Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

“The timing couldn’t be worse,” I explain. “This is my farewell season. It has to be my best, Amelia. I’ve worked too hard to go out with a whimper.”

“You mean you’re too scared to lose.”

I manage a tight smile. “It was the last promise I made Daddy before he passed, that I’d win a championship. Didn’t happen in college, so it needs to happen now. No big deal.”

Amelia smiles too. “Not a big deal at all.”

“Point being, I can’t afford distractions. And I’m pretty sure a two-year-old kid is the ultimate distraction.”

“He’s two?”

Her voice perks up, which makes me perk up, turning my head to look at her. “Good age or bad one?”

“I teach preschool, Rhett. Of course I think it’s a good age. Right now, I’m—” She looks away. “Well, I was with the toddler class. It’s not an easy age by any means. But at that point, kids can kinda-sorta communicate with you, and their personalities really start to come out. It’s fun watching them become who they are.”

The swirl inside my head slows. “It really is cool that you’re teaching at your mom’s school. You know I’m a sucker for family traditions.”

Her mouth flattens into a line that goes crooked as she blinks hard, and for a horrible second, I think she’s going to cry.

“I like traditions too,” she says thickly. She takes a long, slow pull from her glass, then settles it in her lap. “Not to change the subject—”

“Please, God, change the subject.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “I got fired today.”

My gut twists. “What? Why? I don’t understand how anyone would ever fire you. Least of all from your mom’s school.”

I scoff. “I was dating a man who was a parent at Woodward. And on the board there. And married.”

Her voice rises with disbelief on the last word. Married.

My hand tightens around my glass. “You didn’t know, though. That he had a wife.”

“I didn’t.” She brings her cocktail to her lips, then gives the ice a shake when she drains most of the liquid. “He told me they were separated and getting a divorce. This morning, I found out that was most certainly not the case.”

“What a scumbag.”

“Yup.” Amelia shakes her head, then lets it fall back on the chair. “How could I be so stupid? I saw the warning signs, Rhett, I just . . .” She takes another sip. “She set my car on fire today. His wife. That’s why I had to Uber to the liquor store at eleven on a Thursday morning.”

My glass lands on the arm of my chair with a thump. “Are you joking?”

“I wish. No, my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—his wife set my car on fire.”

“Fuck her.” I scoff. “Fuck them.”

Amelia nods. The sinews of her throat work on a swallow. “Yeah.”

I’m furious for her. But she’s about to cry, and I don’t want to rub salt in the wound. I wanna make her smile. Make this shit day slightly less awful for her.

“So basically, we’ve got Teacher of the Year right here,” I say and hold up my glass.

Lips twitching, she taps hers against mine. “And you get the award for parent of the year.”

“Does that come with a ring? Because if it does, I might not have to win a Super Bowl after all.”

“No ring.” She pulls a face. Fake disappointment. “Just a lifetime of unconditional love and enormous tuition bills.”

She’s smiling now, and so am I.

Mission accomplished.

“You’re getting me so pumped for this parenthood thing.” I glance through the back windows at the kitchen. I should’ve brought the bottles out here with me. “I’m sorry about your dude. And your car. Are you going to press charges?”

She raises her brows. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Definitely think about it.”

Amelia digs her toe into the ground and raises her heel, beginning to rock. I try very hard not to look at the way it makes her calf muscles flex.

“Jim’s son wasn’t in my class or anything, but we still should’ve told the administration about our relationship. At the very least, Jim should’ve resigned from his seat on the board to avoid accusations of favoritism or whatever. But he wanted to keep things under wraps because the situation with his ex was pretty bad. He didn’t want to do anything to hurt his chances of getting custody of his kids when the divorce was finalized.” She sighs again, and I’m gripped by the desire to give this fucker the swift kick in the ass he deserves. “And then I find out via spray paint that his wife is very much still in the picture, and that he’s still very much married.”

I raise a brow. “Spray paint? Do I wanna know?”

“You don’t.”

“Gotcha.” I point at her empty glass. “Another?”

She holds it out. “Like you even need to ask.”

I scurry inside, slosh some whiskey in my glass, and carefully craft another perfect vodka soda in hers. Dropping a fresh lime slice into the fizz, I grab our cocktails and head back outside.