Southern Player

by Jessica Peterson

  Why would Luke Rodgers want me, the dorky, dreamy, driven little sister of his friend, when he could have literally anyone he wanted? He’s hot. Funny. Confident. Successful.

  Also. Luke’s a player in every sense of the word. I can’t remember the last time he brought a girl around, or introduced us to a significant other. I’ve seen him flirt plenty, though, with lots of women. No doubt he’s taken more than a few home. I mean, the guy said point blank he “doesn’t do serious”. He’s not looking for the kind of love I want.

  But my mind—and my body—won’t let it go.

  I can’t sleep. So I grab my ear buds and start listening to My Deal With the Duke.

  If I can’t have good dick in real life, might as well have it in fiction.

  As I listen, I can’t help but think Luke and Max the Duke seem to have an awful lot in common. They’re alpha. They know what they want.

  They have really hot accents.

  Most important, they are super open-minded when it comes to sex.

  Open to enjoying sex.

  I’m thirty-one years old. I have experience. Lately, though, I haven’t been enjoying sex all that much. Yes, my partners have been…well. Not the greatest.

  But it takes two to tango.

  I keep coming back to Luke’s idea of being unafraid to show your truth in bed.

  I’m always so eager to please—so eager to make a relationship last—that I second-guess every move I make in bed. It’s like I have this running narrative inside my head. Am I coming on too strong? Taking too long to come? Being too weird or too quiet? Too much teeth, not enough tongue?

  There are some things I’d like to try. Anal. Sixty-nine. Phone sex. Nothing too crazy, just stuff I’ve fantasized about. But I’ve been hesitant to bring it up with my partners. I was worried it might turn them off, the way it turned Nick off. Make them think less of me.

  So I just had so-so sex with them instead. Trying all the while to make the sex better. Praying they stuck around.

  It didn’t.

  They didn’t.

  I’m heady. I overthink things. I get it. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m walking on eggshells every time I take my clothes off. Which, I think, totally backfires. How can you have fun in bed if you’re not enjoying it? If you can’t turn your brain off and just be?

  When you’ve had guys walk out on you when you show them a sliver of vulnerability, though, it’s hard not to be afraid. To think, hey, if I don’t screw this up, or I try a little harder to be the perfect partner, he’ll choose me. He’ll make me the star.

  I’ll finally have the soul mate I’ve always wanted.

  It’s regressive and sexist. It’s harmful. It’s counterproductive. I know this.

  But I came of age in a hugely sexist, hugely toxic hook-up culture that valued a guy’s satisfaction above all else. That made sex more performative than pleasurable for me.

  Old habits die hard.

  Letting out a long breath through my nose, I try to focus on Max and Jane. Maybe they can help me break this vicious cycle of mediocre sex and lingering heartbreak.

  He locked eyes with her. His gaze was so searing—so probing, as if the longer he looked, the more of her he could open up, peel back, expose—she had to look away.

  “Don’t,” he growled. “Look at me, Miss DuPont. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t look me in the eye and ask for it.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  She ventured a glance his way, but didn’t meet his eyes. Her heart clenched. He was so handsome. And so intent on turning her inside out.

  Why? Why did he care about her desires? Her, a strange, stranded spinster who longed for ardent experience but was too scared to share even a look.

  Part of her wanted to run out of the room. Seek comfort in her father’s small but well stocked library. Seek comfort with her students. She was at home amongst lessons and literature. But with Max—

  Max made her feel things that were terrifying.

  “Afraid you’ll see something you don’t like,” she replied at last.

  Max brought those dark brows of his together. He was silent for a beat. Then another.

  “My thoughts are my own affair,” he said at last. “This is about you. What you think. What you feel. You’ve got to be more selfish.”

  “I don’t imagine a selfish lover is a good thing.”

