Southern Player

by Jessica Peterson

  I look at her. Stare at her, more like it. Enthralled by this sudden burst of truth. Passion. Need.

  Need that radiates off her.

  Gracie is needy. She is vulnerable.

  And she is coming to me. Key in hand, asking me to unlock this cage she’s been living in.

  I can’t imagine how trapped she’s felt all this time. But I can feel it—her anguish over what she’s lost.

  No way can I turn this girl down.

  No fucking way.

  It’s not like I’m in love with her. Yes, I’d like to be more than just a hook up. But above all else, I just want to do things right with her. And if that means fucking her brains out while I wait for her to come around to the idea of a relationship—then I’ll do it.

  I’ll do it to the best of my ability.

  I ain’t afraid to say my ability is a force to be reckoned with.

  “Wow,” I say. “Wow, Gracie. You really been through hell. I’m sorry.”

  She wipes her eye with the flat of her hand. “Thanks.”

  “I get it,” I continue. “I see why you want this no-strings hook-up situation. You not wantin’ a relationship has nothing to do with me—”

  “And everything to do with me.” Sniffing, she manages a small smile. “Yes. For once, the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me thing’ is actually true.”

  I lock eyes with her. Her hair blows up behind her glasses. All wild and loose.

  “Thank you for being honest.” I put my hands on the railing on either side of her and lean in. The scent of her shampoo tickling my nose as I lock eyes with her. “I’ll do the same. I wanna be part of your liberation from bad boyfriends and bad sex. I wanna fuck you so hard and so often you’ll walk funny for days afterward.” Her lips part at that. “I like you, Gracie girl. A lot. You probably know by now that I’ll take you any way I can have you.”

  She gives her head a little shake. “But that’s not fair to you.”

  “I know. Which is why it’s my turn to ask for somethin’.”

  She swallows, eyes bouncing between mine. “Okay.”

  “I understand where you’re comin’ from. But I’m not entirely convinced you wantin’ happily ever after is what’s to blame for you feeling so trapped.”

  She pulls her brows together. “Why do you say that?”

  “Maybe you just been with the wrong guys. Ever think that why you had to try so hard was because you were forcin’ a square peg into a round hole? Those guys weren’t right for you. For whatever reason, you clearly didn’t feel comfortable with them. But if you did find the right guy—if you found someone who made you feel adored without condition—maybe you would feel comfortable enough to just be yourself. You wouldn’t have to hide. You could just be you, and you could have great sex, and you wouldn’t feel so smothered. Whether forever was on the table or not.”

  Her brows are practically a single line now. She’s thinking.

  After a beat, she scoffs. “You know, I’ve never thought about it like that. Really, Luke, that’s an incredibly insightful idea.”

  “We all get lost inside our own heads sometimes,” I say with a shrug. “That’s all I’m askin’—while we’re hooking up, I just want you to think about us becoming more at some point.”

  She blinks, mouth falling open in surprise. “So you’re saying yes?”

  “To gettin’ naked with you?” I smirk. “Twist my arm. Hell yeah I’m saying yes. But on one condition. Just keep an open mind about a relationship. Let’s revisit the idea as things progress.”

  “If they progress.”

  “When.” I lean in a little closer. Close enough that I can see the warm specks of amber in her eyes. “When they progress. Promise me, Grace.”

  She lets out a breath. Forehead creased as she nervously tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I don’t know, Luke. I don’t want either of us getting hurt. We want different things here. If you’re looking for forever…I can’t promise you that.”

  I search her eyes. To her credit, she doesn’t look away.

  “I know what I’m signing up for. I say we give your idea a try. If something more comes out of it—great. If not, we can cross that bridge when we get there.” I tilt my head, glancing at her mouth. “I wanna do this with you, Gracie. I promise I’ll make it good for you. All I ask in return is that you don’t shut me out. Just promise me you won’t do that, and we got a deal.”

  Her eyes narrow thoughtfully as she continues to worry her lip. Looks away, over my shoulder. Looks back, turning her head a little so she’s looking at me from the corner of her eye.

