Gracie is still smiling, but now her eyes are thoughtful. Soft.
“Luke, I’m starting to think you might be the standard.”
My heart skips a beat. “Are you just sayin’ that ’cause you want me to show you my tractor porn stash? I knew you were using me to get to that John Deere dick.”
She laughs. A real, throaty laugh that has her leaning toward me. Face lit up with interest and arousal. Lit up. Light of hers back and brighter than ever. The way she looks at me—
I mean, we’re that couple. The one that makes everyone in the restaurant simultaneously wistful and jealous and nauseous because we’re too damn cute.
She’s looking at me like I am the sweetest thing she’s ever seen.
Everyone should be looked at like this. At least once.
I just wish—
Just just just. So much of that word around Gracie. Around my feelings for her.
I like when she looks at me like this. I just wish I could ditch this feeling I got. The one where I’m losing her.
The one that won’t go away, no matter how many times she assures me otherwise.
I just wish she lived in the same universe I did.
Or maybe I don’t. ’Cause it’s the things that set her above and apart from me that draw me to her at the same time. Her ambition. Refinement. Intelligence.
It’s torture.
The most beautiful fucking torture.
I wanna hate her for it.
I hand her another napkin instead.
“Thanks,” she says, tugging it over her fingers. She looks at me. “But I mean it. Everything you do—I don’t know if it’s because we know each other, or we’ve been really open and honest this whole time, or because you’re ridiculously generous and kind and wonderful, or what. But you’ve given me what I asked for and then some, Luke. I’ve never…” She turns her head away from me, shaking it. “No one has ever made me feel like you do. Our connection—the way you want me just for being me—Jesus, it’s intense.”
My pulse is moving at about five hundred beats per minute. She gonna leave me? Tell me to take a hike?
Or is Gracie Jackson going to put her heart on the line, same as I’ve been doing this whole time?
“Can’t help it,” I reply. “I’m tryin’ to keep my feelings in check—”
“But I asked for it. Intense.”
I nod. Not daring to breathe. “And?”
She meets my eyes. “And asking for what I want—not being afraid—and getting it? Luke, it’s been so great I feel like I’m getting away with something.”
“You’re not,” I say. “You’re just getting what you want. Why is that such a big deal? Why do you feel like you don’t deserve to be adored for just being you?”
Gracie rolls her lips between her teeth. A beat passes. Then another.
“I was never anyone’s someone,” she says at last, reaching for her beer. “I wanted to be. But I kept getting left behind. Left for somebody else. After a while, I started to think that there was something wrong with me. Like I was missing something. Like who I was wasn’t enough. Not pretty enough, or cool enough. Too loud, too quiet. Too slutty. Not adventurous enough. I realize how ridiculous the whole thing sounds—but in my mind, if I just tried harder, and was a little closer to perfect, my chances of being the one might get a little better.”
I feel a stab inside my chest. “You wanted to be loved that bad.”
“I wanted to be loved that bad,” she says. “So I tried to be perfect. I tried really hard, Luke.”
“But.”
“But it didn’t work out how I thought it would. I thought I had so much to gain. I had no clue how much I would lose.”
“You lost yourself,” I say. Feeling another stab.
Gracie carefully sets down her beer on the table. Eyes flick to mine. “And then you came along. Promising to help me with my list. You do help me with that, obviously. But along the way—along the way, I’ve been able to pick up pieces of myself I lost while shedding pieces that weren’t at all me. I’ve put myself back together in a way. And you seem to really like that person. Me. You don’t like me perfect. You just like me.”
“I like you messy. I like you real.” Now or never. Now now now. “I like your bucket list. I like you, Gracie.”
Gah, way to chicken out.
I’m just—
Just.
“Why’d you stay with him?”
It’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask.
“Who?”
“Daddy’s boat guy. If the sex was meh.”
“Oh. Nick. Well.” Gracie finishes her beer. “I thought the sex would get better, for one thing. So typical of me to think if I just tried harder, if I could just become his perfect partner, I could make him want me enough that the problem would go away. Which is why I kept most of my bucket list from him.”
“You kept yourself from him.”
But you didn’t keep yourself from me.
She tips her beer in my direction. Scoffs. “Yup. Crazy it didn’t work out, right?”
I tip back my beer and finish it. Gotta be careful—I’m driving, so two beers is my limit tonight. Right now, though, I could use a little liquid courage.
“You still think we got a chance to work out?” I ask, locking gazes with her.
Her lips part. Eyes go all soft again, just how I like ’em.
I feel like I’m being raked over hot coals as I wait for her reply.
“I do,” she says. “I really do, Luke.”
“Why?”
“Because.” More dimples. “That night at The Spotted Wolf—remember when we talked about intimacy? I realized I had never been fully intimate with anyone because I was too scared to show them who I really was. But you’ve given me a safe space where I can just be. No trying to be perfect. No smothering or hiding. I can show you the truth about who I am and what I want. And you—Luke, you welcome me with open arms. You see me, and you know me, and you make me feel more at home in my own skin than I ever have before.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”
“I’m not,” she replies easily. “I’ve done a lot of work on my own to get to this place, yes. But you’ve been right there beside me. You.”