  His lips quirked. “Indeed not. I only meant to suggest you think less about what I might see, and more about what you want. If our desires are not compatible, then what? We’re not compatible. No great tragedy. We couldn’t make each other happy anyway if that were the case. Regardless, I won’t have you holding back on me, Miss DuPont. I won’t have you smothering yourself, because you’ve done that long enough. Tell me what you need.”

  Heat coursed through her body and gathered in her sex.

  He was still a Duke.

  She was still afraid.

  But something in her had caught at the word ‘smothered.’ She had denied herself for too long. She had already lost so much time to hiding her desires.

  She was done with that. Here, now, she would stake her claim. If things went wrong, she’d address it when the time came.

  Meeting his eyes at last, she said, “I need you to call me Jane. And then I need confirmation that your backside is as delightful in the flesh as it appears to be in your breeches.”

  Ducking underneath the sheet of plastic that divides the two halves of Holy City Roasters the next morning—we’ve remained open despite the construction—my mood lifts.

  The new space is still a mess from all the work going on. We basically gutted the place, reworking the layout to create the light, bright, open atmosphere our customers adore. For months, it’s been a jumble of tools and dry wall, loud noises and construction dust. But I can finally see how it’s all coming together.

  It’s fucking gorgeous.

  The walls are covered in white subway tile that glistens invitingly in the early morning light. Toward the back, a long counter and pastry case combo stretch the length of the building. Topped in honed black granite, it’s sophisticated and simple, especially when paired with the unlacquered brass hardware we had custom made in England. My designer Julia calls it south-meets-southern-California-meets-the-tiniest-bit-chic-London-townhouse.

  When the space beside ours became available last year, I jumped at the chance to grab it. My biggest goal has always been to create a real sense of comfort and community at the shop. To that end, I’ve spent years building up a loyal clientele. Which has paid off. I’m tickled to say we’ve got a lot of regulars, but also means we were bursting at the seams.

  The new addition will give us an extra two thousand square feet. We’re adding new seating areas, an enormous communal table, and a kitchen, where the team of pâtissiers I hired will turn out all kinds of goodies to fill our new pastry case.

  We’ll also be adding a nook with plenty of open shelving for merchandise. Our star logo wall has become a downtown Instagram darling, so we branched out into tees, travel mugs, and even tote bags. They’ve sold well so far. I imagine they’ll sell better when they’re not displayed in messy heaps in baskets crowded next to our register.

  For a second I just stand there amidst the sawhorses and the plumbers streaming in and out of the bathrooms and the noise. Second cup of coffee in hand. Heart swelling as I take in ten years of dreaming—I knew I wanted to open my own coffee house after spending small lifetimes in coffee shops in Paris when I studied abroad—and five years of work coming to life.

  My dreams are happening. They’re coming true. The community of friends and family and regulars I’ve always pictured in my head is finally coming together.

  The feeling of satisfaction that overwhelms me, of pride, is even sweeter than I imagined it would be.

  I love this. Love it. I’m one lucky bitch to say this is my job. To call this place home.

  My heart pops around
my chest when I think about our grand re-opening that’s happening in a couple weeks. It’s going to be amazing—sexy with a side of service, as I’m hosting a big raffle at the event to benefit a women’s shelter downtown.

  Eli is catering, of course, and we’re bringing in some mixologists to man a bar that’s big even by Charleston’s standards. I invited two hundred people, thinking half would attend.

  But somehow the guest list has swelled to two hundred and twenty. Thank goodness we’ve got the patio that runs along the side of our new space to handle the overflow.

  “It’s fabulous, right?”

  I turn at the sound of the voice. Julia is standing at my elbow, beaming.

  “Julia,” I say, looping my arm through hers, “it’s perfection. I am so excited. So excited. You totally knocked it out of the park. I’m still shocked you only do this part time.”

  Julia only does design projects on the side. By day, she’s a professor of twentieth century fiction at the College of Charleston. By night, she dabbles in antiques and fabric samples. She’s been instrumental in creating the sophisticated, cosmopolitan-but-casual vibe Holy City Roasters is known for.