  “I promise,” she says at last, and I feel a heady leap of excitement. “I’ll try to keep an open mind. And I’ll try to be open with you in general about what I’m feeling and what’s going on inside my head.”

  “Good. ’Cause you got another thing comin’ if you think this is gonna be a one-time only deal.”

  Her eyes are still uncertain. But her lips quirk in this sexy little grin. “Whoever said it’d be just one time? I said fantasies, didn’t I? That’s plural. As in there are quite a few things on my list I’d like to try.”

  My cock rages.

  Mind goes blank. Literally blank. Flat lining.

  I swear I even lose my vision for a second.

  Is it the apocalypse? Have I somehow fallen into a Bird Box-themed alternate reality where I’ve been blindfolded and I can’t take the damn thing off because I will immediately die?

  Is my dick really so hard it made me black out?

  Is such a thing even possible? I feel like if anyone would know the answer to that question, it’d be me.

  I tighten my grip on the railing. The sensation brings me back to earth. My vision returns, thank Jesus.

  “I assume this list is different from the one you talked about the other night?” I say, voice low.

  Gracie nods. “Oh yeah. This is a—well, a sexual list, I guess.”

  I make a noise. Somewhere between a growl and a groan.

  She searches my face.

  “Hey. Hey, Luke, are you okay?”

  “Stop distracting me,” I growl. “The sexual list. Explain. Now.”

  “Are you having a seizure? I feel like the inability to speak in complete sentences is a—”

  “God damn it, Gracie, if you don’t tell me about this…this sexual bucket list thing of yours right now, I’m gonna fling myself over this railing.”

  Her eyes move to my crotch. “I imagine that would be hard to do with me standing here.”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” I say. “Talk.”

  “I never thought about it as a sexual bucket list. But I guess in a way it is.” She glances at the cute couple, complete with Goldendoodle trotting merrily beside a double stroller, that passes us on the right. “We should probably talk about this somewhere else.”

  “My place,” I say without thinking. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Right now.”

  Gracie draws a breath. Lets it out.

  “Tomorrow night works for me.”

  “I’ll bring the beer. You bring your list.”

  I walk Gracie back to Holy City Roasters on unsteady legs.

  She’s quiet. Thoughtful. Same as she was on the way over.

  I’m dying to know what she’s thinking. I got a pretty good idea. I mean, I totally threw her for a loop with the whole relationship idea. She’s uncomfortable with it. Which I get. Surprised. Which I also get.

  I ain’t exactly got a reputation as a Steady Betty. But that don’t mean I’m not a good bet. When I commit to something, I commit one hundred percent. Unlike those fuckheads who disappointed her.

  I want to commit to Gracie if she’ll have me.

  I open the door to Holy City Roasters for her, and she offers me a flash of brown eyes as she steps inside. I follow, sliding my hands into my pockets.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. “I got deliveries in the afternoon, but after—”

  “Pardon! I am very sorry, Madame, but I
have quick question for the oven. On the oven. About the oven? Pardon!”

  Gracie smiles at the woman in a white chef’s jacket who appears at her elbow. She’s got wide eyes and a very thick accent of some kind. French, maybe?

  “Pas de problème. Donnez-moi quelques minutes et je viendrai vous aider,” Gracie replies in what sounds like smooth, rapid-fire French. Not missing a beat. Doesn’t even have to think about it.

  I blink. Gracie speaks French? Fluently?

  The woman smiles, too. Responds to Gracie with equal smoothness. Which Gracie then responds to again, cracking some kind of joke because they two of them burst out laughing.

  I got no clue what the hell they’re saying. But whatever language this is, Gracie clearly has a good grasp of it.

  She sounds so refined when she speaks it. Confident.

  And here I am, struggling not to say “ain’t” all the damn time. I barely speak one language.

  Gracie speaks several. Clearly. And she speaks them very well.

