Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(76)

“She did?” Mariah looked impressed.

“Yes. And it didn’t even hurt.”

“Grandma says I look like her.”

I glanced down at her and smiled. “I agree. And that’s a very good thing because your mom was cute but your dad looks like a grumpy old troll.”

She giggled. “Sometimes he acts like one too.”

We walked a little longer in silence. Mariah finished the cone and licked her fingers, palms, and wrists. Even so, she was a mess when I dropped her off at Cole’s house—chocolate ice cream like a beard on her face and all over the front of her pink shirt.

“Sorry,” I said to Mrs. Mitchell at the door. “She’s a little chocolaty.”

Cole’s mom laughed and patted Mariah’s head. “That’s okay. She’s going straight into the tub. Did you have fun, sweetie?”

“Yes!”

“Say thank you.”

Mariah turned and wrapped her arms around my waist, her cheek pressed against my ribs. “Thank you, Uncle Griffin.”

I hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”

“I love you,” she said, surprising me. She’d never told me that before.

“I love you too, kiddo.” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d told someone that. Or heard someone say it to me. I’d forgotten how deeply the words could burrow into your bones.

On my way home, I thought about how lucky Cole was to have a daughter.





Back in my apartment, I popped the cap off a cold beer and studied the contents of my fridge. Blair had gone grocery shopping while she was here, so there was a lot more to choose from than usual, but I didn’t feel like making anything. I was about to order a pizza when I heard someone knock on my door.

Puzzled, I went down the stairs, beer in hand. The door had no glass pane, so I had to open it to see who was there.

It was my sister.

She held up a brown paper bag. “I have food. Can I come in?”

“I guess. Since you have food.”

She followed me up the stairs and started unpacking takeout from the pub on the kitchen island. “When you didn’t show up, I figured you were back here nursing your sore ego, so I thought I’d play good sister and bring you dinner.”

I gave her the finger. “Want a beer?”

“Yes, please.” She took the plastic cover off a container holding a burger and fries and lifted the top of the bun before sliding it toward me. “This one’s yours. Mine has no onion.”

I popped the cap off a bottle of Two Hearted Ale and handed it to her. “Thanks.”

Cheyenne sat on one of the island stools across from where I stood, and we dug into the meal. “So,” she said after a couple minutes. “Rough game.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll get ’em next weekend.”

“I hope so.” I took a long swallow of my beer.

“That doesn’t sound like your usual cocky self talking.”

I shrugged. Took another sip.

“Poor Cole,” she said with a sigh. “Do you think his arm will be okay?”

“If he rests it.” Then I couldn’t resist a little jab. “Why don’t you offer him a massage?”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

“Come on. You’ve been wanting to get your hands on him for twenty years.”

“What?” she shrieked. “I have not.”

“Please.” I took a huge bite of my burger and chewed while I watched her face go from pink to purple. “I’m not an idiot.”

She grabbed her beer and tipped it up. “Does he know?”

“I have no idea. He’s never said anything to me about it.”

“You can’t tell him,” she said. “Ever.”

“Why would I tell him?”

“I don’t know.” She set her beer down, picked up a fry and put it down again. “Now my stomach hurts.”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is, Griffin!”

“So if you feel that strongly about it, why not ask him out or something?”

“Because I can’t! I just can’t.” She shook her head. “And anyway, he always says he doesn’t want to date.”

“True,” I admitted. “Guess it sucks to be you.”

Frowning, she picked up the fry again and threw it at me. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m kidding.” I picked up the fry from the floor and tossed it into the trash. “And maybe he does want to date, but he’s worried about Mariah.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I’m just thinking that it can’t be easy to think about dating when you’re trying to raise a kid on your own. He worries about her all the time. In fact, I meant to ask you if you knew any child therapists. He’s looking for one.”

“He is?” Cheyenne’s face grew concerned. “Is Mariah okay?”

“I think so, but she’s dealing with some stuff, and he thought it would be helpful for her to talk about it with someone that’s not him.”

She nodded. “Totally. And yes, I do. Should I reach out to him?”