Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel

by Jennifer Bernard

  Awkwardly crammed into the passenger seat, he gaped at the woman behind the wheel. He saw a tumble of wild hair, a set jaw, a fine profile. His right arm throbbed painfully. She shot him an impatient look. “Would you please buckle up? That crazy man is still shooting, and this is a rental.”

  Chapter 2

  FOR A WILD moment Trevor wondered if he would have been better off taking his chances with the BB gun. The girl didn’t seem to be the best driver, zigzagging all over the parking lot. She hunched over the wheel, peering out the front windshield.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to confuse him so he doesn’t have a steady target.” She veered to the right.

  “Don’t worry about that, just head for the exit. We’re faster than him because we’re in a car.”

  “I know we’re in a car. How else would I be able to rescue you?”

  “What? Just . . . go that way, that’s the exit.” He pointed toward the opening that represented safety and freedom—or more moments of lunacy in the company of this strange girl. He saw his Escalade off to the side and wondered if he’d be better off jumping out of this car and into his.

  Before he could act on the thought, they were practically on top of the Escalade. “Watch out!” he yelled.

  She jerked the wheel to the left, but not before she’d shaved off the sideview mirror, which went clattering onto the pavement. She winced, but didn’t seem too worried.

  “That was my car you just maimed.”

  She shot him a scathing look, her eyes glinting like sea glass in the light from her dashboard. “Are you seriously worried about your car when we have a man with a gun after us?”

  He groaned. “It’s a BB gun, but never mind. Just get us out of here.”

  “That is the general idea.”

  Snapping his mouth shut, he sank lower in his seat. Probably best not to engage in any conversation with this girl, at least until their physical safety was ensured. There was a strong possibility that knocking her out so he could drive would be the safest option of all. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

  After another near-miss with a Camry, she finally reached the exit that led onto Catfish Way, the feeder street from the main road. He swiveled his head to see if the man was still following, and found himself staring into one glowing blue eye.

  “What the fu—” The eye disappeared as whoever it belonged to dove to the floorboards.

  “Don’t yell, please,” the girl said in a stern voice. “Jerome isn’t used to car chases.”

  “Jerome?” Who—or what—was Jerome? Who was this girl?

  On the bright side, he could now see through the rear window. The man with the BB gun was standing next to his Escalade, aiming little BB bullets into his tires. Well, better the car than him.

  He swung back around and let out a whoosh of relief. “He stopped shooting at us. You can drive normally now. If that’s possible.”

  Now that the danger had passed, the aftermath of adrenaline overload had him shaking. He tightened his fists and made his body rigid, then forced himself to relax. Air in, air out. The same way he’d handled all the traumatic situations he’d faced in the past. It was over. Deal with the next moment. Then the next.

  The girl headed down Catfish Way. “I was really afraid he was going to shoot you. I was in the middle of calling 911 when he aimed his gun. I didn’t think the police would arrive before he pulled the trigger. I just tossed my phone away and slammed on the accelerator.”

  “That took a lot of guts, but you shouldn’t have done it. He could have shot you. You can’t just go barging into dangerous situations like that.”

  She shook her hair away from her face in an offended gesture, and he caught a light, sweet fragrance, like apple blossom. “Is that your way of saying thank you? Because it needs some work.”

  “Look, strange girl, I’m grateful, but I don’t want to encourage you to ever, ever do anything like that again.”

  She aimed a scowl at him, and now that they were driving down a well-lit street, he finally caught the color of her eyes. Blue. A pure, deep, starry blue, like sapphires. The skin around them looked puffy, as though she’d been crying. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure, I’ve just been going through a lot lately.”

  Oh, even better. There was an emotionally unstable girl behind the wheel. Again he contemplated diving out the door and taking his chances.

  She sniffed. “But I’ll get through this, just like everything else. Can you make sure Jerome is okay?”

  “I don’t even know what Jerome is.”

  “You’re a very odd person, aren’t you? Didn’t you just look right at him? Jerome is a cat, of course.”