Me. No one else.
None of those suits at the party.
None of those guys from her past.
Me.
“What about you?” Gracie asks. “Do you think we have a chance?”
Do I?
I want to be with Gracie. For real. Forever.
Maybe we come from different worlds. Maybe we’ll never make those words overlap. Maybe she’ll slip through my fingers no matter how tight I hold on.
But if I don’t take this chance while she’s offering it, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
“Let me go grab us another round,” I say. “I think we got a toast to make, Gracie girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gracie
We spend hours at that picnic table. Talking shit. Talking about everything and nothing and our parents and our pasts.
Shyly talking about our future plans. Together.
The sun sets. Crowd changes. Luke goes inside to grab a banana pudding for dessert.
We go across the street to another bar. I manage to sneak my card to the bartender so I can buy a round.
This pisses Luke off to no end.
“Would Max the Duke let Lady Jane buy him a drink?” he says. Holding my beer hostage between his fingers.
I try to grab at it. He fends me off by offering his forearm.
I gladly grip that instead.
He steps closer.
Why does he gotta look so good in that shirt and this hat? I’m wearing flat gladiator sandals and he towers over me. Shirt lying smooth against the muscles in his chest, his arms. His back.
He smells like a literal fucking Irish spring. Clean. Skin. Boy.
“He wouldn’t,”
I reply. “But she’d do it anyway. You see, she does what she wants. And Max adores her for it.”
“Does he now?” Luke says, finally handing me my beer. Brushing his fingers against mine in such a blatantly intentional way I can’t help but smile. “Just like I adore you?”
I look up at Luke. Heart dipping inside my chest.
“Yeah,” I say softly. And I mean it. “So you know I love romance. I’ve gotten flak for it. A lot of it centering around this idea that it gives readers unrealistic expectations. Which I don’t agree with now, but for a hot minute there, it did make me think. I mean, I was reading about these men who were successful and ripped and really, really good to the heroine. They weren’t perfect, but they were absurdly thoughtful. Absurdly confident. And the guys I was with in real life—”
“Were disappointing in comparison?” Luke says, tipping back his beer.
“Yes. Exactly. And I started to think that maybe romance was bad for me because it made me feel bad about who I was with. They could never possibly measure up, you know?”
Luke is shaking his head. “I get what you’re saying. But I don’t think the problem is romance. The problem is the real-life guys who don’t treat you right. They’re the ones who made you feel bad. Not the books you’re reading.”
I can only stare at him.
I didn’t stand a chance, did I?
For a beat I search Luke’s eyes, happiness blooming in my chest. We’re touching. Talking romance. Not only are we talking about it—he gets it.
He gets me.
“Right,” I say. “Yes. Totally.”
“I bet it’s those shitheads who say stuff like that—that romance is bullshit because it makes your standards sky high. Fuck them, Grace. Fuck them for life. Your standards should be high. You should expect to be treated right. If that makes some guys feel insecure…well. That’s their fuckin’ problem. Says a lot about them if you ask me.”
I nod. “Yes. I mean, I don’t expect to, like, end up with a Duke or a billionaire or whatever. I don’t need helicopters and private chefs and country estates to be happy. I just want someone to make me feel the way heroes in romance novels make heroines feel. I just want that intensity of connection. That respect and adoration, you know? That is not an unrealistic expectation to have. Wanting to be loved well by someone who makes you feel safe enough to be yourself with them.”
Luke’s expression changes. It’s soft and hard all at once. Making the air between us swirl with delicious tension.
My body, already running hot, burns hotter. I’m so wet I’m a little worried I’ve soaked through not only my underwear but my shorts, too.
I have never been as attracted to someone as I am to Luke. I thought the possibility for this kind of infatuation ended in college. When life started feeling less romantic and more…complicated, I guess. Difficult.
Practical.
I was wrong.
“I can love you like that,” he says. Voice gruff.
Love.
The word gets scooped up in the swirl. Surrounds us.
Luke’s eyes search mine. They’re a little glassy with moisture. Hopeful.
So blue and so adoring it overwhelms me. I struggle not to look away. Not to bow underneath the weight of everything he’s saying. Everything he’s offering.
I force myself to look. And then—
Then, a rising inside me. A great big wave of emotion that makes my heart skip and my eyes prick.
I’m scared.
So fucking afraid.
I blink. Take a breath.
Tell myself to choose not to be afraid.
I say it again. And again.
I repeat it inside my head until I’m able to gather enough courage to tell the truth.
When I finally speak, I feel like my heart is going to come out of my mouth, too. Because I’m putting it at his feet—my heart. Hopes.
I am taking a chance on him.
“You already have,” I say. “You’re showing me how it’s done. I…I want to love you like that, too, Luke.”
His brows come together. “Really?”
“Really,” I say.
His nostrils flare. And then he’s reaching up. Sliding his hand onto my face.