  Makes me feel a lot of things. Turned on, ’cause I love her intelligence. Also makes me feel a little left out. Embarrassed, even. This—the hipster-y people in this shop, the French—it’s not my usual MO. I step through Holy City Roasters’ front door and into a different world. One I’m not entirely sure I belong in.

  “Luke, this is Marie, one of our new pâtissiers here at Holy City.”

  “Luke! How very nice to meet you it is,” Marie says, eagerly taking my hand.

  “Nice to meet you, too. A patiss-yay, huh?” I say. Feeling dumb as a rock.

  But Gracie just smiles, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “Fancy word for pastry chef. She’ll be working her magic in our new kitchen to create all kinds of deliciousness.”

  Marie grins. “Deliciousness, oui! But I must go, the pastry does not wait.”

  Gracie calls after Marie in French as she scurries underneath the plastic sheet.

  “You speak French?” I ask. “Fluently?”

  “I do,” Gracie says. “I majored in it.”

  I wrinkle my brow. “But I thought you majored in Economics.”

  “I majored in that, too.”

  I look at her, feeling a tug in my chest. I knew Gracie was accomplished. But I didn’t realize just how accomplished she is.

  How cultured. Sophisticated.

  I didn’t major in anything. I dropped out of college my sophomore year to pursue my baseball career. Never looked back.

  Not until now. ’Cause there’s this thought in my head all of a sudden. That Gracie and I are more different than I thought. This world of hers—it sure as hell doesn’t look or sound much like mine.

  Gracie nudges me with her elbow. Grins up at me. “Hey. Penny for your thoughts. Or a ride on your tractor.”

  Despite my apprehension, I can’t help but grin back.

  Gracie may be educated and sophisticated as hell. But she still appreciates a pervy sense of humor and a man who works with his hands.

  “Just admirin’ how sophisticated your world is, city girl.”

  “We may be from different worlds,” she says, eyes flashing just the way that I like, “but I’m hoping we’re the same where it counts.”

  “In our hearts?”

  She laughs. “There. And in the bedroom.”

  “Tomorrow,” I blurt. “I’m free after five.”

  “I should be able to get out of here by seven.”

  “Works for me.”

  She bites her lip. Grin fading as a flicker of heat unfurls in her eyes.

  Aw, yeah.

  It’s on.

  Chapter Seven

  Gracie

  Jane was finishing her lesson when the girls—ten of them, ranging in age from seven to sixteen—began to titter.

  Looking up from her book, Jane was startled to find none other than His Grace the Duke standing in the doorway. Arms crossed, leg cocked. A saucy smile on his lips.

  Damn him, why did he have to be so handsome? Jane had half a mind to titter herself.

  She somehow managed to finish the lesson. Only addressing Max when the girls were filing out of the room, breaking out into fits of shy giggles as they passed him.

  He surveyed them with warm amusement before turning his gaze back to Jane.

  Her body went up in flames. As if the look he gave her were a physical caress. Their explorations had turned into sessions lasting entire evenings. Even now, after having had him just last night, Jane craved him again. Craved the weight of his body upon hers.

  The more they explored, the more she wanted him.

  “I didn’t know you were a tutor,” he said.

  “I happen to believe life is infinitely richer when one knows how to read,” she replied, pressing a hand to her cheek. It was hot. “Those girls wouldn’t learn otherwise if I didn’t teach them. So I teach. Everyone thinks I’m batty to do it at all, much less without compensation. But the girls have a right to learn, same as anyone else.”

  “I don’t think you’re batty,” Max said. “I agree with you. Those girls absolutely deserve an education.”

  Jane started in surprise. “Really? You—a Duke—agree that the poor have just as much a right to education as you do?”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Max stepped into the room. Eyes locked on Jane’s.

  “As a Duke and as a human being, yes. I do believe ignorance is a crime. And I believe the inner life literacy gives us makes our existence infinitely richer, as you say.”

  Jane’s heart roared in surprise. The titled men she’d known had cares only for castles and coaches and courtesans. They hardly knew the poor existed. Much less considered the state of their inner lives.

