Drive Me Wild

by Melanie Harlow

  “Don’t change the subject! We were talking about Blair. If you’d just try to get to know her, I think you two could be good for each other.”

  “I am getting to know her. Because I hired her. I don’t generally invite my employees to live with me.”

  “Well, this isn’t a general kind of situation, is it? This is special.” She sighed dramatically. “But if she doesn’t feel welcome at your place, I suppose she can stay here in your old room.”

  I cringed at the thought of my mother filling Blair’s head with nonsense about me, but figured it might be best for the time being. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll bring her over after dinner.”

  “Oh, not tonight,” she said. “That room is full of junk. I need at least a day or so to clean it out. You can be a gentleman for one more night, can’t you?”

  “Stop playing games, Mom.” I didn’t trust myself to be a gentleman for one more night. One more hour was going to be hard enough.

  “Griffin Dempsey, you heard what I said. Now mind your manners around that young lady, and at least try to be charming. You might not think her showing up here was a sign, but I do! And if you’re not careful, someone else is going to come along and sweep her off her feet—someone like Enzo Moretti! Now there’s a gentleman!”

  I was so annoyed and hungry, I lost it. “Oh yeah? Well, Moretti was just telling us last night about a threesome he had recently. Is that the kind of gentleman you think I should be?”

  My mother was silent for a moment, and I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing her having a heart attack. And then.

  “That is exactly what I’m talking about! He charmed two women into being with him. All I’m asking you to do is work on one.” Then she hung up.

  I was still standing there staring at my phone when Blair came hurrying outside. “Thanks for waiting,” she said breathlessly. “I’m ready now.” She stopped, noticing my aggravated expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “My mother.”

  “What about her?”

  I shook my head. “You know what? Never mind. Let’s go eat.”

  Side by side, we walked a few blocks down to The Bulldog Pub. It was a warm night, and on the breeze I caught the scent of vanilla again.

  “So listen,” I said, putting a little more distance between us. “My mom is still going to make some calls in the hunt for a room for rent until Labor Day, but in the meantime, she offered the spare bedroom at her house.”

  “She did? Oh my goodness, that’s so sweet of her!”

  I frowned. “She can absolutely be sweet when she wants to, but I need to warn you, she has ulterior motives where you’re concerned.”

  “Ulterior motives like finding you a wife so she can finally get those grandchildren she wants?”

  “Exactly.”

  Blair laughed, elbowing me in the ribs. “Don’t worry. I’m not looking for a husband. Establishing my independence and getting a business up and running are my priorities for the near future.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but she can be ruthless when she gets an idea in her head.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just so grateful to have somewhere to stay. And of course, I’ll pay rent. Did she mention how much the room would cost?”

  “No, but that’s something you can work out with her. That reminds me—I don’t normally pay my employees cash under the table, but since you’re here such a short time, I’ll do it that way if it works for you.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” I said as we neared the pub.

  “What’s that?”

  I turned to face her. “My mother says the spare room won’t be ready until tomorrow. It’s probably just one of her little games, but she asked if you’d mind staying one more night with me.”

  Blair looked surprised, maybe even happy. “Of course I don’t mind. But is it okay with you?”

  “It’s fine.” In my head was my mother’s voice telling me to be a gentleman, contrasting sharply with the fantasy of banging Blair on my dining table. “I’ll make sure to give you the couch this time.”

  Without warning, she put a hand on my chest, rose up on her toes and kissed my cheek. “Thank you so much for everything, Griffin. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  God, she was beautiful. And sweet. Smart. Sexy. And endearingly in need of protection without acting needy. The combination was driving me crazy. “Let’s sit down. I really need a beer.”

  We grabbed a table for two on the pub’s outdoor patio. “Is this where you were sitting when I drove by last night?” she asked, setting her purse by her feet.

  “Not this exact table, but yes.”

  She cringed. “So you saw the whole thing?”

  I grinned. “We all did.”

  “God.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “So embarrassing. I mean, I’ve never been a very good driver, but last night was particularly humiliating.”

  “You’re not a good driver?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t habitually speed or anything. Things just tend to hit me.”

  “Things tend to hit you? What kind of things?”

  “Oh, you know, stop signs, bike racks, the occasional parking garage wall.”

  I laughed. “Blair, those things don’t move.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, maybe it’s me hitting them. But no one ever gets hurt. Except possibly that one bus driver who claimed to have a stiff neck, but I swear I was legally parked when I backed into her bus.”

  I laughed again. “I didn’t think there was a worse driver than Mrs. Applebee, but you might have her beat. How do you even have a license at this point?”

  She gave me a coy smile. “I used to have a very good attorney.”

  The server came by and took our drink orders, leaving us with a couple menus to look over. I ignored mine—I had the thing just about memorized—but Blair opened hers up.

  “So what’s good here?”

