Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

Hovering my thumb over the emergency call button on my phone screen, I reach for the knob and open the door.

“You must be Amelia,” a man with a blindingly white smile says. He extends his hand. “I’m Miguel Fuentes, Rhett’s agent. And this”—he tilts his head toward the unsmiling hulk of a middle-aged man next to him—“is Kevin Scott, head coach of the Las Vegas Sharks. May we come in?”

“Y’all did not fly all the way out here to see me,” Rhett says with a smile as he emerges from the bedroom, freshly showered and handsomely dressed.

He’s dressed a little too handsomely, actually. I ran into the bathroom earlier to tell him about Miguel and Coach Scott, and he clearly abandoned the broken-in jeans and tee he’d laid out for something much slicker: gray slacks, pressed button-up, shiny Rolex and shinier shoes.

My insides slosh in the beginnings of a stomachache.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised,” Kevin replies. “I’m not gonna let my star running back go that easy.”

“So now I’m your star,” Rhett shoots back. But his smile grows, all teeth and eyes that sparkle.

“Hey. You were the one teaching Nick, not the other way around.”

Rhett takes Kevin’s hand with such enthusiasm their palms clap when they meet. “But I’m done. After this season, anyway. That was always the plan.”

“Kapakos leaving changes everything. So I’m gonna wine and dine you and hope you’ll come home with me at the end of the night.”

Yeah. I’m not Coach Scott’s biggest fan.

But Rhett? Rhett’s smiling so big you’d think he just won the lottery. “Not likely,” he says.

Kevin grins. “Aw, hell, quit flirting. You know I like a challenge.”

“So.” Miguel brings his hands together. Looks at me. “Any chance you guys can get a sitter for the day? We’d like to take you out.”

“Oh?” Rhett says. “Where we going?”

Ire pokes me in the rib cage.

“PJ is fueled up and ready to go,” Miguel says.

“PJ?” I ask.

“Private jet,” he explains. “How do you feel about dinner in Charleston? I got us a reservation at The Pearl.”

Rhett’s eyes bulge. “But you can’t get a reservation there. They book up months in advance, don’t they?”

Miguel shrugs, lips twitching. “I know a guy.”

“Of course you do.” Rhett shakes his head. Looks at me. “What do you think, A? You up for a fancy dinner date? We sure as hell could use a break.”

I want to tell Rhett that dinner with his agent and his coach doesn’t count as a date. But that would be rude, and I’m not a rude person. Unlike some people in this room.

“We’ve never left Liam with anyone,” I say.

“That’s not true,” Rhett replies. “Mom and Milly watched him the other night, and it went fine. Here.” He digs his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll give Mom a call. I’m sure she’ll help us out.”

I’m hit by a wave of nausea.

This is a bad idea.

This is pissing me off. In a show of good faith, I put myself out there with Rhett. I put my own personal bullshit aside so I could put him and Liam first.

I thought—hoped—Rhett would eventually do the same. But this? Him welcoming Coach Scott and Miguel into our home? Well, it’s not our home. It’s Rhett’s. But having these men in Rhett’s home feels like a betrayal.

It’s a step in the wrong direction, and the fact that Rhett’s considering it at all hurts.

“Wait.” I put a hand on Rhett’s shoulder. “Can we chat for a sec?”

Frowning, Rhett looks up from his phone. “Sure. Yeah. Give us a minute, fellas.”

He follows me into the bedroom, and I close the door quietly behind us.

“I’m going to be honest,” I begin. “I’m not thrilled about this. It feels wrong.”

Rhett blinks. “Wrong? How? I told you—”

“Time. Yes. But . . .” My mind spins out. Do I even have a right to feel angry? Rhett’s been totally transparent about where he’s at and what he needs. I was the one who took a leap of faith; Rhett never asked me to move to Vegas with him full time.

Oh, God, am I being a gigantic idiot?

“I guess I just hoped you’d turn these guys down, like, right away. I hoped . . .” I shrug. “I hoped you wouldn’t want to go because you knew you’d just be wasting their time.”

Rhett tilts his head, eyes moving to the windows over my left shoulder. “Amelia,” he says, letting out a breath, “I get what you’re saying. But I’m still working with these guys, at least for another season, so I have to play nice. Doesn’t hurt that we’ll be getting an awesome trip out of it too.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Or maybe I have too much to say.

It’s not just you anymore, Rhett.

Shut them down and stay.

But my tongue is like stone in my mouth. What I say at this moment matters. He’s in a vulnerable position, and I don’t want to push him away or piss him off. I haven’t been a part of Rhett’s life while he’s played in the pros, and I have no idea how all this works.