His eyes flick between me and the dog, his mouth a grim line. The dog looks up at him with sad, sweet eyes. Both of these guys are charmers, especially the dog.
“Look, if you want, maybe you could call Gabrielle and ask her if I can stay overnight.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You know, out here. With the dog. I’ll keep watch.”
“Are you serious?” I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out his angle.
“Yeah. You need some help and there’s no difference in me sleeping on that bed in there or on the crappy mattress at the group home. Neither rate as four-star luxury.”
I run my hand down the dog's back. There’s no point in stealing this dog. He’s no good for fights anymore, and the other dogs out in the kennel, none are purebred. There’s no point. The wall of suspicion and paranoia I’d built about Griffin starts to crumble. If I’m honest, it began earlier in the night, no, probably earlier in the day, when I caught him throwing the ball to Dawson and Lolly. My chest hurts as I try to make the right decision.
He takes a small step forward. “I’m just offering to watch the dog, Maverick. I know you don’t fully trust me, but I promise I’m not going to steal anything, or hurt anyone, or do anything nefarious.”
I nod, knowing I don’t have any other option. “Okay. Thank you. Let’s get him settled.”
After grabbing a clean blanket from one of the cabinets, I spread it over the dog bed in the little room. Griffin carefully places the dog on the soft padding. His eyes droop a little, probably from the excitement of the night and the small dose of pain medication I’d given him after his bath.
I look up at Griffin, whose face still carries a pained, concerned expression.
“He’ll be okay,” I tell him. “Thank you for helping. I never would have gotten him out of that yard.”
“It’s the least I could do.” He seems to genuinely mean it. “Don’t forget to call Gabrielle.”
I pull out my phone. “I won’t. Do you need anything before I head to the house?”
I may be wrong, I may be dreaming, but I swear his eyes drop down to my lips before he says, “Nah, I’m beat.”
“Right,” I say, suddenly feeling awkward. “If you need anything, I’ll be up at the house.”
He sits on the bed, looking down at the dog. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Gotcha.”
I take one last look at the two of them and head out the door.
Exhaustion rolls over me as I walk through the kennel, the dogs perking up as I walk by. It’s been a long, crazy day, and with the puppies it’s going to be a longer night. I’d been honest when I told Griffin I needed him tonight. What I’m not honest about, with myself, is how that makes me feel.
15
Griffin
I peel off my wet shirt and hang it on a wooden-backed chair pushed up against the wall. I kick off my boots, then my jeans, easing them over the monitor on my leg. It didn’t send out the shrill alarm that I was breaking curfew, which means Maverick must’ve gotten through to Gabrielle.
I’m not gonna lie, even though the room is pretty basic, nothing more than a few pieces of furniture and a stack of old magazines on the bedside table, it’s quiet and empty.
Something I haven’t enjoyed in a week.
I sit on the bed and grab one the magazines, Garden and Gun, and start flipping through the pages. I’ve got way too much energy to sleep.
The whole night has been crazy.
I knew the instant Maverick agreed to run errands with me that something was up. She tolerates me—barely—but there was no way she was letting a dog stay in trouble if she could help it. That much I know about the girl, she’ll do anything for an animal.
“Isn’t that right?” I say to the sleeping dog on the floor. I can see the traces of Pitbull in him, although definitely not pure-bred. His coat is nice now that he’s clean. In the past I could have fetched a small fee for him despite his lack of pedigree.
A pang of guilt twists in my belly.
I never knew people bought dogs off Cooper’s List for dog fighting. It never crossed my mind. Did James know? Probably. Should I have?
Ignorance isn’t an excuse. I know that. It’s not a defense either.
My guilty conscience gets a reprieve when a rap on the worn, wooden door interrupts my thoughts.
I look down at my boxers and grimace.
“Hold on,” I call, reaching for my damp jeans. I tug them on and open the door, still buttoning them at the waist. Paul stands in the doorway holding a tray of food while I stand shirtless in the middle of the small room. “Oh, hey. I got wet washing the dog.”
He nods. “Maverick told me you’re staying out here. I thought you may be hungry.”
I grasp the sides of the tray with my hands. “I am, actually. Thank you.”
“How’s the pup?” He peers around the corner to see the dog sleeping. Ah, the food was just a diversion. “Sound asleep.”
“Did she send you out here to check on me?”
Paul’s eyebrows raise, and he laughs. “You know my sister pretty well.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I know she doesn’t trust me.” I carry the tray over to the bed. I set it down, grab a piece of bread, and take a bite. “Neither do you.”
“I want to, man, I do.” He bends and checks the bandage. “Mave says someone called while you were out, and you guys picked this dog up from their house.”
I answer through a mouthful of bread. “Yep.”
It’s not a lie. Not exactly.
“It looks like he’s been in a fight.”
I frown. “I don’t know. She had me wait in the car.”
Half a lie.
From the look in his eye, I can tell he’s not buying it and that guilty feeling bubbles in my stomach again.
“My sister has a huge heart, Griffin. Her love for animals overtakes any measure of common sense. She’ll do anything to save a hurt creature. Anything. Especially one that she feels is in danger.”
