Southern Player

by Jessica Peterson

  Even if some downright dirty fantasies have cropped up in tandem with those intentions.

  Y’all, I’m only human.

  “I wish you’d told me. But that’s not what I’m upset about,” Eli says.

  “Then tell me what’s bothering you so I can fuckin’ fix it.”

  Eli’s expression softens. “Gracie also asked for my blessing this morning. But it was for something different. It’s got to do with you, just…”

  My stomach dips.

  “Just what?”

  He puffs on his cigar.

  “I think y’all need to have a talk,” he replies at last. “She’s at Holy City Roasters this mornin’—go see her. Straighten this shit out.”

  My head has started to hurt. “What needs straightenin’ out? Fuck, E, now I’m worried.”

  “Just—” He pushes his flattened palm outward. “Just go see her, all right? I ain’t gettin’ in the middle of this.”

  I’m on my feet and digging into my pocket for my keys before I know what I’m doing. Is Gracie upset after the way we talked the other night? Does she know how I feel? Did I go too far?

  Shit.

  “Luke?”

  I turn around. Flip my keys. “Yeah?”

  He draws on his cigar before taking it out of his mouth. A wisp of smoke rises from the lit end into his face, making him squint.

  “You got my blessing to pursue Gracie. I trust you to do the right thing. But I’ll tell you what I told her—y’all gotta be careful. And you gotta be good to her, all right?”

  “Of course,” I say. Tell me what he told Gracie? Did she also ask to date me or something? My heart skips a beat at the thought. “I promise.”

  “Good. ’Cause if you break her heart, I’mma have to break your face. Understood?” he says, pointing at me with his cigar stuck between his first two fingers.

  “Understood,” I say.

  I drive to Holy City Roasters as fast as my old pickup can go. Heart pounding the whole time.

  I need to know what’s going on with Gracie.

  And then I need to make her mine.

  I glance around Holy City Roasters, looking for Gracie.

  The shop is under construction; a gigantic sheet of plastic divides the store in two. Behind it, I can make out the skeleton of this expansion I’ve heard so much about from Elijah. Floodlights beam down from the ceiling, looking like blurry moons against the plastic. I make out some furniture and the beginnings of a large counter.

  The current shop is bright and airy, with white tiled walls and tall ceilings. A long counter runs the length of one wall, while cute little tables and some booths are scattered around the rest of space.

  It’s buzzing. A young, good looking crowd sips from gigantic coffee mugs as big as bowls while they hammer away at laptops or chat animatedly with each other.

  Everyone is well dressed. Fashionable in a trendy, put-together way. I feel like I’m on the set of a hipster Gossip Girl or something (my Mama and her wife, Gwen, have a thing for angsty, adolescent TV dramas, so I am well versed in that shit).

  I glance down at my Rodgers’ Farms tee, clean but faded, and beat up jeans. The grass stained Nikes I keep forgetting to replace.

  Glance back up to see the pink haired woman behind the counter give me a once-over. I can’t tell if she’s judging me or checking me out.

  I scratch at the scruff underneath my chin. I feel an overwhelming sense of pride being here. Because I am so damn proud of Gracie and all that she’s accomplished.

  If I’m being honest, I also feel a little…out of place? Been a while since I stepped foot through the front door of a restaurant downtown. I’m usually going through the back, making a delivery.

  I shoulda put on different shoes. Shit.

  I breathe in the smell of coffee. I like the scent, even though I can’t touch caffeine without getting a wicked headache.

  “Can I help you?” the woman says, crossing her arms.

  “I’m looking for Gracie Jackson,” I say.

  “And you are?”

  My face suddenly feels hot. “Luke Rodgers. A…friend.”

  The woman keeps looking at me for a full beat. Eyes flicking appreciatively down my body one last time. I breathe a silent sigh of relief—yeah, she’s definitely checking me out—and watch her push off the counter.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappears underneath the sheet of plastic. I wait for what seems like an eternity for her to emerge.

