Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

“Incoming,” I say and lift my arm to dangle my shoes by the heels over the top of the door.

Rhett grabs the toes of my shoes. “Got ’em.”

A second later, I hear the click of the heels as he sets them on the porcelain ledge of the sink.

I dangle my purse over too. “And this.”

“Yup.” This time, our fingers brush as Rhett takes my bag. There’s another rush, this one inside my skin, warm and tingly.

It must be the vodka. Thankfully, this little stuck-in-a-bathroom-stall snafu kept me from getting a refill. I need another cocktail like I need a hole in my head, clearly.

Flattening my palm against the wall for balance, I climb up on the toilet, carefully turning around to face the door.

Lifting my head, I lock my gaze on Rhett’s below. His eyes are that piercing Beauregard blue, a startling contrast to his dark blond hair and darker scruff.

He’s standing right in front of the door. Feet planted shoulder-width apart. He’s unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and he looks so much like a deliciously unkempt country boy playing dress-up that my heart begins to pound.

I blink, and he grins. My legs wobble again. This is not a good idea. I press both palms to the walls on either side of me.

Once upon a time, having Rhett this close would’ve been dangerous. Those hands. My heart.

But now? He’s not a guy I’d ever consider dating at this point in my life. I’m looking for someone who wants the same thing I do: to set down roots here in Asheville, the place I love more than anywhere else on Earth.

“How do we do this?” I ask.

Lifting his arms, he takes a step forward, practically plastering his chest against the door. “Easy. You put your hands on my shoulders. I’ll put my hands on your waist, and we’ll ease you over the door, nice and slow.”

I look down at the floor. It seems very, very far away. And very hard.

“You sure you don’t want to just get that screwdriver?”

He cuts me a familiar look, tilting his head. “Amelia, I got you.”

The thing is, he did always have me. Always had my back. Our ending was ugly and upsetting and inanely dramatic in many ways. But Rhett showed up when it counted.

I could trust him back then. Until he broke my heart.

I look down at his upturned face and eager eyes. I look down at the toilet, the water in the bowl glinting.

It appears I have no choice but to trust him now.

“I’ll have you know”—I lean over, the top of the door digging into my rib cage, and put my hands on Rhett’s broad shoulders—“my students really love me, and they’ll be devastated if I die in a tragic accident involving a toilet, brown liquor, and my high school boyfriend.”

“Noted. Now I’m gonna put my hands on your waist, okay? Let your weight fall forward.”

“Okay.”

I scramble to mentally prepare myself, but I don’t have time. Rhett cups my lower rib cage in his enormous hands. He firms his grip, fingers curling into my sides, inviting me to tip forward.

But oh my God, I’m high up. So freaking high up. If I fall from this height at this angle, I’ll definitely break something. My face. A leg. My pride.

For a second, my vision goes hazy. “Shit, Rhett, I’m scared. I don’t know—”

“You’re already halfway there, Amelia. Look at me.” I do as he says. “Good. Now just keep looking at me. I’m going to pull you forward. At the same time, I want you to go up on your tiptoes, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

I lean forward a little, slowly rolling up onto the balls of my feet. My dress makes a chafing sound against the top of the door. My heart is beating so hard I feel sick. Or maybe it’s the door. It’s pressing into my belly now, making the saliva in my mouth thicken.

“Focus,” Rhett gently prods. “Keep looking at me.”

I don’t want to lose my dinner, so I try to lose myself in Rhett’s eyes instead. Tonight they’re the color of a Carolina sky in the morning. Light blue. Touch of green.

Kind. They’re kind. And they can’t possibly belong to the growly, grumpy guy I was just talking to at the party.

“Answer a question,” he says.

I’m on the tippiest of my toes now. “Shoot.”

He’s guiding me forward with his hands. Guiding me over the door slowly and calmly, just like he said he would.

“You come here with anyone?”

“That’s your question?” I glance down at his hands. They’re clutched firmly around my upper torso. I follow the line of his outstretched arm to his bicep. It strains against the fabric of his suit jacket, like he’s smuggling a grapefruit inside his sleeve.

Wow.

Just . . . wow.

Being the star player on our high school’s football team meant Rhett was always in fantastic shape. But he’s ridiculously ripped now, broader and bigger in a way that’s making my brain short-circuit.