  I answered her questions about the menu without even looking at it, and she teased me for knowing it so well. “I don’t really cook,” I said with a shrug. “And this place is close, quick, and reliable. Plus, they sponsor our baseball team, so I like giving them the business.”

  “You’re on a baseball team?”

  “Not just any baseball team.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I will have you know you’re sitting across from the first baseman of the one and only Bellamy Creek Bulldogs, the two-time champions of the Allegan County Senior Men’s Baseball League.”

  “Well, my goodness.” Blair fanned her face like a swooning Southern belle. “I do declare, Mr. Dempsey, that is impressive.”

  I smiled, realizing it had been a long time since I’d taken a woman to dinner—and even longer since I’d enjoyed someone’s company so much. The waitress returned with our drinks—a beer for me, vodka and soda with a lime for Blair—and took our orders.

  “So are you a baseball fan?” I asked when we were alone again, imagining her in the stands cheering us on.

  “Hmm. I think so.” Blair pretended to think about it, tapping that puffy bottom lip with one finger. “Baseball is the one played on a diamond, right?”

  I laughed, picking up my beer. “That’s the one.”

  “Then yes, definitely. I’m a fan of anything that involves diamonds.” She lifted her glass and clinked it against my bottle. “Cheers to a third championship, slugger. Now let’s talk business.”

  While we waited for our food, Blair and I discussed ideas for revitalizing business at the garage, including the lobby makeover, the Labor Day event, and a social media campaign.

  “I don’t have social media, though,” I told her.

  “That’s part of your problem—you need it.” She took a sip of her drink. “You’ve got a website, and it’s fine, but ideally it needs a makeover as well. Do you know any website designers?”

  I thought about it and tipped up my beer. “You know, Handme’s gi
rlfriend Lola might do something like that. I can ask him.”

  She blinked. “Who?”

  “Handme. Oh, sorry—Andy. We call him Handme at work.”

  “Why?”

  I explained the nickname to her and she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s mean. Poor Andy.”

  “Listen, we’ve all been that guy at the garage who hands the wrenches and stacks the tires. You have to start somewhere.”

  “Did you start there?”

  “Hell yes, I did. My dad was not about to spare me just because I was his son. If anything, he worked me harder than he worked the other guys.”

  The server arrived and set down our plates of burgers and fries. “Another round?” she asked, picking up my empty beer bottle and Blair’s glass.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Blair bit that lip. “I shouldn’t.”

  “It’s on me,” I told her, assuming she was worried about the cost. “Have another one.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, but she still looked uncomfortable. And she stopped talking—the server came back with our second round, and she still hadn’t spoken.

  “Hey. What’s up?” I nudged her foot with mine under the table.

  “Nothing.” She sprinkled a little salt on her fries. Pushed them around on her plate.

  “I don’t buy it. You’ve been silent for like four entire minutes. That’s got to be a record.” I was hoping it would make her laugh, but she gave me only a half-hearted smile.

  “I’m feeling bad about myself.”

  “Why?” I picked up my burger and took a bite.

  “I guess I was just thinking about how hard you’ve worked your entire life. Everything you have, you earned. And I had everything handed to me. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Who said life was fair?”

  “You know what I mean.” She picked up one fry and ate it slowly, like a rabbit nibbling to the end of a carrot. “Tell me more about how you grew up.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Were you good in school?”

  I shrugged. “Good at what? Behaving? No.”

  “Did you get good grades?”

  “When I tried.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “Did you try?”

  “Sometimes.” I took a few more bites and thought about it. “There were some subjects I liked, some teachers I liked. I worked hard for the ones whose approval mattered to me.”

  “What was your favorite subject?”

  “I spent a lot of time in detention. Does that count?”

  She laughed. “What did you get detentions for?”

  “Mostly for being late for school. I’m an early riser now, but back then, I constantly overslept. I also got in fights sometimes. I’d mouth off when my temper got the better of me. My friends and I pulled pranks and got caught.” I shrugged. “Nothing serious. Just too much testosterone bottled up in a small town.”

  “You got in fights?” Her eyes were wide. “With who?”

  “I don’t know. It was just stupid guy stuff. Someone would say something that pissed me off, I’d say something back, and it would get physical. I was trying to be a rebel all the time.”

  “So you had a bad temper?”

  I tipped up my beer. “You could say that. Yeah.”

  “Do you still?”

  “Sometimes. But I’ve learned to control it.”

  “How?”

  “Eight years in the Marines.”

  “Oh. You’re a Marine.” She glanced at my arms. “Is that where you got all the tattoos?”

  “I had a few before. Most of them I got when I came home.”

  “I’ve never seen so many on one person,” she confessed, looking a little scandalized by it. “Did they hurt?”

  “I’ve been through worse.”

  “You were deployed?”

  I nodded. “Three times.”

  “That must have been . . .” She stopped and sighed. “I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. I was going to say hard, but that seems like a stupid remark. Of course it was hard. It’s war.”

  “It was a lot of things. Hard is one of them.”

