Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance

by Jessica Peterson

  “And I love it when you’re all lit up. Jesus Christ, Bel, you’re gorgeous.”

  But you’re not mine. Which is why I have to leave.

  Now.

  I’m opening my mouth to lay down some bullshit excuse—work, early morning, dog I don’t have—when Annabel interrupts.

  “You’re thinking of blowing me off,” she says, throwing my line back at me. “Don’t.”

  I clear my throat.

  “Don’t make me do something shameless. Like guilt trip you by saying this is the first time I’ve had sex since the traumatic experience of my daughter’s birth, and it’s the first time I’ve felt this good since I got pregnant, and the goodness is so overwhelming that if you leave I literally might cry because I can’t stand the thought of ending such a wonderful experience alone.”

  A beat of heated silence passes between us.

  “Stay,” she whispers. “Because I’m not staying, Beau. Let’s be realistic. My life is in Charlotte. I have a job there. Friends. Family. And your life is here, on Blue Mountain. Whatever we’re doing—it ends when my stay here does.”

  I should be relieved by this.

  Instead, I feel a crushing sense of disappointment.

  That, and a perverse kind of hope because…

  “You’ve thought about this.”

  “I have. And even if you didn’t think your life is over—”

  “I stand by that. I think.”

  “Well, I don’t. But even if it were true, we’d still have a lot to figure out if we were to…you know. Be together. For real. So let’s not think about that. Let’s think about right now. You and me. Spending the night together while we can.”

  Tearing a hand through my hair, I say, “Honey, I hear what you’re sayin’. But that’s how people get hurt.”

  Bel shakes her head. “C’mon. We blew past that point a while back. It’s gonna hurt no matter what. So let’s be together, because really…” Her throat works on a swallow. “What’s left to lose?”

  My stomach dips at the idea that Bel is in love with me, too. Are we both that far gone?

  Is that what she’s confessing?

  I run a hand up the back of my head. She’s right. It’s wrong, what we’re doing.

  But she’s also right about this, too. If we’re gonna break each other’s hearts anyway, why deny ourselves these last bits of time together? Why not give in and stay?

  What harm can one night do?

  I only need to look to the night of the bonfire to answer that question.

  But the word comes out of my mouth anyway.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes soften. “Thank you.”

  I shouldn’t ask, but the selfish prick in me wants to know. “How long you think you’re gonna stay up here?”

  “Matt and I decided my new start date is April first, so…”

  She searches my eyes, and my heart contracts.

  “So you’ll stay until March thirty-first.” The words tumble out of my mouth, thoughtless and dangerous but honest. This is honestly what I want. “Gives us, what, a couple more weeks and a handful of days?”

  It’s not enough.

  It’s too much.

  Considering how fast things have happened over the past week, I can only imagine how much our relationship will progress over the course of nearly a month.

  Case in point: I just went from talking about staying the night to Bel staying for weeks.

  But I’m starving for her company. And she just said she knows whatever’s happening between us has an expiration date.

  The line between friendship and romance is blurred. But our deadline?

  That’s crystal clear.

  “I’ll need to leave earlier than the thirty-first,” she says. “Get my life together back home and everything.”

  “But not too much earlier.”

  She puts a hand over her eyes with a smile. “Sure. Yeah. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “I know how it’s going to go. You’re staying until the thirty-first.”

  I curl an arm around her middle and pull her against me. She feels warm and soft.

  Me, though? I’m not sure what I feel.

  Excited. Horny. I have Bel all to myself for weeks.

  But I also feel this deep, deep pain buried within the good stuff.I only have Bel for two weeks and some change.

  Letting her go is unthinkable.

  But two weeks . . . it’s better than none.

  I’ll take it.

  I’ll cherish the time we do have.

  I’ll cherish her.

  To: Annabel Rhodes (Annabel.Rhodes@CGCorp.com)

  From: John Beauregard (GoBeauYourself@gmail.com)

  August 24, 2015 2:57 AM EST

  Subject: engagement party

  Here I go with another 3 AM email. My insomnia has gotten so much worse lately. Thank God I’m retired. I have a lot on my mind and thought why not do something other than stare at the ceiling all night, so here goes. I’m sorry in advance if this upsets you. But as your friend, I gotta be honest.

  Tonight was great. Really, really great. You looked so beautiful, Bel. Your friends are top-notch and so are the people you work with, and it’s clear they all love you. No surprise there.

  But Bel, I’m not convinced you looked entirely happy. Did something happen between you and Ryan?

  Which leads me to my next (very loaded) question: are you sure you really want to marry him? If your answer is yes, then of course I’m happy for you. Really, I am. I want the world for you. But I just get this feeling…I don’t know. He checks all your boxes. Successful, handsome. A little Johnny Wall Street for my taste, but that’s fine as long as he lights you up. Tonight, though, you definitely weren’t glowing. And I want to know why. Maybe it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I also can’t stop thinking about how he was showing you off to all his friends. Like you were a prize he won or something. I don’t know, it just rubbed me the wrong way.

  I’ll obviously support you in whatever you decide. I know Ryan and I don’t exactly get along, and you can make of that what you will. But I want you to know that I’ll always have your back. I only have your best interests at heart. You gotta know by now that I adore you.