  “C’mon in,” she says when she finally appears, holding back the plastic. “Gracie’s just finishing up a meeting.”

  I blink. Guess part of me was still expecting her to kick my country ass to the curb, despite her obvious interest in my goods.

  I duck underneath the sheet.

  And there she is. Gracie. Pen tucked behind her ear. A sheaf of papers in one hand. Looking cute in some kind of long, flowery dress. Cock-stirringly competent as she talks to a guy in jeans and a golf shirt, REID CONTRACTING embroidered on his sleeve.

  Because she’s the one doing the talking. He’s busy jotting down notes in a fat notebook while Gracie points things out. She talks. He nods. Another dude joins them, looking down at a sheet Gracie holds up, trailing her fingertip underneath a few lines of text.

  “Yes ma’am,” I hear him say. “We’ll fix that right away.”

  Lordy Lordy Lordy do I want this girl.

  I’ll call her ma’am all day and all night, too.

  I slide my hands into my pockets and wait on the far side of the shop, not wanting to intrude. But Gracie looks up and finds me anyway. Immaculately aware, like always. Her eyes flash with something I can’t place. A look she manages to hide by offering me a smile and holding up a finger.

  I lift my hand, fingers splayed, and smile back. A silent gesture of hi and take your time and you’re such a boss and I admire you so much and I may die of lust-fueled thirst right here right now.

  “Hey!” she says, a little breathless when she wraps up her meeting a few minutes later. “Two unexpected visits in one week. How’d I get so lucky?”

  To quote Gracie—there’s a joke in there somewhere about getting lucky.

  I don’t make it. Too soon. Or maybe too late.

  Hard to tell.

  “Hey, Gracie girl.”

  My body roars to life when she pulls me in for our customary hug. I hold her close and inhale the scent of her hair.

  Whatever shampoo she uses, I like it.

  I wanna be polite. I wanna be clever and cute and flirty.

  But right now, I’m too curious for that. Too impatient.

  “I was just at Eli’s,” I say when she lets me go. “He said we need to talk.”

  The tip of her tongue darts out between her lips. When she looks up at me, her eyes are uncertain.

  She’s nervous, too.

  “We do,” she replies. “I have an hour before this lunch thing I have to get to. Wanna go for a little walk? Heat’s not too bad yet, is it?”

  I shrug. “It’s always bad. Let’s head for the Battery. Maybe catch a breeze off the water.”

  Chapter Six

  Luke

  We take a right on East Bay Street. Rainbow Row, the famous collection of brightly colored houses that line one side of the street, provides much needed shade as we move toward the water.

  It’s close to noon. Sun high and hot. The air is tinged with salt, the smell of the ocean.

  I glance at Gracie beside me. Her dress is sleeveless, but it’s long. Her forehead and temples glisten with sweat. She’s warm. Same as I am in my jeans.

  It’s driving me crazy that I can’t see her eyes through the dark lenses of her big ass sunglasses.

  We’ve been quiet so far. I keep her on the inside of the sidewalk, away from traffic. Close. Close enough that our arms brush as we walk. Making the air between us, already thick with humidity, cloud with familiarity and electricity and want.

  She does not pull away. If a
nything, she moves into me. Legs touching now. Her knee to the top of my shin.

  What that means, I don’t know. I do know I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe.

  Everything feels so close, so suffocating. Like we’re on the verge of something.

  It can’t possibly get hotter.

  I can’t possibly keep waiting.

  This bubble’s gotta burst. Or I’m gonna die.

  We cross the street. The green-brown water of the harbor is just coming into view when she speaks.

  Her voice wavers. It hits me that she’s nervous, too.

  “I want to ask you something.” She looks up, pieces of her hair flying in a hot, hardly satisfying breeze. “Something I hope you’ll take as a compliment. But if I offend you—I swear that’s not my intention, okay?”

  I hook a finger into the collar of my shirt and give it a tug. Jesus Christ, am I gonna pass out?

  “I am not fuckin’ okay,” I reply. “Gracie, I’m so damn confused.”