  “Do you hate talking about it?” she asked quietly.

  I didn’t respond right away. I took a few more bites of my burger and drank some beer, and thought about how to answer the question. Usually I kept my barriers in place with silence, but there was something about Blair that made me want to lower them a little.

  But just a little.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when I didn’t answer the question immediately. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “It’s okay. I was just trying to put my thoughts into words. Some of us don’t have three languages at our disposal,” I said, nudging her foot again. “Most days, I feel like I don’t even have one.”

  She smiled. “Well, anytime you want your thoughts translated into Latin, I’m your girl.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I turned the conversation onto her. “What about you? You were good at school, I take it?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “And I suppose you never once had a detention?”

  “Not once.”

  “And probably stayed out of fights, the principal’s office, and tattoo studios?”

  She swirled the ice cubes around in her drink and stared into the glass. “Guess I’ve led a pretty boring life.”

  Immediately, I felt bad. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . I don’t know. We’re different. We’ve had different life experiences.”

  “I guess that’s true. The most rebellious thing I’ve ever done is take a secret job at a bakery.” She looked so down about it, I had to smile.

  “I don’t know. Look at the way you up and left your old life without knowing what the future would bring.”

  “Some people would call that stupid.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Impulsively, I leaned forward and took her hand. “I think it was brave. I think somewhere inside you is a rebel Blair that’s dying to get out and show the world what she can do.”

  She brightened up so much she nearly glowed. “Do you think I should get a tattoo?”

  I had to laugh. “Let’s not go overboard. Why don’t we start by teaching you how to change a tire or something? Or how to jumpstart your car in case the battery ever goes dead. Those are two of the most common reasons people call for a tow.”

  “That would be great,” she said. “Then I could help other people too, not just myself.”

  I nodded. “There you go.”

  She looked down at our clasped hands. “What am I going to teach you? How to speak French?”

  “Hmm. Not sure that would come in too handy.”

  “You’re right.” Then she giggled. “Remember that episode of Friends where Phoebe tries to teach Joey how to speak French?”

  I shook my head. Right then I couldn’t think of anything except the way she was playing with my fingers, threading them through her own. My dick was reacting as if her hands were in my pants, not on the table.

  “Anyway, it did not go well. I’ll think of something else. Oh!” She took her hand from mine and held up one finger. “I’ll teach you to cook something! Then you won’t have to order so much takeout.”

  “That works,” I said, grabbing my beer and finishing it. “Although I’m not sure I’ll be a very good student.”

  “You’ll be at least as good in the kitchen as I am in the garage,” she said. “And I bet you’re great with your hands.”

  Our eyes met. Slowly, I set my empty bottle back on the table. The crotch of my jeans was hot and tight.

  Her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like—not that you wouldn’t be—I mean, I wouldn’t know if you’re—” Flustered, she flapped her hands at the wrist in front of her chest. “Help me, I’m talking, and I can’t shut up.”

  I laughed. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant.” Lowering my voice, I said, “And just so you know, that’s a sa
fe bet—I’m excellent with my hands.”

  She remained flushed in the face as we finished eating, sneaking peeks at my fingers.

  I fucking liked it. A lot.

  When the bill was paid, we started walking back to my place.

  After a couple minutes of silence, she looked over at me. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s kind of out there.”

  “Now I’m nervous. But go ahead.”

  “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you’re living now?”

  I glanced at her with concern. “You okay?”

  She laughed. “I’m fine. But it’s a question someone once asked me, and I said no. It was a lie, of course. And it haunted me for a long time.”

  “Ah.”

  “So what about you? Would you change anything?”

  “Nope. My life is exactly the way I want it.”

  “That’s amazing. I really admire the way you’ve always known what you wanted, and you just went for it.”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I was an idiot for a lot of years.” We were approaching the door to my apartment, and I pulled the keys from my pocket.

  “An idiot how?”

  I shrugged. “When I was younger, I thought I knew everything. I didn’t.”

  “Everything about what?”

  “Life. And when I got an idea in my head, I just ran hard at it, top speed, balls out. I had no self-control whatsoever.”

  She was quiet again for a moment. “I get what you mean. Not that I had balls, of course. But I thought I knew everything too.”

  I laughed. “Probably everyone does when they’re eighteen or twenty-one, or even twenty-five. It takes maturity to see things more clearly. Learn the right lessons.” I unlocked the door and opened it for her, then followed her up the stairs, inhaling her vanilla-scented wake.

  At the top of the stairs, she turned to face me. “What lessons have you learned?”

  “Huh?” Moving past her, I switched on a light in the kitchen. I could not be alone with her in the dark.

  “About life. What are the most important lessons you’ve learned?”

  I walked over to the lamp next to the couch and switched it on. “I’ve learned that inner strength is just as important as outer strength, maybe more. I’ve learned that getting attached to people or things or ideas gives them too much power over you. And I’ve learned that the only person you can truly rely on is yourself.”