  She’s also become a really good friend over the course of the renovation. Funny enough, she’s also my brother’s neighbor, and Olivia’s friend from grad school. Small world.

  “I just can’t quit Virginia Woolf. I love her too damn much. But thank you. That means a lot.” She looks at my face. Smile falls a little. “You look tired. Stressed about the opening?”

  I shrug. “Honestly? I feel great about the opening. We’ve got everything lined up and ready to go. Plenty of staff. All the right people helping out, you included. I’m ready to die with excitement about showing this place off.”

  “People are gonna go apeshit.”

  “That’s the hope.” I take a sip of coffee. Let out a sigh. “But I guess I’m still bumming about some personal stuff that isn’t working out how I thought it would. I’m grateful that Olivia has a new book out. Max the Duke is the only thing getting me through this week.”

  “Ah, yes. The wonders of a well hung hero.” Julia smiles, a small, wistful thing. “I broke my vibrator reading that book. Literally killed the thing. And then I had my lit class read a ten page section—you know, the part where Jane and Max discuss sex positivity?—because it was so thought provoking and well done.”

  “So you gave My Deal With the Duke five stars, then,” I say, smiling back.

  “Oh yeah. Five shooting stars. Or would it be exploding stars? Orgasmic ones, maybe?”

  A pair of plumbers draw up short beside us, staring.

  Without missing a beat, Julia stares right back.

  “Romance,” she says. “Read it.”

  Then she grabs my arm and leads me out a side door to the patio. It’s empty, save for a couple dozen iron bistro chairs that arrived yesterday. Passing Julia my coffee, I grab two and drag them into the shade beside the door. It may be eight A.M., but it’s already hot and humid as hell.

  “Perverts. Gotta love ’em,” Julia murmurs, handing me back my coffee before taking a seat. “So tell me more about why Max the Duke is speaking to you right now.”

  I drop into the chair beside hers and cross my legs.

  “He speaks to me on a lot of levels. But what I love most about him is how he adores Jane unconditionally. I feel like Jane doesn’t have to sacrifice anything to be with him, you know? He really encourages her to speak what’s on her mind and just be herself. She doesn’t have to try to get him to want her. He just does. And she doesn’t have to give up or hide who she is to make their relationship work. In real life…maybe you do?”

  Julia furrows her brow. “You really think you need to sacrifice who you are to be with someone?”

  “No.” I tug a hand through my hair. “Yes. I don’t know. I haven’t really found a guy who wants me for who I am. Even though I try really hard to be the person they want.”

  “You’re trying too hard to package yourself for those guys,” she replies, real concern in her eyes. “Stop that. Right now. You’re too damn smart for that shit.”

  I scoff, even as her frank assessment sends an arrow through my chest. “I know, I know. I’ll try.”

  “And I don’t want to spoil the ending of My Deal With the Duke. But Jane doesn’t have to give up her identity—her true self—to be with Max. You shouldn’t have to give that up, either. No one should. She does, however, have to sacrifice and compromise to make their relationship work. So does he. Remember how different they are—how they both struggle to feel like they belong in each other’s worlds.”

  I try to swallow the lump that has inexplicably formed in my throat. She’s right. I know Julia is right. I just don’t know where to begin to unravel years of backwards thinking.

  Years of being scared to lose. Of disappointments, one after another.

  Luke mentioned how he had to grieve the loss of his baseball career. Maybe I’m grieving a loss, too. Not the loss of Nick. But the loss of what Nick represented. The perfect, perfectly timed future I’d always envisioned for myself.

  Maybe I’m grieving the loss of what I thought life would—should—be by now.

  Don’t get me wrong, there are some really great, really exciting things happening in my life. I have a job I love, friends I adore, and a business that’s thriving. All of which I’m very grateful for. I recognize I’m incredibly privileged and that my life is good.

  But how do I let go of that idea of what I thought my life should look like? How do I stop constantly comparing myself and my accomplishments to everyone else’s? To the perfect lives of my friends I see on Instagram?