  Then again, maybe that’s part of the problem.

  I’m rambling now, so I’ll stop before I say something really stupid. I hope I don’t upset you. I miss you already.

  I’m sorry—

  B

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beau

  The baby wakes up at the same time I do.

  Fucking early.

  Tucked into my body—we’re on our sides, still naked, her back to my front—Bel stirs. She moans. Not with pleasure.

  She’s tired.

  The baby is crying loudly enough for us to hear the monitor in the kitchen.

  I kiss Bel’s shoulder. “I’ll get her.”

  “You sure?”

  She’s warm and adorably sleepy. I bury my nose in her neck and inhale. God, I love her fuck-me perfume.

  “Of course. Is it time for you to nurse her?”

  “Yes.” Bel reaches over and turns on the light. “My nursing pillow is in the living room. If you wouldn’t mind—”

  “I’m on it.”

  Getting out of bed, I notice my being doesn’t ache the way it usually does. Don’t get me wrong, my knees still crack. Thighs are still sore from leg day at the gym and the very athletic sex I had with Annabel last night.

  But the black ribbon of defeat that usually threads through my physical pain is missing.

  I put my hand on my chest, feeling around for it.

  “You okay?” Annabel asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “No,” I reply, bewildered. “I’ll be fine.”

  I grab my briefs off the floor and put them on, one leg at a time.

  “You don’t have to get dressed,” Bel says, laughing.

  “I know. But I don’t want to scare Maisie
off the first time I’m over here.”

  “You saying there’s going to be another time?”

  Ducking out the door, I pretend not to hear her question.

  I return a few minutes later with a howling baby in one arm and Bel’s nursing pillow in another.

  Still naked, she’s propped up against the pillows with her blankets spread across her lap. She looks like an angel in the soft light from the lamp.

  She buckles the pillow around her waist, smiling as I pass her the baby.

  “Sorry about this,” she says, guiding the baby onto her breast.

  Immediately, Maisie goes quiet as she sucks hungrily on Bel’s nipple. Bel sets a burp cloth underneath her other breast, presumably to soak up any leaks.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “The screaming baby. The—” She grabs her phone off the nightstand and hits the button on the side. “5 AM wake-up call.”

  “Hey. She slept through the night again, which I know is a big deal.”

  “Good point.”

  “My insomniac ass is usually up by now anyway.” I nod at the baby. “You want me to give y’all some privacy?”

  “Actually.” Bel looks up at me. “I’d love you to stay. Having some company while I nurse is a treat.”

  I lie on my side in the bed with my ankles crossed. For a second I think to myself, wait, maybe I should feel weird about staying. This is a very private moment. An intimate one.

  But then I think, nah. I love being a part of Bel and Maisie’s morning routine.

  I just love feeling like I’m a part of something, period. Something outside of work.

  During my pro days, I enjoyed being a part of a team. I guess I really liked the family aspect of it all. Traveling together, eating together. Knowing each other’s habits and hang-ups. It’s another reason I threw myself into developing Blue Mountain Farm after I retired. I traded my football family for my farm family.

  And while my real family is a part of Blue Mountain Farm, they’re the family I grew up with. Not the family I created.

  Being here with Bel and her baby makes me realize just how much I want to build a family of my own.

  And it hurts like hell, knowing I can’t.

  Bel strokes her palm over Maisie’s hair, gentle and slow. The baby’s eyes close, and she curls into her mommy with her tiny hand resting on Bel’s breast.

  There’s an ease to their connection that makes me think they’ve been in this exact same snuggle position a hundred, a thousand times.

  “You’re doing really great,” I say. If I can’t have a family of my own, I sure as hell am going to support my best friend in her effort to make one. “I know the experience hasn’t been what you thought it’d be. But you’re a great mom, Bel.”

  She turns to look at me, eyes soft. “Thank you for saying that. I feel like the world is way too comfortable passing judgment on moms by pointing out where we’re falling short. But no one ever gives us a pat on the back when we get it right. I feel like I’m not good enough a lot of the time.”

  “You’re good enough.” I run my finger over the shell of Maisie’s ear. “This sweet girl is lucky to have you as a mom.”

  “This is hard work, Beau. The hardest I’ve ever worked in my life.”

  I cup her shoulder and give it a squeeze, gliding my hand to her neck to give it a quick massage. She moans, eyes rolling to the back of her head as I work my fingers. “There. Your pat on the back. I’ll be giving them to you often from now on.”

  “Single-mom seducer,” she says, eyes still closed. “That should be your new nickname.”

  “Making coffee and breakfast would probably send you right over the edge, huh?”

  Bel cracks open an eye and grins. “You spoil me.”

  “Only what you deserve.” I lean in for a quick kiss. “Still like your coffee with cream and sugar?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thank you, Beau.”

  I put on a pot of coffee, then open the fridge. I had it stocked the day Annabel drove up to the mountain, so I know she’s got eggs, butter, and bread.

  I get lucky and find some blackberries, too, along with heavy cream and leftover caramel sauce that looks like it went with a dessert someone took home from the restaurant.