  And turned on.

  And hot.

  She stops, back to the railing that separates the sidewalk from the sand and the incoming tide, and looks up at me. I can see the words on her lips. In the furrow of her brow. I’m sorry.

  “Don’t,” I say. “No apologies. Just ask me. You know I’m not gonna judge you. Hell, you could ask to borrow my tractor so you can experience the throb firsthand, and I wouldn’t think any less of you. Ask.”

  Gracie laughs. The familiar, happy sound eases the tension between us the tiniest bit. A reminder that she’s just Gracie and I’m just me, and we been playing this game for years now.

  “All right,” she says. “Fine. I’ll ask. I’ll ask you, Luke Rodgers, if you have any interest in possibly, potentially, maybe hooking up with me. You said you don’t do serious, and, well…I don’t want to do serious for a while, either.”

  My heart makes a run for it, ending up somewhere in the back of my throat.

  Sweat drips down my temples.

  Inside my hat, my head is about to explode.

  Shit shit shit I fucked up. I should have told her right away the other night that I was putting on an act. Trying not to mess with her head.

  But I wanted to talk to Elijah first.

  Now it appears I’ve made a big old mess of things.

  I mean, of course I’m interested in making her come. Of course I’ll make up for Khaki Pants Dickhead’s less than stellar performance in the bedroom.

  But is that really all she wants from me?

  Don’t get me wrong, I also want to hike this dress up around her hips and spread her legs and bury myself inside her. Right now. Tonight. All day tomorrow.

  I just want more than that, too. More than sex.

  But she clearly doesn’t.

  The pieces click together in my head, one at a time, faster and faster until they form a coherent whole. Maybe this is why Eli reacted the way he did. Gracie wanting some dick—and only dick—makes sense. Girl clearly just got chewed up and spit out by yet another shit bag. This is what she meant when she talked about things not going to plan. She’s looked for love, and she’s gotten burned.

  Maybe she got burned one time too many. Maybe now she just wants a good time and a good lay. No chance of her being hurt or disappointed again.

  And she knows just the man for the job.

  Me.

  I feel horny.

  I feel hurt.

  I can’t tell which of the two is winning.

  “So you wanna fuck me,” I say. There are people around—this is a touristy spot in town, people are always around—but I don’t care.

  Gracie’s smile, leftover from her laugh, fades.

  Guess it’s the hurt that’s winning then. No hiding that.

  “Oh,” she says, putting a hand on her face. “Oh, my God, I did offend you. Shit. Luke, I am really sorry. I’m so embarrassed. You’re more than just a—just that to me.”

  “I know.” On some level, I know I mean something to Gracie. We’ve been friends forever.

  But maybe she means more to me than I do to her.

  The thought makes my chest feel heavy.

  “I just thought—the way you talked about intensity the other night—I mean, you haven’t brought a girl around in ages—the way people around town talk—and you said point blank you don’t do serious—” She takes a breath. Lets it out as she drops her hand. “Clearly you aren’t looking for anything other than sex.”

  I look at her. Still can’t see her eyes.

  Fuck these glasses.

  Using both hands, I reach down and gently guide them onto her head. They’ve left small, purplish-red indentations beside her eyes. Right where they meet with her nose.

  Her breath hitches.

  The sun catches on her pupils, turning them to whiskey. It hits my blood and makes my dick roar.

  And the heaviness in my chest—it fucking aches at the hurt in her gaze. She wounded me. But she’s been wounded, too.

  How do I make her see I would never hurt her that way?

  How do I convince her to take another leap when she’s feeling so discouraged?

  Sliding my hand onto her face, I somehow manage a smile. ’Cause if I don’t smile, I just might do something stupid. Like lean in and kiss the shit outta her.

  I can’t do that.

  Not yet.

  “I’m being a total ass,” she replies, blinking. “Luke, I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not an ass. You’re right. I did say I wasn’t looking for anything serious. For a long time, I wasn’t. Truly. My life was too crazy. Future too uncertain. But now that I got my ducks in a row, I would consider something more permanent.” I search her eyes. My heart thumps. “I would consider it with you, Gracie girl.”

