Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance

by Jessica Peterson

  “You did promise that. I don’t wanna scare Annabel and her mama and the baby with all y’all up in their faces.” Beau’s head appears above his mom’s. He drapes an arm over her shoulders and smiles a real smile.

  It’s a jab to the gut how handsome and happy he is. He’s freshly showered, hair still wet, just a whisper of his cologne in the air.

  “I really don’t mind,” I manage, unsnapping the carrier.

  My fingers are clumsy. Shaky.

  Handing Maisie to Beau’s mom, I feel a familiar ache work its way up my sides.

  I’m going to fall apart when this is over.

  Only I can’t fall apart, because I’m a mom now.

  I blink, willing the thought to disperse. I’m living in the moment, remember? I’m going to enjoy tonight.

  Even if this want I feel for Beau ends up killing me.

  Will we even be friends anymore? I don’t see how we can go back to being what we were. Too much has happened. Too much has changed. And when he ends up with another girl after I’m gone—just for the fun of it, because he doesn’t do long-term—my heart will break all over again.

  See?

  See how quickly my mind gets away from me, spinning out into the future? Whipping itself into a frenzy of worry?

  For all its miracles, that’s something I don’t think the Zoloft can fix.

  Luckily, Beau is undoing the remaining buckles on the carrier, interrupting my thoughts. He guides the straps over my shoulders, fingers lingering a beat too long on my neck, and I’m inundated by a swell of need.

  The air between us electrifies, and when he kisses my cheek, I have to try very hard to keep my knees locked. Otherwise, I’m going to go down like a sack of potatoes.

  “Welcome back,” he murmurs. “I missed y’all.”

  I stayed at Beau’s last night and stayed this morning, too, for breakfast. I was going to leave after that, give us both some time alone. I’m still figuring out this weird cohabitation thing we’re trying.

  But then Beau offered to make BLTs for lunch with the thick-cut bacon they smoke right here on the farm, and I wasn’t about to say no to that. Hell, I would’ve stayed all day if I hadn’t needed a shower, some clothes, and access to all the lotions and potions necessary to make me look halfway human.

  In the two hours I was gone, I missed him.

  I’m about to say so, but Milly nudges between us, wrapping me in a tight hug.

  “You two can make out later,” she whispers in my ear. “Let the rest of us have y’all for a little bit.”

  She loops her arm through mine and leads me into the house. I get hugs from Samuel, Rhett, and Hank along the way.

  I’m hit by a delicious smell, something homey and garlicky.

  “My famous roast chicken,” Samuel says, pressing a glass of sparkling water into my hand. “Simple, but a total crowd pleaser.”

  “Smells insane.”

  “Wait till you taste it.”

  Coming into the kitchen, Beau spears his brother with a glare. “Wherever you were going with that, Samuel, stop. Right now.”

  “Noted.” Samuel salutes his brother. Then he cuts a naughty look my way. “Such a curmudgeon, that one.”

  My lips twitch. “We’re working on it.”

  I follow Milly and Beau onto the wide back porch. Mom gasps at the view. Against the fiery colors of sunset, the mountains look almost purple now, the trees that blanket them shrouded in mist.

  The heat from the nearby fireplace warms the subtle bite in the air now that we’re in the shade.

  Hank offers me a tray of these mini ham-and-blueberry-jam biscuits that are so good, I have to stop myself from devouring the entire plate. Then there are fried heirloom tomatoes, first of the season, topped with whipped feta cheese and a drizzle of honey.

  “Good?” Beau comes to stand beside me.

  “So good,” I say around a mouthful of tomato. I wash it down with the sparkling water and feel myself begin to buzz.

  It’s not alcohol, clearly. It’s the feeling of being surrounded by all the good things life has to offer. Friends, family, fried food.

  Maisie is sitting happily on Mrs. B.’s hip. Rhett fusses over her and lets her pull on his beard, bless his heart. He makes a face, an exaggerated grimace, and this tickles my daughter to no end.

  Mom and Larry, still holding hands, are chatting animatedly with Hank and Milly about Southern wedding traditions. Samuel is arguing with Rhett about the merits of dark versus white meat.

