Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

Then again, a transition is coming the way things stand right now. I’m only contracted to work for Rhett through July. I’ll have to leave Liam anyway.

Unless I still don’t have another job lined up and Rhett needs me to stay on. Not hard to imagine, if I’m being honest. But could I handle being in Vegas for the next six, eight, ten months? Away from Rose, from the place and people I love?

And if I’m struggling to keep my attraction to Rhett in check now, what would happen if I was with him for nearly a year straight?

I know the answer to that. The guy was my first love. First everything. I haven’t found that kind of closeness—that connection—with anyone else in the years Rhett and I have been apart.

And then there’s Grandma’s question: What if y’all always wanted the same life, but you’re just realizing it now?

My heart skips a beat, just as it did then. This strange, heady joy rises up inside me.

Him.

I want him. Rhett. The man who laughs with me, not at me. The one who looks at me with fire in his eyes. The man who trusts me with his son.

Oh, fuck.

I’m falling in love with Rhett Beauregard.

Again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rhett

The front door opens, accompanied by the chime of the security system. My heart twists.

Liam, who’s taking tiny groceries in and out of his tiny shopping cart for the fiftieth time since he woke up an hour ago, looks up.

Looks at me.

“Is Miss Amelia here?” I ask, dunking the tea bag—English breakfast—into the mug of hot water one last time before tossing it in the trash. I add one teaspoon of sugar and a couple more drops of milk, just like I’ve seen her do it.

“We-wa!” Liam cries and takes off running.

Amelia appears a beat later, arms outstretched, a huge smile on her face. “Liam! Morning, sweetpea. Oh, thank you, you give the best hugs.”

Her eyes flick to meet mine over Liam’s tiny shoulder, and I can’t breathe for a full heartbeat.

She’s wearing a white dress—casual, cotton, cute as hell—and lip gloss, and fuck me for life, but I’m wondering if she wore it for me. If she got dressed up for me, the way I did for her.

It wasn’t lost on me how her gaze roved over my chest and arms in the white tee I wore last night. So I wore it again today. Like a jerk off.

But it’s the joy in her eyes that really gets me. She’s completely transformed from the defeated, weary girl I ran into at the liquor store. It’s like a light’s been turned on inside her, illuminating the things I adore most about her: her fearlessness. Her fierceness.

She’s gorgeous, and if I had my way, I’d spend the whole fucking day with her. I’d feed her. Pick her brain. What are you into these days? Where do you hang out? What are your thoughts on Robert Pattinson as Batman and the culture divide in America and TikTok?

I want to know what she thinks about everything and everyone. And then I wanna get her naked.

“Morning,” I manage, holding up the mug. “Said you were tired yesterday, so I made you, uh, tea. More tea. I know you drink a cup before you get”—I clear my throat—“here? Right?”

Wrinkling her brow, she releases Liam and straightens. “That’s awful sweet of you. Thanks, Rhett.”

She walks over to the kitchen and takes the mug from me, our fingers brushing. The contact lasts for all of three milliseconds, but it’s enough to make my skin ring with awareness.

Aw, shit. Somehow I don’t think “communicating more” is gonna keep us from crossing lines. We’re beyond that.

Somehow we’re already beyond that. It should scare me—and it does—but really, it’s exciting.

Liam follows Amelia into the kitchen. I hand him his sippy cup. Amelia sniffs the tea. “English breakfast?”

“I pay attention.”

A part of me expects her to make a face. A that’s-weird-why’d-you-do-it face. But another part is downright thrilled when she smiles instead, and this time it’s my stomach that dips.

That smile means something.

Something’s changed, and I am here for it.

Would giving in to these feelings mean I’m letting go of the past? That I’ve let go of my fears that she won’t wreck me again?

Or would giving in mean I’m still the reckless asshole I was when I knocked up Liam’s mother and disappeared the next morning, too hungover to even offer her breakfast?

“I would think putting all your focus into prepping for the season wouldn’t leave you a lot of space to remember this kind of thing.” She sips. I stare at her lips on the rim of the mug. “Delicious.”

“I do have to focus on the season,” I say, patting Liam’s back when he wraps himself around my legs. “But maybe I wanna focus on y’all too.”