  “Bread pudding,” Samuel says when I call him for some ideas. “Cube the sourdough, throw in the cream, eggs, and some sugar, top with the berries and sauce, and you are good to go. Bonus points for whipping the rest of the cream and putting a dollop on top. PS, fuck you for waking me up at this ungodly hour.”

  “Fuck you right back.” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I grab the ingredients from the fridge. “And thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He groans, and I imagine him sitting up in bed for a big stretch. “So you and Annabel getting married now or what?”

  “Nothing’s changed.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. “We’re just enjoying the time we have together before she heads back to Charlotte. She’s got a life there, you know.”

  “Yep. And your life is ending. Blah, blah, blah. Aren’t y’all tired of those excuses?”

  “Nope.”

  “I give it a week.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll be a week before y’all realize you’ve got your heads up your asses. What’re you gonna do then? When you realize you’re head—which is now out of your ass—over heels for each other?”

  My gut seizes. I feel disgusted with myself all of a sudden. Maybe that’s why I’m honest about my feelings for the first time since Bel got here.

  “She’ll be okay,” I say, setting the carton of eggs on the counter. “But me? I’ll die, probably. Live forever knowing I missed my chance at happiness.”

  “Christ, that’s bleak.”

  “Life is bleak when you’ve got a brain injury and a family history of mental illness.”

  Samuel lets out a breath. “Keeping Bel out isn’t gonna change your circumstances. But letting her in? That just might help you face those circumstances with a little more grace, a little less darkness, and a lot more hope.”

  I drop the half gallon of cream on the floor, curse, and pick it up. Luckily, it didn’t spill. I’m gonna need a good bit of it for Samuel’s recipe.

  “What do I do with the berries again?”

  “Start by making the custard. Grab a saucepan…”

  I’m able to focus as Samuel walks me through each step. But once the bread pudding is in the oven, my mind predictably wanders.

  What he said about letting Annabel in, it makes me think of the farmhouse for some reason.

  Maybe because I’ve been hanging out with Maisie lately. She’s gonna grow up somewhere. Create memories there with her mama and whatever siblings come along. Just like I did.

  It hits me. The realization that I’ve assumed I’m done making memories of my own. Part and parcel of preparing for my slide into the dementia and depression that claimed Daddy’s life.

  That is bleak.

  My heart wants none of it.

  It wants more of this. The savory-sweet smell of the bread pudding baking in the oven. The sound of Maisie’s giggles and Annabel’s teasing, merry enough to float in from the bedroom.

  Sunrise in my eyes, making me blink as I stare out the window above the sink.

  All day.

  I have all day to spend with my best friend and her sweet baby, eating good food, enjoying good spring weather, having good sex.

  I sip my coffee, and I can’t help but think that this is it.

  The good life.

  Thirty-six fucking years of searching, and I’ve found it. Just when I’ve given up on life in general.

  The universe is one sick bastard.

  Annabel breezes into the kitchen. She’s in a robe with her baby on her hip and hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She’s smiling, all white teeth and flashing eyes, and for a handful of heartbeats, I can only stare.

  “You okay there, killer?”

  When I hand her a steaming mug of
coffee, our fingers brush. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Sipping her coffee, she arches a brow. “Is it the greasy hair? Or no. My gremlin.” She somehow manages to pull back her robe with the hand holding Maisie to expose her hip. She wiggles her pelvis, making the gremlin dance. “A work of art, right?”

  I laugh, and goddamn if I don’t feel the prick of happy tears in my eyes.

  I want to wake up with Annabel every day. I want to see her eyes light up when she sees me, the way she never lit up for her ex.

  I want to stop running. Forfeiting.

  I want to stay and fight. I want to be the man who lights her up every day. Who earns every smile because she’s so damn happy with me.

  But how the fuck can I do that knowing what I do? Being the man I am?

  “Here, I’ll take her. You drink your coffee,” I say, taking Maisie into my arms. It’s a total shithead move, using the baby as a shield.

  But I need some kind of armor right now. Because somewhere along the way, I lost mine.

  Annabel grabs a seat at the island. She holds her mug in both hands and brings it to her lips, tipping it back. She closes her eyes as she takes a sip.

  She moans.

  “Mouth orgasm,” she explains, eyes still closed. “Coffee that’s still hot. Thank you so much, Beau. PS. What the hell is that delicious smell coming from the oven?”

  Maisie grabs my beard and gives it a vicious tug. I yelp. Bel’s eyes fly open, but I wave her away, untangling the baby’s tiny claw from my face.

  “Bread pudding. Samuel gave me the recipe. Dessert for breakfast seemed like the right way to start the day after all that exercise we got last night.”

  Bel’s brow furrows, and she whimpers. “Seriously. How the hell am I going to go back to normal life after living like this?”

  You don’t have to.

  The answer pops into my head. It must pop into Bel’s, too, because suddenly she’s very interested in draining her coffee mug.

  Twisting to face the oven, I flip on the oven light.

  “Look what Uncle Beau’s got baking.” I give Maisie a little wiggle, and she looks at me. When I smile, she smiles, too. “Can you see inside there?”