  We’re in this big, fancy house, drinking fancy drinks at a five-star resort with professional athletes.

  But I don’t feel intimidated at all. Sinking into a rocking chair beside the fire, I feel comfortable. At home.

  Beau’s got the baby now. Our gazes catch across the porch, and he smiles, holding up Maisie’s tiny hand to wave at me.

  I wave back, the ache inside me intensifying as I watch Beau bat away Samuel’s attempts to take Maisie from him.

  “But it’s my turn to hold her,” he pouts. “Mom, Beau won’t share the baby!”

  Mrs. B, who’s talking to Mom and Larry, just smiles and rolls her eyes. “You boys share, you hear? Don’t make me get the spoon.”

  “I’ll get it for you, Mama,” Rhett says. “I’ll beat ’em for you too, if you want.”

  Beau’s family is loud and obnoxious and inappropriate, and I couldn’t adore them more if I tried.

  The sound of a cork popping as Hank opens another bottle of champagne.

  The smell of a real, wood-burning fire.

  The feel of its warmth, seeping through my leggings.

  My brain starts to whir again. How cool would it be if this were every Sunday night?

  “So, have you guys said the L word yet?”

  Milly plops into the rocking chair beside mine, crossing her legs.

  I purse my lips, looking down at my water. Bubbles glide up the sides of the glass, unhurried.

  I should be annoyed by her nosiness, but that’s not how the Beauregard family works. They care too much.

  They’re too close.

  I’m close with Milly. We became fast friends the moment we met when she came to visit Beau junior year at Chapel Hill. Ever since, we’ve kept in touch.

  I look back up at her. Milly’s smile softens. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m not sure.” I shrug. “We’re in this weird, wonderful place where we’re just kind of…living in the moment, I guess, and enjoying each other’s company. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  Because really, that’s all we have.

  “He’s happier when you’re around. We’ve all noticed a difference. The other morning, Hank caught him whistling. Can you fucking imagine? Beau whistling?” Milly shakes her head, tipping back her champagne. “Next thing you know, he’ll be shaking hands with Nate Kingsley.”

  “Beau’s mentioned that name before. Y’all have some kind of Capulet-Montague thing going on, right?”

  Milly lifts the side of her mouth. “Some backwoods version of it, yeah. It’s exhausting, if I’m being honest. It’s in everyone’s best interest to let bygones be bygones. I’m working on some back-channel negotiations of my own. But these boys, they don’t make it easy.”

  “Your brothers?” I scoff. “Never.”

  “I know, right? They’re the worst.” Her eyes flick to Beau. “And also the best. Look. It’s not my place to tell y’all what to do. I just want to see you both happy. Especially now that that little turkey”—she nods at Maisie, back on Mrs. B.’s hip—“is in the picture.”

  “I know,” I say, swallowing. “I appreciate that. I want Beau to be happy, too. I’m trying.”

  Milly takes my hand. “We all are.”

  “I wish I had more time.”

  “If it’s meant to be, time won’t matter. One of the many things I’ve learned in the ten years I’ve been in the wedding-planning business. That, and if you have second thoughts, you should probably listen to them.”

&
nbsp; I squeeze her hand. “If only I’d hired you to plan my wedding.”

  “Then you wouldn’t have had a wedding at all.”

  “Exactly. Reason number five hundred why I wish I could’ve afforded you at the time.”

  She wiggles her brows. “There’s always next time.”

  “Ugh, don’t even go there.”

  “Would you? Get married again?”

  I turn my head and look into the fire. The flames lick higher now that Hank’s added a few more logs.

  “I would, yeah,” I say after a beat. “The mistake I made with Ryan—he was an all right guy. He just wasn’t my best friend.”

  Milly tilts her head, eyebrows still raised.

  “I know, I know.” My turn to roll my eyes. “I’d say, ‘But Beau and I are platonic best friends,’ but yeah…a little late for that.”

  Milly pats my hand. “I’ll leave it there. But know I’m rooting for y’all. Also, I think your daughter really, really likes it up here in the highlands.”