  Trevor twisted around to squint at the backseat. He ignored the jumble of clothes and textbooks and shoes and glanced at the floorboards, where a massive pile of white fur nearly overflowed a pet carrier. “That thing is a cat? I only saw one eye. He looks more like a white shag foot stool.”

  “Is he all right?”

  The cat stared up at him, unblinking, through the open door of the carrier. “Aside from the obesity? He looks okay to me.”

  “I’m letting your insulting comment slide because I’m used to it, but he’s a large breed, that’s all. He’s a cream point Ragdoll, and very sweet-natured. He only has one eye, but that’s the way I found him, so I don’t know why. See what happens if you try to pet him.”

  Trevor eyed the creature, who looked even more wary than the Isotope pitcher from earlier that night. “You want me to try to pet him?”

  She sighed. “You must still be traumatized by the incident. You seem a little slow on the uptake. It’s completely understandable. As I mentioned, I too have been going through a lot lately, although no one’s gone after me with a gun until—”

  “I’m not traumatized,” he said through clenched jaws. To prove it, he reached a hand toward the cat, which jammed his huge head against Trevor’s hand. “I think he’s trying to head-butt me out of the car.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “He wants you to pet him, so he must be fine. Jerome is a very loving and affectionate cat, but he’s not a fighter. He’s a gentle giant. He’s been with me through a lot, though this is officially our first car chase.”

  “Well, tell your gigantic cat that I mean you no harm. Hell, five minutes ago I didn’t even know you existed, Miss . . .” He left the end of the sentence open.

  “I’m Paige.”

  “I’m Trevor Stark.”

  She nodded, showing no particular reaction to that information. Yet one more strange moment of this night. Kilby was a small town, and the Catfish had been in the news a lot lately, thanks to Crush Taylor and various other circumstances. She should at least recognize his name.

  Then it clicked. A cute girl—and she was most definitely that—waiting alone in the stadium long after everyone else had left. Of course she didn’t have a reaction to his name, because she already knew it.

  She’d been waiting for him. She was a groupie, one of the Trevor Stark fandom the other guys mocked him about.

  “I have to hand it to you, you caught my attention,” he told her.

  She laughed, a sound as bright as a waterfall. “I suppose barreling straight at you in a car would do that.”

  “You definitely beat out the woman who sent her kid to the railing. Oldest trick in the book, that one.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He eyed her outfit, which consisted of black leggings and a loose V-necked top that screamed comfort. “You didn’t want to dress up for the occasion?”

  She turned her face toward him, and he saw she wore not a stitch of makeup—pretty unusual for the girls who went after him. “Are you saying I should have changed before I rescued you from the crazed gunman?”

  “I’m talking about the part before. When you were waiting for me to come out of the stadium. What were you planning to do? Whisk me off for a romantic . . . uh . . . yog
a class?”

  She stopped at a red light and twisted to face him full on. Her sapphire eyes brimmed with amusement. “Just for the sake of argument, let’s say that I was. I was parked outside Catfish Stadium just longing for you to appear so I could lure you into my extremely messy rented Chevy Cavalier. What would happen next?”

  It was starting to sink in that he’d read the situation wrong. Understandable, since it wasn’t uncommon for girls to lie in wait for him at the stadium. But still—he didn’t like looking like an ass in front of this girl, with her sparkly blue eyes and wild mane of hair that looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. She’d knocked him off his game and now he had to get the upper hand back.

  “Well, Paige, despite my reputation, I’m not that kind of guy. So I’d probably do this next.”

  In one smooth motion he stripped off his Kilby Catfish T-shirt. Her deep blue eyes went wide. He felt her swift, sweeping inspection like a wave of heat across his skin. Her quick intake of breath was supremely satisfying. Better yet, she was momentarily speechless.

  He dug in his duffel bag for a Sharpie and signed his T-shirt with a big flourish. Trevor Stark, the T and S the only legible letters.

