Rescuing the Bad Boy: Bad Boy Sweet Romance (Last Chance at Love Book 1)

by Anna Catherine Field

  “Spill.”

  “I recognized that guy,” I tell her.

  “From where?”

  “He’s Buddy’s former owner. I saw him the night we rescued him.”

  “There’s a lot of pitbulls out there, I doubt he could recognize him,” she says, but I hear the concern in her voice.

  I tug at my cap. “I need to tell you something.”

  I should have told her this that night. I should have confessed right away, but she’d finally relaxed around me, trusted me enough to look after Buddy. I didn’t want to ruin it.

  “Okay.”

  “When I saw Buddy’s owner in the street that night, I recognized him.” I run my hands down my thighs. “James and I had flipped dogs to him, more than once.”

  “You sold him dogs?” she asks in a whisper. “For fighting?”

  Panic builds in my chest. “I had no idea he was fighting them. I’d never even considered it—which is my fault. I did what I was told out of a sense of obligation to my uncle. I should have asked questions. I should have checked. It was stupid and short-sighted.” As much as I’m afraid to look at her, I force myself to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand the harm I was doing back then.”

  She looks out at the dogs who are running around in circles, chasing one another. Buddy’s stronger now, his leg healing nicely, but the truth is that it never should have been hurt in the first place. That’s on me.

  “You don’t owe me an apology,” she says, “and Buddy? Well he’s too sweet and loyal to ever understand what you did.”

  I laugh darkly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

  She looks at me, eyes blazing. “I was wrong about you.”

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t think you could change. I thought someone like you was evil, deep down, all the way to the soul. I thought someone that could hurt the weak—animals—was irredeemable, but I was wrong. I can sense the change in you.” She reaches out and takes my hand, threading her fingers with mine. “I accept your apology on behalf of the animals you hurt, even if indirectly.”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “Redemption starts somewhere, Griffin.”

  My heart swells. Pride, something I haven’t felt in a long time, pulses in my chest. I want to believe her, that I’ve changed, that I’m no longer that aimless, careless guy. I look down at our hands and consider that maybe, as long as Maverick’s by my side, I can do it.

  22

  Mave

  “Hon,” Sherilyn says when I walk in the front door, “there’s a report out about a dog being stolen in Watkinsville.”

  “Okay.” I flip through the mail. Mostly bills and advertisements. One is a thick envelope with fancy script across the front.

  “The dog matches Buddy’s description.”

  My heart skips a beat. I slide my nail underneath the flap of the envelope. “Pitbulls are pretty common.”

  “You’re playing with fire.” I look up at her and see her glance out the window to where Paul and Griffin are unloading the truck. My gaze lingers over how broad his shoulders look in his gray T-shirt, and the nice fit of his jeans. “Ahem. Maybe two kinds of fire.”

  I snap my eyes away. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m pretty sure you stole that dog.”

  I roll my eyes. “And?”

  “I’ve seen how you look at him.”

  I scowl. “I’m not looking at anyone any way.”

  Now Sherilyn rolls her eyes.

  “I’m just being civil and making the best of the situation.” Her eyebrow rises. “Buddy likes him.

  She sighs and shakes her head.

  I ignore her and pull the card out of the envelope. It’s an invitation to the annual Animal Rights Fundraising dinner. It’s held at a fancy hotel by the river and a lot of important people are there—including politicians. The ones that will be voting on the new animal cruelty bill.

  “Maybe this year you can take a date,” Sherilyn says, obviously not ready to give this up.

  “I have a date.”

  “Paul is your brother—not a date.” She turns to face me. “How long has it been since you’ve been out with a guy, Mave? One with two legs?”

  “Ha, ha.” I search my memory. “Evan. You know, the guy from the feed shop.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He smelled like a hamster,” I admit, wrinkling my nose. “I did go out twice with Lewis, the transport driver from the animal rescue group, but there was zero chemistry.”