  It’s a really tough thing to open up. Allow myself to be vulnerable—to follow a different path—so I can be who I am instead of who I think I should be.

  So I can follow my own timing instead of everyone else’s.

  I let out a breath. Swallow again.

  “I love that idea of Max and Jane compromising but not changing themselves to fit a mold,” I say. “Means they love each other for who they are. And let’s be real, I also love how fucking great Max is in bed. How compatible he and Jane are. I would kill to have that kind ardent, fun sex.”

  Julia looks at me. “Is sex not fun for you?”

  I swallow. Again.

  “If I’m being honest? Not really. Not anymore.”

  Julia looks horrified. “Why not?”

  I draw a breath. Try to sort through my thoughts.

  “I guess I just really want to be somebody’s someone. I want to find my person. But I think I’ve gotten so caught up in finding that person that I’ve forgotten how to have fun. I get way too inside my head when I’m in bed. Like I’m too worried I’m doing something wrong to ever really enjoy it. The stakes just feel so high when I’m with a guy, you know? Like, forever is hanging in the balance, so I can’t fuck it up because I want it to work out so badly. I want it to be perfect.”

  Julia nods thoughtfully. She steeples her fingers and touches them to her mouth.

  “What if you separated sex from forever?” she says. “What if you kind of let the whole serious relationship thing mellow for a bit? You don’t have to abandon it altogether. But what if you made good, fun, fulfilling sex your focus for a while instead? I think that will go a long ways in helping you stop trying so hard to be somebody’s perfect someone, and start having fun instead.”

  The idea started to form the second the words separating sex from forever left Julia’s mouth.

  What if I did that? What if I set my quest for love aside for a bit and explored lust instead? My Deal With the Duke has made me Horny with a capital H.

  What if I do just explore lust? Is there someone out there who might be willing to do that for me? With me?

  A name pops into my head. Along with a handsome, scruffy face.

  Luke.

  Of course.

  Of course.

  My pulse picks up as the idea fleshes itself out. I have a
fuckton of lusty feelings for him. I think he’s got some for me, too. He said he doesn’t do serious.

  All of a sudden, neither do I.

  I know him. I feel safe with him.

  He’s gorgeous.

  He talked with great confidence and self-awareness about sex and intensity and truth.

  What if I stopped being afraid and started showing Luke that truth? What if I told him about the things I want to try and we tried them together, without apology, without fear, without second guesses?

  What if I could experience that delicious, all-consuming intensity Jane is always talking about?

  Could I do that? Could I really leave scared at the door and embrace sensual instead?

  Only one way to find out.

  “Yes,” I say, popping out of my chair. I hold out my coffee cup a beat too late, coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. “Yes!”

  Julia laughs, raising her hand. “Gimme a high-five, Gracie. And keep me posted on how it goes. From the look of it, you already have someone in mind.”

  “I do,” I say, high-fiving her. “I just have to go talk to my brother before I make my move.”

  Julia’s brows snap together. “Talk to your brother? Why?”

  “Because I’d like to have fun with his best friend.”

  She blinks. Then she nods, grinning.

  “Y’all enjoy.”

  Chapter Four

  Gracie

  The smells of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee hit me the second I walk through Eli’s door the next morning. He took the day off—he’s been doing that more often since he and Olivia moved in together—and I invited myself over for breakfast. I don’t have a ton of time, as I’m due to meet with my contractor to go over the final punch list in an hour. But I didn’t want to wait. The sooner I can get Eli’s blessing, the sooner I can chat with Luke.

  The sooner I can (hopefully) start my little sexual experiment.

  I admit I’ve had a few glimmers of doubt about the whole thing now that I’ve had time to think about it. I mean, is it a dick move—pun not intended—to ask Luke to help me like this? Am I objectifying him? Using him? I’ve always respected him as a friend. And I intend to be one-hundred percent above board with everything. That’s why I’m going to Eli first.