adrenaline pumping. But it was immediately apparent that the source of the explosion was a blown tire.

Cole and Moretti stood too, and we watched as a red vintage MG wobbled precariously before jumping a concrete chock block and coming to rest on the sidewalk in front of the Bellamy Creek Credit Union, which told me that the driver did exactly the thing you’re not supposed to do after blowing a tire—panic and slam on the brakes. Luckily, no one was parked in front of the credit union at this hour, and the sidewalk was empty as well. Still, the driver had to be pretty shaken up, if not injured.

Without exchanging a word, the three of us took off toward the car. As soon as we got close, we could see it had been the MG’s rear passenger-side tire that had blown. The driver opened the door and got out of the little car, which took some effort since she appeared to be wearing . . . a big, white wedding gown.

“Holy shit.” Moretti put both hands on his head. “I was kidding.”

We stared as the woman approached us, taking in all the details. The long strapless dress. The tiara perched on top of her dark blond hair. The white gloves covering her arms to the elbow. The shocked expression. She looked like a very confused Disney princess, as if she’d been well on her way to the Magic Kingdom and had no idea how she’d wound up here instead.