  I look out the window again, and watch Paul and Griffin laugh about something. He has a dimple in his left cheek when he smiles, something I’ve noticed him doing more and more. I feel the unfamiliar twist of nerves in my stomach, part fear, part excitement. I’d meant what I’d said to him earlier. I do think he’s changed, but I’m not sure that’s enough. What happens when he leaves the program?

  Has he redeemed himself?

  Griffin looks over his shoulder, like he can sense me watching him, and catches my eye through the window. He winks, and my neck starts to itch.

  “That,” Sherilyn says, breaking my concentration, “is what chemistry looks like.”

  “Hush.” But that wink flustered me. “He’s…not my type.”

  Even I didn’t buy that.

  “He’s come a long way over the last few weeks.” She nods outside. “Look at the way Buddy loves him.”

  “Dogs aren’t always the smartest.”

  “No,” she agrees, “but at least they know when to give someone a chance.”

  At the door I realize I have a problem. I’m carrying a tray loaded down with dinner, occupying both hands, and have no way to knock. It’s the perfect excuse to leave the tray on the floor, knock and run away.

  No, I tell myself. I’m not running. I’m doing this.

  With the tip of my toe, I bang against the door, regretting it the instant I do it.

  What am I doing?

  The door swings open, revealing Griffin, still damp and smelling fresh and clean from a shower.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  His eyes dart down to the tray. “Is that for me?”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, realizing I’d spaced out at some point. Darn clean, soapy man smell. “Thought you may want some dinner. Paul cooked—not me—so it’s all nutritious.”

  He takes the tray from me and steps back. Buddy, smelling the food, stands and stretches, then crosses the room to check it out.

  “You already ate,” Griffin says, rubbing the dog on his head. “I’m not sure how much they were feeding him. He can’t seem to get enough.”

  I can hear the guilt in his voice.

  “You know you didn’t actually sell Buddy to that guy.”

  “No, but I could have.”

  Inexplicably, all I want to do is make this man feel better. Which is why I gather the courage to say, “There’s a fundraiser coming up—it’s to raise money for a bunch of different animal rescue programs, ours included, but one big part of it is the fight for the animal cruelty bill we’ve been working on.”

  “Okay. I’m sure you’ll convince them of the right thing to do.”

  He’s not going to make this easy on me. I take a deep breath. “It’s fancy. You have to wear a suit and tie, but I wanted to know if you’d maybe want to go with me?”

  His lip quirks. “Like, as your date?”

  “No!” I blurt, feeling stupid. “Just you know—it may look good for the judge to see that you went above and beyond for your community service.”

  He nods. “Right, right. Yeah, that not be a bad idea. I could use any extra help I can get.”

  “Good. Great.” I smile. “It’s Saturday night—after the adoption open house. It’ll be a busy day, but the food is pretty good, and I figure I should give Paul a break.”

  “I think it sounds awesome. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a nice party. And it sounds like a great cause.”

  “It is.”
Even though it’s been clarified that it’s not a date, I’m still flushed with nerves. “You should eat. I’ll go and leave you alone.”

  He glances at the tray of food, then back at me. “Or you could stay and hang out with me.”

  “Or,” I agree, realizing that maybe I didn’t screw up, “I could do that.”

  “Do you have any threes?”

  I take a minute to study my cards, shuffling them around. After a moment I respond, “No.”

  “No?”

  “Nope.”

  His eyebrows furrow. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “You think I’m cheating?”

  He shrugs and takes a card from the pile. “I didn’t say that.”

  We’re sitting on top of Griffin’s single bed with a pile of cards in the middle. Buddy is happy curled up in his bed, napping. After he ate, I suggested a game of cards. We’re on our fifth round of Go Fish. I’ve won three and it looks like I’m about to win this one, too.

  Once he’s arranged his new card into his spread, I assess mine. I have two sets left. One needs two cards. I suspect the card he just drew is one of the ones I need.

  I tilt my head. “Give me all your jacks.”