  With a flourish, he presented the shirt to her. “Thank you for being a loyal fan.”

  Still speechless, she accepted the T-shirt, just as someone honked behind her. The light had changed. The energy between them snapped, like a rubber band breaking. It suddenly felt as if a pressure valve had released. She tossed the shirt into the pile of junk on the backseat, then turned back to the steering wheel.

  He let out a long breath. He hadn’t realized how caught up in the moment he’d been until she looked away from him. In the short time he’d known Paige, he’d been more off-balance than with any woman since the age of twelve. Then again, getting threatened with a gun might have had something to do with it.

  “You know,” Paige mused as she steered her car into the intersection. “You’d think that rescuing you from an armed gunman would get me more than a T-shirt. Like, say, your jockstrap. Do you ever give those away?”

  “I might consider it, but it was just a BB gun.”

  “I guess you have a point. The greater the risk, the more ridiculous the reward.” Before he could get in a comeback, she continued. “Well, Mr. Shirtless Stranger, what would you like to do now? I don’t want to drive back to the stadium until we’re sure the police have arrived.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive back there. Besides, the dude shot out the tires on my Escalade. I’ll have to get it towed.” He thought for a moment. “Can you drop me at the Days Inn on Alamo Drive?”

  “Sure. But don’t you want to give a statement to the police? I can take you to the station.”

  “I’ll call it in.” Trevor never willingly went near the police. Back in Detroit, some of them had been on the payroll of the syndicate that had destroyed his family. Even though Kilby was a small town with a completely different atmosphere, his mistrust ran deep. “I’d rather get back to the hotel. Afternoon doubleheader tomorrow.”

  She steered toward the street that would take them to Alamo Drive, which told him that she knew Kilby well enough to find her way around. Was she from here? But she’d said her car was a rental, and it definitely had the lived-in feel of a long road trip.

  “Are you an out-of-town player?” she asked him.

  “Nope. I’m a Catfish. Go Kilby.” She reacted to that information with an almost invisible flinch. Interesting. “I live at the Days Inn. I rent by the week and own a bunch of take-out menus. Home sweet home.”

  “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to rent an apartment?”

  “That’s a big commitment.” Not only that, but he’d be easier to find. Motel rooms worked just fine for him.

  “Oh, please. Let me guess, you’re one of those.” She tossed her tangle of hair away from her face. “The ‘don’t fence me in with your pesky apartment leases or marriage contracts’ types.”

  “Maybe. And you’re the ‘give me two minutes and I can slap a label on you’ type.”

  Surprised, she looked over at him, and he caught a glimmer of respect along with the laughter. “Touché.”

  As she turned the car onto Alamo, the neon Days Inn sign loomed ahead, illuminating the misty night with its yellow glow. The sight brought an odd sense of reluctance—surprise, surprise, he didn’t want this encounter to end. Paige didn’t seem one bit intimidated by him, or awed, or flustered. The change of pace was . . . well, like he’d said, she’d caught his attention.

  He looked at her sideways, wanting more details impressed into his brain. Now that he got a good look at her, he saw that she was on the quirky side of beautiful, with lean lines and a wide mouth. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and halfway down her back, the curling strands picking up glints of light, copper and red and gold. She wore a pendant on a leather thong around her neck, and woven bracelets marched up her wrist. Her yoga-ish outfit might be casual, but she had a sexy body under those leggings, he could practically guarantee. Whoever Paige was, she was suddenly front and center on his radar screen. It made no sense, considering the craziness of the past ten minutes, but he wanted . . . well, more. More conversation, more of that sweet apple fragrance, more of those looks she shot him.

  He wanted to hear her laugh some more. It made him feel halfway human.

  She pulled into the driveway of the Days Inn and stopped under the overhang at the entrance. “Nice place you’ve got here,” she said, all cheeky.

  “Thanks. It’s even nicer inside. Why don’t you come in and tell me all about Jerome, or why you were at the stadium, or where you learned to drive? I have a fully stocked kitchenette. My specialty is midnight snacks.” He unleashed his most potent weapon—his smile, which had slayed every woman he’d encountered since the age of twelve.

