Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

“Only trying to make conversation.” He takes a step back, then another, his hands still on my waist as my front glides over the top of the door. First my belly, then my hips. Now we’re at my thighs, and I screw an eye shut against the bite of the wood on my quadriceps.

“I have a boyfriend,” I manage. “But he couldn’t come tonight.”

“Oh. Welp, he missed out.”

“Missed out on what? This?” I tilt my chin toward the mirrors on the opposite wall, which capture my current predicament in excruciating, embarrassing detail. My hair hangs over my face in a disheveled mop; my dress is wrinkled, the top pulled to the side to reveal a sliver of my janky nude bra.

“You,” he says, and I look down to see his eyes glued to my face. “You look fucking gorgeous tonight, Amelia.”

I look away and focus my gaze on my thumbs, parallel to where I imagine Rhett’s collarbones are.

“You’re obviously drunk.”

“You’re obviously deflecting. What’s wrong with me calling you beautiful? Lord knows I did it all the time back in the day.”

He really did. Everyone else made me feel like a freak for being nearly six feet tall at sixteen. But Rhett? He made me feel like I was one chance-meeting-at-the-mall away from becoming a supermodel.

He moves his hands a little lower on my waist. Without thinking, I curl my fingers into his shoulders, squeezing them. “You’re trying to make me blush, and I am not here for it.”

His lips twitch. “But what if I am?”

The top of the door meets with my ankles. My gut tightens. This is it, the literal make-or-break moment. I’m going to have to put all my weight in Rhett’s hands for a second or two until my feet fall from the door to the ground.

“Tell me about you,” I say quickly, desperate for distraction. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”

He steps back again. The tops of my feet are an inch away from falling off the door. I close my eyes and send up a silent prayer that I make it out of this bathroom alive.

“Me? I’m seeing everyone.”

“Of course you are,” I say and open my eyes to roll them. He’s smiling, this cute, careless thing that makes me want to slap or bite or maul him. Maybe all three. “That why you’re alone at your brother’s party?”

“I came alone so I could flirt with you.”

“I wondered if you knew I would be here.”

“I didn’t, actually. But I’m glad we ran into each other. Been too long.” He steps back one last time, and my feet fall. I fall. My pulse explodes, and Rhett grunts, his grip on my waist tightening to the point of pain.

My body flops forward, and for half a heartbeat, I feel like an ungainly, gangly teenager again, all elbows and knees and braces that color-coordinate with my track-and-field uniform. Mustard and emerald green: as unfortunate as it got.

My stomach drops as I go down, hard. Before I can even think about bracing myself for the inevitable impact of my face against the floor, Rhett is swooping me up and forward. I slam into the bulk of his body, breathless, my face prickling with heat as I jerk back a millisecond before I head butt him.

“Whoa,” I gasp.

My heart is drumming so hard I feel dizzy. I just stand there, my senses coming back to me one by one.

Smell: Rhett’s aftershave, woodsy and clean. Definitely not the Old Spice he wore senior year.

Touch: his arm is looped around my waist, and my front is plastered to his. The tile floor is cold against the bare soles of my feet.

Then taste: relief, mingled with stomach acid.

Sound and sight: my heartbeat. His quick, uneven breathing, at odds with the tightly controlled expression on his face.

Been too long? What does that mean?

And why is my entire being prickling with heat now?

Heat and something else. Something . . . delicious.

“See?” His voice is rougher. “Told you I got you. Does everything feel okay? Tell me if you hurt anywhere.”

My eyes flick to his lips. They’re an inch or two away. Full. Soft looking.

Nope. Not going there. Rhett and I didn’t work out for a reason.

A lot of reasons, actually. He destroyed me, and it took me a really long time to move on. But I have moved on, and I’m chasing my dreams. I’m happy now. Mostly.

Wondering if Rhett’s mouth tastes the same does not serve those dreams.

“Only my ego.” I cringe inwardly at the breathy sound of my voice. “Thanks for the rescue. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Nice to be needed every once in a while.”

It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to peel my hands off Rhett’s shoulders. As if he wants to tempt me, the bastard flexes the muscles there as I’m pulling away, flesh firming against my palms.