  Griffin dramatically assess his cards. “Sorry. There are no jacks.”

  My jaw drops. “Really.”

  “Yes, really.” He smirks. “Now you’re accusing me of cheating? That’s rich.”

  “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “Prove you don’t have a jack.”

  “You can’t prove a negative, Maverick.”

  Calling me by my first name is a taunt—completely defying me telling him to call me Mave weeks ago. The truth is that I like it. I like hearing my name tumble off his lips. And something tells me he knows it.

  We’re sitting opposite one another. Him near the pillow. Me near the foot of the bed, legs crisscross, diminished pile of cards in the middle. His eyes twinkle behind his cards, his beard scruffy and perfect. The easy, playful tension between us has been tugging back and forth all night.

  “Here,” I say, tossing my cards face up on the quilt. “I fold—or whatever. You win. Just prove to me you don’t have that jack.”

  He sighs and his expression is resigned. I fight a smile knowing that although I lost the game, I’m going to win the war. I know he has a jack—two.

  He reluctantly starts to lay the cards on the table but at the last minute pulls them back. “Sorry, I just can’t do it. I may have a lot of flaws, but I’m not a cheater or a quitter.”

  “Why you—" I reply, riled up by his switcheroo. I’m also worked up by that grin. He’s ridiculously handsome. I lunge for his cards and he holds them higher—straight over his head. “Griffin, show me the cards.”

  “Nope,” he laughs, watching me struggle to reach the cards. If he wasn’t so tall. Buddy wags his tail in excitement. “This is not your best look, Mave.”

  I get on my knees. “I’m competitive. So what? And I’ve spent my life playing games with Paul, who is definitely the biggest cheater, ever.”

  “So you’re saying you have some baggage you’re working through?” His tone is open and kind. He’s totally channeling Gabrielle at the program. “Let’s talk about that.”

  “I’m saying,” I grab for the cards but he moves them higher, “show,” I reach again, trying not to climb on him, “me,” I lean against him and I feel his hand on the small of my back, “the,” I tip forward, landing on him, he falls back and I go with him, “cards,” I grind out, our faces inches apart.

  His hand is still on my back, my body is pressed against his. His smirk has vanished, his expression completely serious. My heart beats so loudly, so erratically that I know for certain he can feel it hammering against his chest.

  “I’m sorr—”

  His fingers touch my chin and he cuts off my apology with his lips. His mouth is warm, his kiss firm, and sparks shoot down my limbs.

  He pulls back, eyes wide. “Mave—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Apologize for that unless you really mean it.”

  He takes my face in his and peers into my eyes, like he’s looking deep in my soul. Then with lightning speed, he rolls us over so that he’s the one hovering over me.

  His eyes twinkle and a flash of that smirk returns right before he kisses me again, unapologetically, unabashedly, and absolutely determined. My eyes flutter shut, and I feel that kiss in my fingertips, my earlobes, the tips of my toes. Every nerve in my body threatens to fray at the edges.

  Until something cold and wet slops down my cheek.

  We part and I hear, “Ugh, dude,” and open my eyes to see Griffin grimacing while Buddy plants another “kiss” on his cheek. “Seriously?”

  I sit up, laughter bubbling from my chest. Buddy uses the distraction as an opportunity to jump on the bed, separating the two of us.

  “Jealous much?” Griffin asks, scratching him on the head. “That’s a first.”

  “What?”

  “Getting interrupted kissing a beautiful girl by a dog.”

  “Ah.” My cheeks heat. “Well, that’s because you’ve never known the unconditional love of a dog.”

  The adrenaline that spiked while we were kissing starts to slow and I run my hand down the dog’s back, feeling his soft fur. Griffin’s hand covers mine and that same electrical current runs through me.

  “You okay?” he asks. “Was that—”

  “I’m fine,” I say, focusing on the dog. “And that was fine—better than fine.”

  “Yeah?” He leans over the dog and lifts my chin.