“She’s passionate.”
We both know it goes beyond that.
“If you really want me to trust your motives, you can go a long way by telling me where this dog came from.”
This is one of those moments in life, a test. A crossroad. I’ve been here before. On the baseball field. With my Uncle James. The first time I snatched a dog from an unsuspecting, distracted owner.
There’s a chance here to get out of this. To tell the truth and get Paul on my side. It’s clear he knows his sister can cross the line. He’d tell Gabrielle and the judge how persuasive she is—how determined.
I make a call—one I hope I don’t regret.
“It’s like she said. Someone called her while we were at the dump, asking if she could take in a hurt dog. We picked him up and drove home. I offered to stay because she has the other puppies.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s the only reason you offered to stay?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking if I stayed here to get access to the animals, or if I stayed here for something—someone—else. I’m not sure I know the answer to that myself.
“That’s it.” I laugh. “And maybe the chance to sleep in a room without a roommate that snores all night.”
His shoulders relax. “Sorry for all the questions. Mave is my whole world, and this place means everything to her. I can’t risk her getting hurt.”
“I’m not going to hurt her,” I say. “I promise.”
Paul nods and heads back to the door, hand lingering on the knob. “Make sure you keep that promise, Griffin, because if you don’t, you’ll have more than just Judge Johnson to deal with.”
He pulls the door shut, latching it with a click.
I take another bite of bread and look down at the sleeping pup and tiny room, remembering the smile on Maverick’s face while we were washing the dog—the flicker of chemistry when she reached out and touched my cheek.
Everything I’ve done tonight is a risk. All of it.
>
I hope it’s worth it.
A high-pitched whine cuts through the fog of sleep and I blink, trying to acclimate myself. I’m not at home. Not at the half-way house. Another whine, and I prop up on my elbows, making out my jeans and T-shirt. My boots sit just below. I shift my eyes over, spotting the dog in the dark.
I’m at the farm, I remember, sleeping out in the kennel with an injured dog.
Not much in my life makes sense anymore.
“Hey buddy,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and turning on the lamp. “You okay?”
The dog's brown and white tail beats on the floor. I scoot off the bed and sit next to him, the floor cold under my boxer shorts. He rests his face on my leg.
“Are you just lonely?” I pet his head with one hand while inspecting the bandage with the other. It’s still secure and I’m not seeing any blood seeping through or damage to the wrap, which means he’s not chewing on it.
“I get it dude, I’m pretty lonely, too. I’ve screwed up my life. Threw away my baseball career, my education. Got caught up in James’ scams. I hurt people,” I admit for the first time, even if it’s to a dog. “People don’t trust me and that’s not something I used to care about, but now…” I think of Maverick and her shining blue eyes, “now I do, and it feels like crap.”
The dog nudges me with his nose.
“I should have told her about the guy at the house,” I continue my confession, while scratching behind his ears, “but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She finally didn’t look at me like I was something that belonged on the bottom of her shoe. Like a monster. It felt nicer than I’d like to admit.”
Once I’m sure he’s okay, I stand, moving to get back in bed. The dog’s whine turns into a small, pleading cry.
I eye the padded dog bed. It’s not big. “I can’t sleep on the bed with you all night.”
He whimpers again.
I groan and flip back the covers. “Fine. You can come up here, but only tonight, and only because you’re hurt and because I’m exhausted.”
I get out of bed and pick him up, carrying him to the foot of the bed. I get back in and settle under the quilt.
The dog shifts around, getting comfortable, laying his chin on my shin. I pat him once more on the head and say, “Goodnight,” before turning off the light and falling back asleep.
16
Maverick
After having a mom walk out because she’d rather feed her addiction than take care of her kids, few things surprise me. But walking into the tiny bedroom off the kennel and finding Griffin asleep in bed, snuggling with the dog, awakens something in my chest.
Something both bright and scary. Something that feels like butterflies trying to escape a cage.
Griffin shifts on the bed and blinks. The dog licks his cheek.
“Sorry,” I blurt, clutching the bundle of clothes against my chest. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you during an intimate moment.”
He rests his hand on top of the dog and props himself up on his elbows. The action reveals his smooth, broad chest—and a full view of the phenomenal abs I got a peek of the night before.
This time my stomach doesn’t just flip. It somersaults.
“I, uh,” I try to look anywhere but at his torso, but it’s like my eyes are drawn like magnets. I try again. “I was going to ask if you got cold out here, but it looks like you had someone to keep you warm.”
“Yeah, Buddy suckered me into letting him sleep on the bed. I didn’t know he wanted to actually sleep on me.”
The brown and white dog licks his face again. Griffin grimaces but doesn’t push him away.
“Buddy?” I ask, walking over to the table and dropping the stack of clean clothes I’d taken from Paul’s room. I also grab the tray from the night before. It’s a ploy to keep me from staring at Griffin’s chest. It’s not working.