  On cue, Maisie lets out her loudest giggle yet.

  “Shameless,” I say.

  “Just sayin’,” she replies.

  Chapter Thirty

  Beau

  We’ve had many Sunday suppers over the years.

  But this is the first one in a while—a long while, decades—that I’ve eaten with a baby on my lap.

  Bel insisted she’d take Maisie while we ate. And immediately all six of us protested. I thought Mama and Milly would get into an all-out fight over who got to hold the baby.

  So I made it simple and kept Maisie all to myself.

  The table is piled high with food, all of it artfully arranged and beautifully presented in color-coordinated serving pieces, thanks to my sister. Several roasted chickens, skins crisp, juices dripping in the best, easiest gravy there is. A bowl piled high with mashed sweet potatoes, pats of butter melting to combine with the maple syrup drizzled over top. A deep casserole dish of Brussels sprouts gratin—“The secret is the heavy cream and a shit ton of gruyere,” Samuel confides—the cheese browned and still bubbling.

  And because my brother is an overachiever like the rest of us, he “threw together” two dozen cornbread muffins, which he’s serving with homemade honey-and-chive butter.

  “My goodness,” Lizzie says. “This might be the prettiest, most delicious-smelling spread I’ve ever seen.”

  Annabel just shakes her head, settling her embroidered napkin on her lap. “You guys, this is insane.”

  “Samuel’s one hell of a cook,” I say. “But he really pulled out all the stops tonight.”

  My brother grins. “Special guests call for special food. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Which is one hundred percent fucking true—”

  “Samuel,” Mama says.

  “Sorry. It’s one hundred percent freaking true. But I’d like to amend that statement a bit and say food is the way to anyone’s heart. Especially us Southerners.”

  Hank cocks a brow. “How many times you think your food’s gotten you laid?”

  “Hank.” Poor Mama. How she survived four sons, I’ll never know.

  Samuel just smiles. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “You’re no gentleman,” Rhett says.

  “Obviously.”

  Mama lets out a breath. “Where the hell did I put that spoon…”

  “Hey,” Rhett says. “If I gotta watch my mouth, then you do too, Mama.”

  She rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. “Where the heck did I put it. That better?”

  “Much, thank you.”

  “Since Beau is otherwise occupied”—Samuel nods at Maisie, holding up his glass—“I’ll do tonight’s toast.”

  “Christ,” Rhett groans.

  Hank snickers. “How many times do you think he’ll bring up Bobby—”

  “Y’all! I say this with love, but shut the hell up. Please and thank you.” Samuel clears his throat. “Let’s try this again. A toast. To the cutest damn guest we’ve ever had at Sunday supper, Miss Maisie Rhodes.”

  I hold up my glass, then lean down to talk to the baby. “To Maisie. If Mama doesn’t steal you, I just might.”

  Bel smiles at me from across the table. “You can steal her any day between the hours of four and seven PM. I guarantee you’ll be giving her right back.”

  The table laughs, and I’m bowled over by the feeling of full.

  Tonight’s full of everything I love, and even though it’s just another Sunday supper to everyone else, it feels special to me.

  “Cheers to Maisie,” Milly says, and we clink glasses.

  “I’d also like to give a shoutout to Annabel, her mama, and Mr. Larry Howard here, who’s snared not only our largest trout to date, but also a lovely lady friend who we hope will be visiting Blue Mountain more often.”

  Lizzie and Larry lock eyes and shrug at the same time. Then they go in for a smooch. A juicy, lip-smacking smooch that earns some hollers and a hoot and a half-laugh, half-grimace from Annabel.

  “As I like to say,” Samuel continues, hand on his chest, “lovers, let them love.”

  “Ew,” Milly says.

  “Ew your face,” he replies. “But seriously. Annabel, we love having you here, and we hope you’re enjoying your stay. You’re welcome back anytime.”

  Annabel’s eyes glitter, and for a second, I’m worried she’s about to cry. Instead, she smiles and looks around the table.