  Her brown eyes go wide. The sinews of her throat move against the pads of my ring and pinkie fingers as she swallows.

  “You’d want more? With me? But you said you didn’t do that kind of thing. The more. So why’d you say that if you actually do?”

  I let out a breath. “Because. The other night, I was just tryin’ to protect you. I didn’t realize you’d broken up with your ex until you told me at the end of our conversation. Eli said you’d told him Nick could be your forever guy, and I didn’t want to fuck with your head. So I kind of leaned into my reputation as a player so you wouldn’t…you know, look twice at me or whatever.”

  Her brows come together, curving upward. “You really are very sweet, Luke. Although I still looked twice.” Her eyes flick down my body. Back up. “More than that. Way, way more.”

  I scoff. “I was tryin’ not to notice.”

  “I still can’t believe you want serious. With me of all people.”

  “Why so surprised?”

  “Because I’m me! And you’re…you.” Her eyes flick over my body again.

  I smile smugly. “C’mon, Grace, don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart as hell. Fuckin’ gorgeous. So damn quick you’re forever keepin’ me on my toes. I been crushing on you for an age.”

  She stares at me in disbelief.

  “But I’m the one with a crush on you,” she says. “Not just any crush. A raging crush.”

  “I know raging.”

  Sliding my hands to her neck, I take a step forward, melting my groin into hers. I sputter at her softness.

  When she feels it—feels me prodding her belly, obscenely hard at noon on a fucking Wednesday in public like the shameless yeti I am—she draws a sharp breath.

  The hurt in her eyes ignites. Burns to desire.

  Aw yeah.

  “Give me a chance,” I say. The sun beats down on my shoulders, making sweat stream down my torso inside my shirt, but I don’t care. “We can fuck just how you like. However often you want. And then we can try the dating stuff, too. Let’s explore it. See what works and what doesn’t.”

  “Luke—”

  “I know you been hurt. I know things aren’t working out how you thought they would. But le
t me show you how I can do better than the guys who came before me. There ain’t nothin’ lukewarm about the way I feel for you, Grace. I can’t guarantee we’ll last, but I can promise you I would never, ever disappoint or hurt you. Not intentionally.”

  Grace’s eyes move between mine. Wide. Uncertain. One beat and then another and another. Finally her desire cools. Hardens into something I do not like. Not one fuckin’ bit.

  Because it looks a hell of a lot like anguish.

  “Luke.” The way she says my name this time—it’s a plea.

  I step back, body screaming, and she bites her lip. She feels it too—the disappointment.

  The frustration.

  “You’re so sweet,” she breathes. Closes her eyes, like she’s corralling her strength, and places the flat of her palm on my chest. “So fucking sweet. You’re saying everything I want to hear. I want to be open to dating, Luke. But right now…I lost so much of myself over the past few years trying to make my relationships work.” She opens her eyes. Looks into mine, willing me to understand. “Hell, I even lost the ability to have fun and enjoy sex. And now I’m determined to take that shit back. Selfish as it sounds, I need to be able to focus on my desires for once. My fantasies. Without losing myself in someone else’s.”

  “Not selfish,” I say, shaking my head. “Smart. It’s what you deserve. What everyone deserves.”

  Her eyes flash when they meet mine. Ah, there she is. The woman who knows what she wants and takes it.

  My cock twitches.

  “I know,” she replies. “But I’m worried that if I jump into another relationship, I’ll just keep losing myself. I always get too wrapped up in being the perfect partner. I want the fairy tale so bad—the one great, perfect love—that I’ll do anything to get it. I’ve lied to myself. I’ve smothered my desires. I’ve ignored what my body’s needed. But now I’m ravenous. I am so hungry—” Her voice catches. My heart clenches. “Luke, I’m so hungry for all the things I’ve denied myself, like intensity and sensuality and good fucking sex, that I wanna scream. I can’t stand it anymore.”