  Not Paige. She tilted her head, giving him a long, serious survey. “Anonymous sex with a stranger is not the right way to process a trauma.”

  The word “sex” on those full, upturned lips amped up the strong attraction he already felt to her. “What makes you think I was talking about sex?”

  Her gaze immediately flashed to his bare chest, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I get it,” he said. “You were thinking about sex.”

  When her cheeks went pink, he bit back a satisfied smile. Now that the word “sex” had been spoken aloud, it sounded like a great idea to him. “Besides, there’s nothing like a near-death experience to make you want to live life to the fullest. Shouldn’t that include sex? Or at least a midnight snack?”

  He offered another smile, aiming for charming this time. She drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel, looking at him from under her lashes, the garish Days Inn glow sliding across her skin. Had he tempted her? Finally she shook her head. “I’m supposed to be somewhere right now. I got sidetracked rescuing you, but I really need to go.”

  “Wherever you’re going, I bet there isn’t a famous baseball player ready to satisfy your every desire.”

  Her head jerked back and her eyes went wide with an expression of horror. “You . . . no . . . um . . .” Clapping her hand over her mouth, she gave a peal of laughter that raked at his pride like a burning torch.

  “Say no more.” An unfamiliar emotion coursed through him—the humiliation of rejection. Girls didn’t turn him down. Most often, they came after him in the first place. He opened the car door and swung himself onto the pavement. “Do me a favor, Paige. Next time you see a man with a gun, drive the other way.”

  “Wait, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that—”

  He held up a hand to stop her right there. “Thanks for the ride, and the rescue. Appreciated.”

  She opened her mouth as if she had something important to say, then changed her mind and pressed her lips together. Perfect, curving lips. And damn if he didn’t want to kiss her, even if she had just laughed at him. Light spilling from the hotel entrance fell across her fac
e, turning her skin luminous.

  He wanted her.

  Not going to happen.

  He turned away and stepped into the shadow cast by the overhang. Idiot that he was, he’d given her his shirt. This close, she might see the damning marks on his back. He needed to put some distance between them, so he walked quickly toward the hotel’s front doors. Beyond the glass he saw the familiar check-in counter, the coffee setup, the dusty ficus tree in a planter.

  “Thank you for the T-shirt,” she called after him.

  Without turning around, he flashed a peace sign.

  “Stay out of trouble,” she added wryly, as if she knew trouble was part of Trevor’s DNA. Smart girl.

  Oh. My. God. That was one extremely potent male. Paige put a hand to her heart, feeling it gallop like a runaway horse. The amount of adrenaline coursing through her system right now would fuel an entire squad of sprinters.

  On autopilot, she drove away from the hotel, barely noticing the familiar terrain of Kilby—tidy little stucco homes, the restored brickwork of the downtown area, strip malls, and, as she reached the outskirts of town, the ranch lands. Her destination.

  “Jerome, I had no idea a baseball player could be like that.”

  Not even her ex-husband, a professional basketball player, had prepared her for the sight of Trevor Stark without a shirt.

  “Did you hear what he said about a famous ballplayer waiting to fulfill my every desire? I swear, Jerome, I almost lost it. He probably thought I was nuts. Do you think he did? I guess if he saw me talking to you he’d really think I was nuts. No offense, kitty-cat.”

  Her cat gave a soft meow. Now that the interloper was gone, Jerome lurched out of his carrier onto the backseat, then climbed into the passenger seat and curled up in his usual spot. They’d been driving this way for three days, ever since her Alitalia flight from Rome had landed at John F. Kennedy Airport. She hadn’t even stopped for a visit with her two college roommates who lived in New York. She’d gone right to the car rental counter and booked this Cavalier. A more sensible idea would have been to fly to Houston, but she needed the time to acclimate to the United States. To her American self. Her old self, before she’d crashed and burned.