Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

She kisses me back, and my body lights up, a welcome distraction from the weird seasick feeling in my gut.

I drop my hand and wrap my arms around her waist, seeking. Needing. Amelia was always so sure about who she was and what she wanted. Maybe if I hug her tight enough, keep her close enough, I’ll get some of that certainty I’m looking for.

I also want to take her back to bed. But that’s what nap time is for.

“I know you said you wanted to think about things,” she murmurs into my neck, running her fingers through my hair. “I’ve been thinking too. I’m willing to go to Vegas with y’all. Not just for a little while, but for the whole season.”

My heart dips. I smile. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Miss I-Love-Asheville-And-I’ll-Never-Ever-Leave. Are you bending?”

“Don’t act so surprised.” She gives my shoulder a playful shove. “Bending’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

Just say it. Tell her you’re turning down the contract.

“It is,” I say gruffly. “I’ll be honest, A. I’m not sure I deserve you.”

She pulls back to look me in the eye. A cute little crease appears between her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“No.” I blow out a breath. Jut my hips so my half-chub presses against Amelia’s belly. “Here you are, showing some serious character. Being brave. And here I am, asking for time, getting hard every five seconds. It’s . . . a lot to process.”

She smiles and I don’t know if her kindness makes me feel better or worse.

“You asked for time. If that’s what you think you need, that’s what you’ll get. Just don’t leave me hanging too long, okay? Because two weeks ago, I had my dream job in the city I love more than anywhere else on Earth. Now I’m moving to Vegas with my ex-boyfriend and his kid.”

Raising a brow, I say, “Don’t do me like that. I’m your boyfriend now. Time to drop the ex.”

“How boring of you, Vader.”

“Call me old-fashioned, Jabba.”

“We should celebrate.”

To be honest, I’m not in the mood to celebrate. Feels a little premature. A little . . . unearned.

But Amelia’s lit up, a ball of fucking sunshine that practically radiates happiness. If she thinks we should celebrate, so be it. I’m not gonna piss on her parade, even if I’m not quite ready to have mine yet.

“Invite Rose over,” I say. “She can meet Li, and we can all go to the Barn Door for dinner. They’re doing this new veggie paella on Sundays that is out of this world.”

Amelia’s grin broadens. “Emma’s idea, no doubt. She loves Spanish food.”

“I love her for bringing you crashing back into my life.”

Speaking of crashing—I’m aware of the pitter-patter of Liam’s feet, followed in short order by a distinct, stomach-wrenching thud.

He lets out an ear-splitting wail.

I glance over Amelia’s shoulder to see him splayed out on the kitchen floor, holding his little foot. He wails again, making my head throb, and I glance at the clock above the stove. How long until nap time again?

“I got him,” I say.

I take care of his stubbed toe—BandAid that’s completely unnecessary, a kiss, promise to go ous-side—and then, because I can’t stop wondering now what, I open the fridge.

I waver between grabbing water or a beer. Water is the right choice. Clearly.

But then Liam starts crying again, stomping his feet when Amelia won’t give him the knife she’s using to butter some toast.

I grab the beer.

Amelia eyes me as I sip.

“I’m celebrating,” I say.

“Rhett, it’s ten A.M.”

“And? I’m brunching so hard. Want one?”

“I’m good.”

Liam stomps his feet when I refuse to let him sip too.

“You sure about that?” I ask Amelia.

“You sure you’re drinking that beer for the right reason?”

Liam’s melting down again. I gesture to him. “Yes.”

Amelia bends down to pick him up. “C’mon, little man, let’s change your diaper and head outside. Rhett, you wanna blow up the bouncy house? The dishwasher just beeped too.”

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll get it.”

But I don’t want to blow up the bouncy house or empty the dishwasher or think about what we’re gonna give this kid for lunch. I want to flop on my couch and nurse this beer and maybe another one and watch SportsCenter for the next five hours.

This time a month ago, that’s what I would have done. Relaxed.

Now, I want to numb all these feelings that won’t quit contradicting each other. Relief and regret. Excitement and dread. Love and annoyance.

But I’m a dad and a boyfriend and family man now, and I don’t have that option.

It pisses me off.

Gulping my beer, I know I’m being an ass. Feeling sorry for myself accomplishes nothing. Like Beau said, I’m in a position of extreme privilege. I have health, wealth, the woman of my dreams, a son who’s happy and cute as hell. I get to choose this. I get to live this beautiful life. A lot of people never get that chance.