  “Yeah.”

  He kisses me gently; lips warm, skin on fire.

  I meant what I’d said. It was better than fine, but anxiety churns in my chest.

  It’s not the feeling that Griffin gives me that scares me.

  It’s the way that he looks at me.

  The same way that Buddy looks at him.

  Unconditional. Devoted. Whole.

  After a lifetime of being let down by people close to me, I had no idea how to handle that.

  23

  Griffin

  The next week goes by quickly and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m part of a team. The Maverick Farms Rescue Team.

  With the antagonism removed between me and Maverick, I stop feeling so defensive and I’m able to really see what a difference she’s making. She loves these animals and sacrifices a lot for them.

  The kiss we shared in my bunk room didn’t hurt either. It’s all I’ve thought about since that night. Her soft lips and her acceptance. I can’t wait for another chance be alone with her. Although I’m not sure she feels the same. She’s been great—but she’s kept her distance, assigning me to work with Paul most of the time.

  I’m trying not to overthink it.

  Except, here I am, thinking about it as I carry another load of hay into the barn. Like it or not, Maverick Frayer has gotten under my skin.

  “Spread that in Dexter’s stable,” Paul says, glancing up from the list on his clipboard, “and I think we’ll be done out here for the night.”

  “Gotcha,” I reply, dropping the bale in the stable. I grab a rake off the wall and work the bound hay loose, spreading it across the floor. Buddy stands just outside the stall, waiting patiently.

  Now that he’s better and Gabrielle is okay with him staying at Redemption House, I’m working a regular shift—days. Paul is around a lot of the time and if he’s not, Sherilyn and Max aren’t far away.

  “We’ll meet early tomorrow morning,” he says, standing outside the gate. “It’s important to get the kennels cleaned out and the adoptable animals in their pens. The kids love petting the kittens and rabbits.” He looks over my shoulder and laughs. “And Dexter. He’s the star of the show. Well, second to Hamilton.”

  “I’ll be here at dawn.”

  “Sure you don’t want to spend the night? I can call the house manager.”
<
br />   “Nah, it’s okay.” I kind of miss the bunk but it also seems wise to stay off-site right now. I don’t want to blow whatever it is the two of us have before it even gets started. Maverick needs space while we figure this out. I can give her that. “I need to run a few errands before tomorrow night.”

  His eyebrow rises. “Ah, the charity dinner. She roped you into that, huh.”

  “You’re going?” I ask, waving hay dust out of my face.

  “Sure. It’s a good cause—our cause. Gotta schmooze the donors.” He opens the gate for me. “Even if I have to wear something other than jeans for the night.”

  I exit the stable and hang the rake back on the wall. I head out to the where Dexter’s tied to the post and lead him back inside. Once he’s secure I turn around and see Paul watching me.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, taking off my work gloves.

  “Look, I’m not into the whole overprotective big brother bit,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you and my sister. She likes you and I get the vibe that you like her back. Which is cool. Despite what brought you here, I think you’re an okay guy—you’re a hard worker and you seem to understand your mistakes…”

  “But?”

  “But Mave’s been through a lot when it comes to people she cares about. She can be skittish, wary, a lot like the animals she rescues. It’s why she relates to them so much.”

  “I know about your mom. She told me.”

  His eyebrow lifts. “She did?”

  I nod. “It’s a bad situation and I get it. She’s fragile.”

  His jaw tics. “Just…don’t hurt her.”

  The threat’s implied.

  “Understood.” I offer him my hand, and he grips it, a gentleman’s agreement. “And for the record, I do like her. A lot. And I don’t want to do anything to screw that up.”

  “I’m not going to pretend my sister’s easy to understand, but the one thing she loves is rescuing damaged things. Not everything can be saved. Some dogs—some people are too messed up to be fixed.” He looks down at Buddy. “Not every fighting dog can be retrained, it’s just in their blood and a lot have to be put down. Buddy’s one of the lucky ones.”