  “Aren’t you a rebel,” she said, breathless. Heaviness gathering between her legs.

  “Hardly,” he replied. “I take my late father’s seat in Parliament for the first time when the new session opens in October. I hope to use my influence there to change the state of education in Britain for the better. Same as you’re using your knowledge and your books to change the lives of those girls. Bravo, Jane. That is no small feat.”

  Jane could only stare at him. Feeling blooming in her chest.

  He understood.

  He saw what she did—the need in villages like theirs.

  He saw her. The strange woman no one else understood.

  She felt seen, and by a handsome, wildly wealthy, well-endowed Duke of all people.

  She wanted to laugh at the irony.

  She grabbed him by his perfectly starched cravat and kissed him instead.

  I hit pause on the audiobook, allowing silence to fill my car on my drive out to Wadmalaw. It’s a solid forty five minute ride, and I’ve got about half an hour to go. As much as I’m enjoying Jane and Max, I need time to think. Sort through the mess of things I’ve been feeling ever since Luke dropped that bomb on me yesterday afternoon.

  I know raging.

  My belly dips at the memory of the urgent look in his eyes when he’d put his hands on my neck and ground his erection into me.

  He was so hard. For me.

  Why can’t I get over that?

  There’s an urgency about Luke. Or maybe it’s my feelings about everything that went down yesterday that are so damn pushy. That refuse to be ignored or shoved aside or quashed.

  I asked for intense. And Lord am I getting it.

  Give me a chance.

  I want more with you, Gracie.

  We can fuck however you like.

  Now that it’s happening, I’m realizing how unprepared I am. For it. For him.

  Case in point—I am so nervous-excited-anxious to see Luke tonight that I couldn’t eat dinner.

  And I love to eat. Nothing could ever prompt me to miss a meal.

  Except, apparently, Luke Rodgers’ dick.

  Is this a mistake? A disaster in the making?

  Are we going to have the best sex ever in a mutually supportive, mutually orgasmic arrangement? Or are we going to just fuck up a really g
reat friendship?

  Part of me still feels like I should’ve walked away yesterday when Luke put the idea of a romantic relationship on the table. I was totally taken off guard by his suggestion that we try more.

  That he wanted more with me. This is Luke Rodgers we’re talking about. Player of the first degree. A guy who is worlds hotter than I’ll ever be.

  The idea that he wants me like that is exciting. But the general idea of a relationship doesn’t sound so great. I literally just decided to put the focus on my sex life, what, two days ago? Didn’t I promise myself that I’d put forever on the back burner in exchange for foreplay and four orgasms in one night?

  And let’s not forget that I have a real knack for choosing guys who don’t stick around. Things with Luke feel sexy and exciting right now. But I felt the same way when Nick and I started dating.

  Bottom line: I can’t trust myself, and I can’t trust Luke, either.

  I just have to keep my eyes on the prize. Focus on the self-fulfillment piece of the puzzle. I can have those four orgasms, I can be myself, and I can do it with Luke. Use those pushy emotions to my advantage—channel them into pants-feelings rather than chest-feelings.

  Still. It takes some effort to get a grip on my nervous excitement. It’s like Luke set off an earthquake inside me yesterday. And the aftershocks keep coming. Heaving up emotions and conflicts and needs. My internal landscape is completely different after each one, leaving me to parse through the rubble. To make sense of whatever it is that I’m feeling. Wanting. Whatever it is I need to do not to fall into old habits or patterns.

  Luke quite literally left me shaken.

  Can I really share my fantasies with him? All of them? Will he think they’re sexy and fun, or will he judge me for them the way Nick did?

  The city gives way to suburbs, which give way to unspoiled low country. Traffic thins until I’m the only one on the curvy country road, bordered on one side by thick forest, marsh on the other.

  I roll down my windows. The breeze is warm but not hot.

  The air smells like sea and soil.

  I slow as my GPS tells me I’m approaching Luke’s farm. I come to a gorgeous wrought iron gate that hangs between two weathered brick pillars. It’s open.