“Oh, baby,” he says. A good kind of anguish in his voice. “Baby, you’re shakin’ again.”
“I’ll be okay,” I reply.
Just have to keep saying that. To him. To myself.
“It’s a beautiful fucking thing,” he says.
“What?”
“Your faith. Think about it, Grace. Even after all you been through, you didn’t lose your faith in love. Maybe you got romance to thank for that. Maybe Max and Jane’s happily ever after kept you hopeful for your own—that one great love you talked about. And that is beautiful. If that don’t turn me into a true romance fan, I don’t know what will.”
Oh my fucking God.
If I wasn’t head over heels for this man before—
“I think I do have romance to thank for that. I hadn’t—” I swallow. “I hadn’t considered that angle.”
“C’mere,” he says. Guiding my face up to his.
The last thing I see before my eyes flutter closed is Luke tilting his head. Eyes on my mouth. His lips full, a little parted.
My body floods with light when those lips meet mine. He opens his mouth and I open mine, lips tangling, his tongue searching for mine. I let out a low moan, curling into his body as he pulls at me, as he takes—takes my breath and takes charge. Scruff burning against my skin.
I slide my hand onto his trim waist. Feel the muscles there move beneath the silkiness of his tee. Heaviness gathers between my legs. In the tips of my breasts.
“Get a room, y’all,” someone mutters as they pass us.
I can’t help it. Too full of good things. I laugh into Luke’s mouth, and he responds with a sound that’s half laughter, half rumbly growl.
He pulls back. Searches my face again.
“Safe word,” he murmurs, setting his beer down on the bar.
“What?”
“Use it if you need to.”
I stop. Look at him. Blood jumping as an awareness of his intent soaks through my skin.
“Okay.”
Luke laces his fingers through mine. I have just enough time to set my own beer down before he’s tugging me through the bar and out the front entrance.
The night is warm and dark. There are still people around, spilling out of restaurants. Hanging out on decks and patios.
He hangs a right on the sidewalk. The lights from the bar fade as we walk toward the parking lot beside it. Voices get quieter.
We pass another couple holding hands.
“But you parked at Lacy’s,” I say. “It’s back—”
Luke gives my arm a tug. We move across the parking lot, footsteps crunching in the gravel, until we’re at the side of the building. All shadow back here, and very quiet.
What in the world?
The light of the moon catches on Luke’s eyes.
My stomach drops.
I know that look.
Hand still clasped in mine, he turns my body and presses me up against the building. The wooden slats like knuckles in my back.
Understanding rips through me. So does want.
Jesus, this man knows me. I’d have no problem making love to him right now. Soft and sweet. That fits this part of our story, too.
Instead, Luke is giving me something I asked for. He’s willing to fuck me in public, no questions asked, because he knows it’s on my list. He knows what that list means to me.
He knows the things on that list are pieces of myself I’m picking up, one at a time.
He wants me to put myself back together, because he likes that person. The whole me.
The real me. The one he loves. Urgently.
Intensely.
Is there anything more romantic than that?
My pussy pulses.
I’m still shaking.
Luke guides our joined hands over my head, stepping into my body. I can feel his breath on my face.
With his other hand, he reaches down. Glides his fingertips up the inside of my thigh before they disappear into the gap in my shorts between my leg and my crotch.
He moves right past my thong.
He finds me, letting out a grunt when his fingertips glide through my arousal. Immediately my hips roll into his touch. I already feel desperate. On the edge of a precipice a thousand feet high. I want to fall.
I need it.
People are on the sidewalk. On the other side of this wall, less than a foot away. Anyone could walk out for a smoke and find us.
Luke meets my eyes. His are sharp. So fiery and close I have to look away, up at the sky.
“No,” he snaps, and sinks two thick fingers inside me, quick and quiet, giving me a tug from the inside. “We’re not doin’ this unless you can look me in the eye while it’s happening. Look at me, Gracie. Right fucking now. Look at me.”
I pant at the clap of desire that echoes between my legs at the authoritative rumble of his voice. My God, I am wet.
Painfully, acutely turned on.
I do as he tells me. I meet his gaze.
“You scared?” he murmurs, pressing the pad of his middle finger to the front wall of my pussy. Just where—
“God, Luke, that’s—I like that,” I say, fisting his shirt in my fingers. Holding on for dear life. “You know just what I like.”
He swipes at my clit with his thumb. I gasp. He smirks.
“I pay attention.” He puts his other hand on the siding beside my head, leaning in. Caging me. “I know you, Gracie.”
“You’re sweet,” I breathe. “You were so right about the anticipation being sweet.”
That handsome smirk again.
“What I’m ’bout to do to you isn’t very sweet at all.” He leans in even further, lips brushing against my ear. “Just use the word if it’s too much.”
I’m rolling my hips again, impatient. “I know.”
He presses his erection into my belly with a lewd little dip of his hips.
My hand still on his shirt, I yank him closer. He towers over me, all huge shoulders and clean soap smell, and my desire for him liquefies.
“I’m scared,” I whisper. “And I like it.”
Southern Player Page 20