  “Thank you all for treating us to the most wonderful time imaginable. Mom and Larry’s kiss notwithstanding”—whistle this time, from Hank—“I can honestly say Mom, Maisie, and I have had a ball. You all built something incredible, and incredibly special, up here, and we’re just grateful to get to experience it. I haven’t had an easy time of it lately, and like he always does, Beau came through in a big way.” She swallows. Looks right at me. “I’m lucky to have people like you in my life.”

  My voice is husky when I reply. “I’m about to be real cheesy, guys, so gird your loins. But we’re the lucky ones. Bel and Lizzie, thanks for staying with us. Oh!” I bounce the baby on my knee. “And thank you, too, Miss Maisie.”

  Samuel clears his throat. “Now, about my chicken. Have I told y’all—”

  “Yes,” everyone replies in tandem.

  “If Bobby Flay knew how much you name-dropped him, he’d get a restraining order. It’s disturbing, how obsessed you are,” Rhett says.

  “Hey.” Samuel sniffs. “You’d brag about it, too, if you impressed an Iron Chef with your meat on stage in front of thousands of people—”

  “Lord help us.” Milly spears a hand through her hair. “Pass me the wine, please? Yes, Hank, the whole bottle.”

  I smile.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annabel’s still smiling, too.

  We pass dessert—poached pears with pecan-bourbon ice cream—around the table.

  We pass the baby around, too.

  Maisie ends up asleep in my arms.

  Everyone else ends up in the kitchen. They drink the last bottle of wine Samuel brought while they clean up from the meal, Hank and Rhett at the big sinks on either side of the range.

  I can just glimpse them through the dining room’s doorway. It’s only me and Maisie left at the table. My arm—the one Maisie’s tucked into—fell asleep long ago. But I still don’t move a muscle.

  Instead, I enjoy the feel of her snuggled up against me. I watch the way her little lips move every so often in a tiny pantomime of sucking on her paci, which disappeared to God knows where sometime before dessert.

  Annabel quietly enters the room, glass of water in hand.

  “She okay?” she whispers, standing beside me. “I can take her if you want.”

  “Nah. We’re good. I was gonna put her down.” I look up at her. “Here, I mean. In the Pack ’n Play upstairs.”

  Bel digs her teeth into her bottom lip. “Okay. Yeah.”

  “You brought the rest of the stuff you needed from your hous
e, right?”

  “I did.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.

  Why she’s being shy, I don’t know.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. This was great, Beau. Really, really great.”

  I see a hint of sadness in her eyes.

  Sadness I know. This is all so, so good.

  But it’s gotta end, and that sucks.

  “I’ll put the baby down,” I say, rising. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? Grab one of my T-shirts. Top drawer in the closet.”

  Annabel blinks, the hurt in her eyes consumed by a hot lick of arousal. “I hoped we’d be taking clothes off, not putting them on.”

  “Even better.” I tip my chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Since you’re the smart one, figure out a way to kindly but firmly tell everyone to get the F out of here. You and me, we got some business to attend to.”

  “Naked business.” Bel takes a long, slow sip of water. “My favorite kind.”

  It’s 1:45 AM—I know because the baby woke up ten minutes ago; luckily, I was able to rock her back to sleep—and Bel is on top of me. Riding my dick like it’s her job.

  The light beside the bed is on. I love watching her, especially when she’s lost in the moment. Like she is now.

  The muscles in her thighs flex as she lifts her hips. Slams them back down. I curl my fingers into the slices of muscle that bisect the sides of her thighs. She’s strong here, and eager, and the lube is helping make her movements extra athletic.

  Extra hot.

  Her pussy’s tight and soft, lips spread around my cock, and so are her tits. They harden the closer she gets to orgasm. I reach up and knead them, thumbing her nipple how she likes.

  Bel’s eyes fly open. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “My milk—”

  “It’s coming in?”

  She bites her lip. “I think I might—if I come—”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  One hand on her tit, I move the other to her pussy. I thumb her nipple and her clit with smooth, firm strokes, and she moans, digging her teeth into her bottom lip to contain the sound.