“Although I have assured him that this is a one-night thing, after sleeping together, it felt more appropriate to wake up next to someone knowing their name.” A line crosses his forehead. “Is that okay? Do we know his real name? Did you want to name him?”
“I think Buddy is a great name.” I gesture to the clothes. “I thought you may want something clean to change into. They’re Paul’s. Not sure if the jeans will fit but the rest should be okay.”
Buddy rests his head on Griffin’s lower abdomen. A flicker of irrational jealousy comes over me. Not because I want to do that to Griffin. Because no. He’s a criminal. But because I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like. Is his skin as smooth as it looks?
“You okay?” he asks, frowning.
The tips of my ears burn. “I’m fine. Still a little beat from being up with the puppies last night. Paul took a few shifts to help out. You?”
“Once I got Buddy settled I slept like a rock.”
“Good.” I walk over to the door, using the tray like a shield. “Dr. Tricia’s going to come by later this morning to check on his leg. If you want to head home for the day, that’s fine. I’ll sign off on your hours.”
He glances down at the dog and then back at me. “I probably should go to the house and make sure everything’s okay. I don’t want them to think I ran off.”
I leave, but something compels me to turn back around. Griffin stands by the bed, bare arms stretching to the ceiling. His body is lean and muscular. He looks at me and his eyes light up, “Forget something?”
“Just to say thank you. For staying the night.”
“You’re welcome, Maverick.”
The way he says my name is soft and gentle. Genuine.
I edge back, knowing I need to get away from Griffin McGuire and his shirtless body and the way he’s looking at that dog. A dog he named. A dog he slept with.
There are only a few ways for a person to worm their way into my heart, and Griffin is dangerously close to making that happen.
I’ve always been a big believer that animals sense the true nature of a person, which is why I have to take this into consideration when Buddy latches onto Griffin.
I know there’s extenuating circumstances. Griffin saved him, treated him, slept with him, but I don’t anticipate the howl of pain the dog emits when Griffin gets into his Jeep and leaves for the day.
“What is that sound?” Paul asks, running down the front steps. “Is someone hurt?”
I glance over at the kennel where the sound is coming from.
“I crated Buddy and he’s not happy about it.”
“Buddy?”
“The Pitbull.”
We walk over to the kennel and Paul opens the crate door. Buddy doesn’t move, eyes sad, and whimpering softly. “Is he in pain?”
“I don’t think so. Dr. Tricia came and patched him up. She also gave him some medicine.”
My brother strokes the dog's head and looks back at me. “Maybe he’s just nervous.”
“Probably. You know how some dogs are in a new environment.” But there’s something about the dog that makes me wonder if it’s something else. “I’m sure he’ll adjust.”
He doesn’t though, whining the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. That’s when the whimpers turn to long, soulful howls.
Paul looks at up at me.
“Mave,” he says, shaking his head. “We have to do something. Can we bring him inside?”
“I’m not sure about him being in here with the puppies or Lolly.”
“Because he’s a fighting dog?” It’s an accusation, one I can’t deny.
“Yes.”
“Well, he didn’t cry like this last night. Maybe we should call—”
I hold up my hand. “Don’t say it.”
“Griffin,” he continues. “I think Buddy bonded to him. He may be the only thing that can settle him down.”
“That’s ridiculous. It was one night. Griffin hates dogs, especially injured or broken ones that he can’t make a profit off of.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me last night when he stayed in the
barn with him. I mean, he named the dog, right? You know what that means.”
There’s a long-standing theory that if you name an animal, then you’re probably going to keep them. I run my hand through my hair. “I’m not calling him.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust him.”
“Buddy does.” I narrow my eyes. Paul is pushing my buttons. “You just don’t want to admit that you’re wrong about Griffin.”
“How am I wrong? He’s working here because of his crimes. Against animals. He’s a criminal.”
“True, but people change. Isn’t that the whole point of this program? Trying to help people become better. I mean, he lives in a place called Redemption House.”
A long, painful howl cuts through the night. I drop my head in my hands.
“Fine. Whatever. Call him if you want, but don’t blame me if something bad happens.”
A smug grin tugs at my brother’s mouth. “And what if something good happens?”
“Then I’ll remind you that I agreed to this in the first place.” I wave him off. “Go, before I change my mind.”
Paul doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his phone and walking outside. I reach out and pet Buddy on his head.
“I hope you’re a good judge of character,” I tell him, knowing that my biggest resistance is the fact that I’m seeing something different in Griffin too. And that scares me more than it should.
17
Griffin
“Griffin, can you come down here?” Gabrielle calls from the first floor. I’d just gotten out of the shower and changed. The house is quiet—everyone off at their community service. I’m not used to being here during the day.
“Yep, one second.” I push my feet into my boots and head downstairs. I walk down the hallway to her office, where she’s sitting behind her desk. “Need something?”
“I just got a call from Maverick Farms. Looks like they’d like you to come back and spend the night again.”
“Tonight?”
She nods. “Paul called, he said Buddy is very sad that you’re not there.”
Rescuing the Bad Boy: Bad Boy Sweet Romance (Last Chance at Love Book 1) Page 7
