Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(43)

“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.